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wooyunhwa · 4 years

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𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 | PS

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

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Genre: smut (with plot!)

Pairing: mafia au!seonghwa x fem!reader

Word Count: 7.7k (strap in folks it’s a long one!)

Warnings: sex while under the influence of alcohol, mentions of abusive past relationship

Synopsis: When a mysteriously powerful man kicks your abusive boyfriend out of the bar, he agrees to take you in for the night. But he’s hiding something... and you’re determined to find out what.

A/N: There are two separate sex scenes in this so buckle in! Lots of plot but a lot of work went into planning this one and I promise the set up is worth it! Thank you so much for reading and comments are always appreciated <3 I hope you guys like it! Stay tuned for part two~

Anger burned in your chest as your boyfriend was starting to act like a belligerent fool, yet again. You’d gone with him to meet a couple of his friends at a swanky downtown bar, but the more he drank, the more he embarrassed you. You caught him looking at the waitress’ ass more than once, not that you had the power to say anything about it. You knew what would happen if you did. He’d yell, deny it, and try to flip things around so you were the one at fault. He’d always find a way to twist your words and make it so that you were the one apologizing.

You took a sip of your drink, your lips tight as you fought back the urge to say something, because you knew it wasn’t worth it. It never was. You were so ashamed to be here with him that you fantasized about sinking into the floor, away from all the people throwing disgusted looks in your direction as his comments grew louder and more crass the more shots he threw back. It was a much nicer bar than the ones you’d usually visit, which only added to the feeling of standing out. There were a lot of people dressed in formalwear, and while you had worn a nice dress and spent time on your makeup, you felt trashy by coming with your idiot boyfriend.

He ordered another drink, probably his eighth or so that night. He beckoned the bartender, called her “sweetheart” and blatantly checked her out as he ordered, and your cheeks burned with a mix of shame and embarrassment. You kept drinking to feel numb instead of upset, but all that did was make you feel sick to your stomach. Not from the alcohol, necessarily, just from the fact that you had to pound back drinks just to be in the same room as your own boyfriend.

“Can you just stop,” you said feebly, your voice cracking as you finally spoke up. He turned, meeting your eyes with that stupid, distant look he got on his face when he drank.

“What was that?” he said challengingly, like he was mocking you. You looked down, trying to avoid eye contact. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth.

“I-I said…” You tried to repeat yourself, but you felt like you were shrinking under the weight of his gaze, and the confidence the liquor gave you dried up immediately. Your lip started to quiver, and your cheeks started to heat up at the mortifying thought of crying at the bar. You kept your gaze glued on the drink in front of you.

“No, say it. Tell me exactly what I did wrong,” he said, raising his voice. A couple people turned to look in your direction.

“Don’t make a scene, I just-”

“‘Don’t make a scene?’ When you’re the one who wants to start a fight with me?” he yelled, and tears started to fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t help it, but now you were crying in the bar, and your night couldn’t get much worse.

“Please, can we just go home?” you begged, your voice small and lacking any punch whatsoever. The tears were really falling now, and you really just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“Go home?” he laughed in your face. “I’m having a good time out here, you’re the one who ruined it out of nowhere. You can go the fuck home if you want, I don’t care.”

A lot of people were looking now. You started openly bawling, no longer caring about keeping up your appearance. You’d never cried in public before, but he crossed a line by treating you like garbage in front of all these people, and you just couldn’t take it anymore. He rolled his eyes, giving you a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Oh, now you’re gonna cry? I don’t give you enough attention, is that it? You can’t handle not being the center of attention?” he yelled.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” Someone stepped up and put a hand on his shoulder, and your boyfriend shook it off angrily.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” he said, getting aggressive way too quickly.

“Come on, man. You’re gonna get yourself kicked out,” the guy said, clearly not trying to escalate things.

“Huh? Kick me out? Because this bitch can’t keep her damn mouth shut? Try it. See what happens if you put your fucking hands on me again,” he spat, puffing himself to look larger, obviously rearing for a fight.

“Is there a problem?” a new voice entered. You turned to see him, and your jaw nearly fell off of your face. He was a young man, probably around your same age, and he looked like some kind of statue that had come to life. You blinked, stunned, as he approached your boyfriend. His body language was calm, unlike your boyfriend’s, who looked like a belligerent dumb-ass.

“You tell me,” your boyfriend said, crowding the handsome man’s space.

“I don’t tolerate pretty ladies crying in my bar,” he said, shooting you a small smile before turning back to your boyfriend with a stern expression. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Your bar? I don’t tolerate cocky pretty boys like you telling me what to do.” He gave the handsome man a warning shove, and you cringed, feeling like this night just couldn’t get any worse. The handsome man looked down at his chest where he’d been shoved, then back up, his expression turning cold.

“I’ll ask you one more time to leave. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t cause any trouble,” he said carefully.

Your boyfriend scoffed, then gave another, harder shove. “You’re the one causing the trouble here, man,” he sneered, really getting up in his space now.

“Leave. Now.” The way the man said it sent chills down your spine, like he was not to be fucked with. Your stomach was a knot of anxiety as the tension in the air spiked, and you wanted to close your eyes and pretend you didn’t exist anymore.

As if in slow motion, your boyfriend threw a sloppy hook, which the handsome man evaded with ease. Frustrated, your boyfriend tried again, apparently on a mission to break the man’s nose tonight. The handsome man ducked, then darted forward, delivering a brutal punch right to your boyfriend’s jaw, which sent him careening to the floor.

Your boyfriend clutched at his jaw, groaning as he struggled to get up. The handsome man examined his hand, stretching his fingers a few times, then turned to you with a sympathetic smile. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded your head, looking down at the pile of trash that was supposed to be your boyfriend. You felt angry at him beyond words for causing such a scene, and a fresh round of tears spilled down your face. Your shoulders shook as you sobbed, wishing that this whole night had never happened. The man brought a hand to your shoulder, tenderly guiding you out of your seat and gesturing for you to follow him.

“Come on, let’s go get some air,” he said. The handsome man turned to look over his shoulder, giving an ambiguous nod to someone in the room.

You hesitated for a moment. Besides being taught not to let strange men lead you to a secondary location, your trust in the intentions of men had been tainted by your piece-of-shit boyfriend. Despite all that, you nodded, in no position to turn him down. He obviously held some sort of power here, but you couldn’t be sure exactly what his position was. Maybe he was just a really, really well dressed security guard. The place was fancy, after all.

You resented your idiot boyfriend for making a scene like that, and especially for dragging you down with him, but god, did you love watching him get punched like that. You would have savored the moment more if not for your involvement in the situation, and your tears blurring your vision.

Your gaze dropped to the ground shamefully as you followed the man outside quietly, doing your best to make yourself as small as possible, avoiding eye contact with the gawking bar goers. Your cheeks were stained red, hot from embarrassment, and your throat felt tight.

“My name is Seonghwa, by the way. I’d say ‘nice to meet you,’ but these conditions are a little…” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“I’m Y/N,” you croaked, voice betraying you. “I’m so sorry about all this.” You felt the need to apologize on your boyfriend’s behalf. Well, at least you were used to that part.

He led you out a door to the side of the bar, guiding you through the back hallways like he knew exactly where he was going, and at one point you could swear one of the doors was marked “Employees Only”. Your security guard theory seemed more and more likely by the second.

He swung open one final door to the outside, and you were immediately hit with the sting of the brisk outside air against the dry, tear-stained skin on your face. The moment you stopped thinking about stopping your tears was the moment they started to pour out again, suddenly overwhelmed again by the turn of events. Here you were, face-to-face in some sketchy back-alley of a bar with the man who’d just decked your boyfriend.

“Do you have somewhere safe you can go?” the man asked, the calm tone of his voice immediately soothing you from the otherwise unsettling situation.

You brought a hand up to wipe the tears from your eyes. “N-no,” you started, through shaky breaths. “No, I don’t have anywhere… my boyfriend… you saw him, he’s- he’s so drunk… and when he’s drunk, he gets angry- I’m scared of what he’ll do if-” You could barely choke out a coherent sentence, words trailing off into another round of tears as your mind raced with anxiety.

You began to slip into panic mode, finally realizing the full breadth of the situation. You didn’t have anywhere to go except home, and you feared what your boyfriend might do if you came back. Effectively, you were homeless, unless you wanted to take your chances on if your boyfriend was mad enough at you to finally hit you. And you already knew those chances: they weren’t good.

The man sighed, running a hand through his hair in contemplation. “Look, if you need somewhere safe to stay tonight…” he pressed his lips together in thought, clearly weighing his words wisely. “You can stay at my place.”

Your eyes widened at his proposal. You didn’t even know him, but what other option did you have at this point? As far as trustworthiness went, punching your boyfriend out certainly earned him some points.

And though this didn’t really matter right now, you couldn’t help but think about how attractive he was. Removed from the situation now, you were able to take in his beauty from up close. His features were sharp and defined, and he more closely resembled a CGI rendering of a person than an actual person. Actually, now that you thought about it, he may have been the most picturesque man you'd seen in your life. His jet black hair contrasted against his red velvet suit jacket. He was otherwise adorned in all black, which suited him perfectly, elongating his already well-proportioned frame. There was no other way to describe him but expensive. Well, and maybe gorgeous.

His features were dark, intimidating, and yet he'd shown you nothing but concern and kindness and since you met. You decided to trust him for the time being, if not for his display of kindness, but also for the fact that you wanted the chance to stare at him a bit more.

“I really don’t want to impose…” you said, eyes once again trained on the ground shamefully. You already felt like such a burden for causing such trouble in the first place.

“One night,” he clarified. “You can stay for one night. That should be enough time for you to make arrangements to stay with someone. Family, friends?”

Friends. Right. That thing you didn’t have. Well, not anymore. For the past year, your boyfriend had kept you completely isolated from the outside world in order to keep a watchful and controlling eye on you at all times. And family, well… that you didn’t even want to get into. Despite this, you agreed. That sounded like a tomorrow-you problem, and tonight-you just wanted to collapse into a bed and forget for a second how fucked you were.

“Alright, follow me,” he said, heading back in through the door you had come from. He left you in the hallway briefly, and you took the moment alone to collect yourself from the crying mess you were just a minute ago. When he got back, you followed him as he weaved his way through the back corridors of the building.

He took you to a small, antiquated elevator, and you doubted its ability to move even one human, let alone two. You squeezed into the tight box with him, bodies nearly flush with each other. You were so close you could almost taste the fresh alcohol on his breath.

He pressed the top button, and the elevator creaked up slowly.

Did he live above the bar? you wondered. A bit odd for a security guard.

You felt a little nervous as you entered the apartment after him, but the feeling was quickly replaced by one of awe and wonder. The apartment itself had a similar feel to the bar, with decadent furnishings and ornate ceiling fixtures, giving off old-Hollywood glam from every corner. It was vintage enough to still feel humble, but reeked of upper-class in a way that felt odd for a mere employee. Numerous paintings adorned the walls, depicting everything from beautiful women to far-off landscapes to wacky abstract art. It felt as though he’d led you into an old French art gallery instead of an apartment, and you felt hesitant to touch anything for fear of being scolded.

He gestured for you to sit on the couch, and you obeyed, slipping off your shoes as you followed him in. You sat on it carefully, like it was a piece of art, and he joined you after a moment, returning with a bottle of something very expensive and a glass for each of you. He gracefully filled up your flute, handing it over with his long, perfect fingers. You’d never felt like such a commoner in your whole life, but you took it gratefully, as you still very much needed a drink. Its cool bubbles sparkled against your tongue, and you took a deep breath.

You spilled your heart out to him, explaining everything about your situation, things you hadn't been able to tell anyone before. You told him about your controlling boyfriend, your isolation, and most of all, how scared you were. He offered you more drinks as you cried -- expensive champagne from his own personal mini bar. He poured it out like it was nothing to him, but that bottle must have cost him a fortune. How rich was this guy anyway? You shouldn't have been drinking more, you knew that, but you accepted happily, opting to drown your feelings rather than face them.

He must have been deep into his 5th glass, just that you’d seen at least, and yet he carried himself extremely well. If you hadn’t have seen him drinking, you probably wouldn’t have even guessed he was drunk. Makes sense for a guy who works at a bar, you thought.

That reminded you. You still didn’t know anything about him, or what he did at the bar, and yet at this point, he must have known practically everything about you with how much you were blabbing.

“So, do you work here? At the bar, I mean. Like a security guard?” you asked, shifting the conversation to him. He had the most mysterious aura about him, and had thus far been pretty vague about himself. You wanted to see if you could crack him.

He leaned back against the couch, legs crossed. How could anyone look so good just sitting? He pursed his lips slightly in thought. His lips twitched up into a slight smile. “Sure, yeah. You could say that.”

You looked around at his huge suite. Something didn’t add up. “Wow, they must really be paying security guards a lot these days,” you joked with a light laugh, but you weren’t really joking.

He forced a chuckle before hoisting himself up from his position on the couch and made his way to the mini bar just behind him. “Another drink?”

“No, no, I shouldn’t,” you said. And it was true, you really shouldn’t have. You were really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol wash through you, and you weren’t exactly known for holding your liquor well.

He chose the spot on the couch next to you this time as he sat, and placed a warm hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles. The pressure of his touch felt amazing, sending tingles down your spine. You were tired from your emotional night, but the comfort he offered felt incredible, and you still couldn’t get over just how gorgeous he was. He slipped out of his suit jacket, and you were able to catch a glimpse of the definition of his body underneath.

His black shirt was tailored flawlessly to his every measurement, the seams of his sleeves perfectly hugging the curve of his wide shoulders. There’s no way it wasn’t custom, and you wondered again how the hell a security guard lived so decadently. Your eyes involuntarily flickered down to his chest, noticing he had a few too many buttons undone, teasing his collarbone just enough. You didn’t notice you were leaning in until he brought a hand to your cheek, holding you delicately as his face grew closer.

Your lips were on his before you had a chance to tell yourself to stop. He reciprocated fervidly, pushing his lips back against yours with drunken desire. His touch seemed to melt all your problems away. What better to drown your sorrows with than fancy champagne and sex with the most beautiful man you’d ever had the pleasure of seeing?

The way he kissed you tipped you off immediately to how often he must have done this. This wasn’t your first hook up, and you’d experienced enough to know most men weren’t exactly pros when it came to kissing. Despite the drinks he’d been knocking back all night, there was nothing sloppy about the way his lips moved against yours. Between the fancy penthouse apartment, the prosperous aura, and his devilishly good looks, there was no way he wasn’t bringing girls here regularly. Not that it mattered. If that was the case, you were surely in for a good time.

Your kisses grew clumsier and more lustful, and you fumbled drunkenly at the rest of the buttons on his shirt until it fell open to reveal his torso, beautiful and sculpted. You ran your hands along his stomach, marveling at his solid abs, and finally down to his waistband to remove his belt. He returned the favor by pulling your dress over your head and unhooking your bra, throwing it to the side with disregard.

He paused for a moment, furrowing his brows. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” he said, sighing softly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

You nodded furiously. You were more sure than you’ve been of anything in your life. Or, at least, anything you could remember right now. You had a one track mind to be completely taken by this man. “I’m sure, I’m sure. Please, just fuck me. I need this right now.”

“Can’t argue with that…” he muttered under his breath.

He scooped you up easily, and you wrapped your legs around his back to stabilize yourself as he carried you through the apartment. He had towered over you when standing next to you earlier, and was able to lift you effortlessly now. He was strong, that was for sure, but you knew that much from the abs you were feeling up just minutes before.

He set you down gently against the pillows of his huge bed, giving you an opportunity to remove the rest of your clothes. The bed was lavishly adorned in a showy display of fancy pillows and blankets, which matched perfectly with the grandiose nature of everything else in his apartment. You watched in awe as he stripped the rest of his clothes as well. His body matched the rest of him — almost entirely unreal.

Maybe this was all just a dream you were having. A drunken, horny sex dream. But either way, you never wanted it to end. He draped himself over you, his cock brushing over your thigh as he settled between your legs. Inspiration hit, and you pushed him off, rolling on top of him as he landed on his back.

Seonghwa’s expression turned puzzled at the sudden rejection—or so he thought. You smirked at him as you climbed on top, a surge of empowerment taking over you. His eyes darkened as he realized what was happening, and he let his hands come up to squeeze your ass as you made yourself comfy.

You took his dick in your hand, positioning it between your legs, then slowly sank onto it. He bit his lip, groaning as you sat down all the way. He squeezed your ass harder, digging his nails in a bit, and you felt powerful as you watched him come undone. You moaned, putting on a show for him. It was the least you could do to repay his kindness, after all.

You rocked forward onto your knees, slowly dragging your hips up and down onto his cock. You let your hands trail over his chest and down his abs, feeling every dip and rise of the muscles beneath his skin. He still didn’t feel real, even as you ran your fingers along his abs and felt his cock inside of you.

You began to lift yourself up, sliding almost all the way off of his cock until just the tip was inside, and slammed your ass back down, repeating this motion until he was breathing hard and struggling to keep from fucking up into you. You rode him relentlessly, full of fresh drunken confidence, and you could see his eyes were glued to where his dick was disappearing inside of you.

There was something so undeniably satisfying about watching a man who seemed to hold so much power in his daily life concede under your touch. He had been so calm and collected before, and you imagined he wasn’t used to giving up control so easily. Even the way he walked screamed power and authority. As you watched his eyes roll back, his lips parted slightly, you felt intoxicating power swell inside you. This wasn’t like you - you wouldn’t say you were particularly submissive, but you weren’t dominant by any means either. You could tell he wasn’t used to girls taking the initiative—and you wanted to milk it.

“Look at me,” you purred, tipping his chin up gently with your fingers. He forced his gaze upwards, tearing them away from where your bodies connected, and looked at you with half-lidded eyes.

Seonghwa swiped his tongue involuntarily over his bottom lip in pleasure, his tongue lingering in the corner of his mouth as his pleasured breaths grew more shallow. You couldn’t help but notice how long it was. God, the things his tongue could do to you…

Another round of inspiration hit. You smirked, raising your hips enough to let his dick slide out with a wet sound. You crawled forward, eating up the look of confusion on his face, giving him a quick sloppy kiss before breaking away and scooting your hips right up to his chin. A look of realization dawned on his face, a smile stretching across his lips as he grabbed you by the ass and pulled you in closer. You planted yourself right on his face, and he wasted no time putting that long tongue of his to good use.

This man seemed to be blessed in every way imaginable, and you moaned as he skillfully lapped at your pussy, flicking your clit with his tongue, his hot breath bathing your legs as you pressed harder against his face. You grabbed at the roots of his hair with your hands, anchoring yourself as you rocked your hips back and forth.

“Fuck, Seonghwa,” you sighed dreamily, and he moaned against you in response. He dragged one of his hands down your ass, bringing it underneath you to slide two fingers inside. You were already close, but he pushed you over the edge as soon as he started fucking you with his fingers. You cried out as you came, riding his face a little too aggressively, fingers yanking on his hair to stay grounded in reality.

He pulled back, looking at you hungrily as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. You hadn’t even caught your breath yet before he was pushing you down to his crotch. You were exhausted, but you wanted to please this man in any way you could. You wrapped your hand around his cock, giving the head of it a little kitten-lick as you looked up at him.

You gave it a kiss, enjoying the groan he let out as you teased him. You opened your lips wide and sank down until the head hit the back of your throat. You fought back a gag, and you felt his hips buck up just a little as your mouth fully encompassed his cock, like he couldn’t control it. You loved seeing him lose control, and you were determined to see him come apart.

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked, twisting your fist around the base of his cock to jerk him off at the same time. He brushed his hands through your hair, bringing it together into a ponytail at the back of your head, which he then used to push and pull you faster as he grew close to his limit. The sounds he made were music to your ears as he reached his tipping point, and he spilled into your mouth with the most beautiful moan you had ever heard. You looked up at him, maintaining eye contact as you swallowed it all. It was the least you could do.

You were substantially tired at that point, so it didn’t take long for you to knock out after crawling up into bed with him. He was still breathing hard, lying drained against the perfect white linens. You heard rustling as he fluffed up a blanket and draped it over your naked body, and you sighed as you felt its soft warmth envelope you. He rustled around in the nightstand for something, and there was a soft clicking sound before the dim lights in the room shut off entirely. Remote controlled lights? Of course. You smiled to yourself in amusement as you drifted off into sleep.

You woke up in the lavish bed to the noise of pots rustling, the harsh light coming in through the penthouse windows stinging your eyes. As your eyes adjusted, you saw Seonghwa standing in the kitchen. He looked so different from the put-together appearance he had yesterday, now dressed in his underwear and a casual T-shirt. Something about it looked… wrong. Not that you were expecting him to sleep in a suit or anything, but then again… maybe.

“Good morning,” he said flatly.

You rubbed your eyes and sat up in the bed, realizing you were still naked from last night. All you had was the uncomfortably fancy dress you couldn’t even bear the idea of having to put back on. “Good morning,” you said tentatively. Despite your intimate encounter just hours ago, you couldn’t help but be intimidated by his presence now. “Do you maybe… have some clothes I could borrow?”

He nodded to a dresser to the side of the bed. “Grab anything you want out of there,” he said, before returning to his business in the kitchen. He seemed colder today, completely opposite to the comforting warmth he had yesterday when he took pity on you. Did he want you gone already?

“Are you making breakfast?” you asked, trying to make light conversation to break through the silence.

“Yes, for myself.”

“Oh.” You dropped your gaze and grabbed the smallest shirt you could find in his drawer, which was still considerably large on you. You gathered your panties from last night and slipped them on.

“You should make your arrangements for some place to go. I can’t leave you here, but I have places I need to be today.”

You grabbed your purse to retrieve your phone, finally noting the time. 10am. Had you really slept that long?

“About that…” you paused, contemplating whether or not to tell him the reality of your situation. You didn’t have anywhere to go, and you maybe had enough money to your name for one night, maybe two at a cheap motel. Your boyfriend had taken care of all your finances -- that was to say, he had all your money. “I don’t have anywhere to go. But… I can’t impose on you any longer. I’ll figure it out. Thank you for all your help.”

You started to gather your things, when you heard him stop what he was doing.

“Wait, stop,” he sighed, “You don’t have to leave just yet.” He paused for a few seconds, and the silence felt deafening. “What’s your address?”

“My-my address?”

“Yes. Trust me,” his face softened a bit, and you gave it over to him. “I’m going to make a call. The bathroom is over that way if you want to get cleaned up. Feel free to take a shower if you want.” He smiled warmly, and you didn’t know what to make of his sudden change of attitude. One minute he was coldly implying he wanted you gone, and the next he was inviting you to take a shower in his bathroom. You were a mess, however, and a warm shower sounded incredible.

When you got out, Seonghwa was sitting on the edge of the bed, presumably just waiting for you to be done. You wrapped a towel around your hair, squeezing it dry. You still had on nothing but your panties from last night and one of his t-shirts hanging lazily on your frame. You couldn’t help but notice the way he looked you up and down, and more importantly, you noticed the hard outline of his dick poking through his underwear. You did your best to conceal your amusement at his sudden display of weakness for you, pretending not to have noticed.

He cleared his throat, crossing his legs and shifting his weight to minimize the display of his boner. “I’ve made some arrangements for you. You can’t stay here, but you’ll be able to go back to your place in a few days.”

The way he phrased it made you pause. “You’ve made… arrangements? What do you mean?”

“It’s best if you don’t question it,” he said flatly. Something about the way he said it felt sinister, but you decided not to push it too much. “You won’t have to worry about that guy anymore.” You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You weren’t quite sure what to say, but what he was saying didn’t make any sense. “In the meantime, I’ll set you up at my other apartment. Just for a few days.”

His what? Obviously he was rich, you knew that much from the extravagant place you were currently in, but you didn’t realize he was swanky-penthouse and 2nd-apartment rich.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” you said, voice cracking slightly. You started to feel a bit guilty for how much he was offering to do for you, despite having met you less than 24 hours before.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I just threw you out knowing you don’t have anywhere to go. But you have to promise me one thing.”

You gulped. “What?”

“After this is over, you can never contact me again.” Your heart dropped to your stomach. The look in his eyes was once again deadly serious. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” you replied, nodding, too afraid to press him any further on it. “Can I- Can I just ask you one thing?”

“Sure.”

“How do you afford this place?” you asked, gesturing to the extravagant furnishings surrounding you. It came out more rudely than you had intended, but the question had been gnawing at you since he first brought you here last night. “I mean… you said you were a security guard, right? This looks like a celebrity’s place,” you said, backtracking a bit.

He sighed, and his expression indicated he was choosing his words carefully. He was obviously hiding something from you. “My father owns the building. The bar too,” he explained reluctantly. There it was. “Well, technically, it’s supposed to be mine soon.”

“Then why’d you tell me you were a security guard?”

“I didn’t lie. My father entrusts me to keep up the bar's appearance… among other things. That includes kicking out belligerent customers like your boyfriend last night.”

“Does looking after the bar usually include taking crying girls up to your apartment?” you jested, doing your best to cut through the serious atmosphere, but he wasn’t laughing.

“I guess I have a soft spot for pretty girls like you,” he said, his unexpected compliment sending an electrifying chill through your body. You knew you had just had sex with him last night, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around an attractive man like him thinking you were worth even a shred of his time. His lips turned up into a charming smile--his playboy was showing. Was he this flattering to every girl he took up here?

You set your gaze down, blushing lightly, deciding to change the subject before he flustered you any further. “Can I eat something before we go at least? I’m kind of starving,” you asked, shuffling your feet. As if on cue, your stomach let out a hungry whine.

He laughed at the sudden noise. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. Yeah, grab anything you want. I’ll take you to the apartment after you’ve had something to eat.”

You made your way to the kitchen, checking in the fridge for something to eat. For such a big and fancy kitchen, it was deceptively empty. You felt Seonghwa’s presence draw up behind you, and he leaned over your shoulder as you checked in the fridge

“Want some help?” he asked calmly, leaning himself over you to grab a carton of eggs from the top shelf. You flipped around to face him, your bodies only inches apart, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

He chuckled. “That’s cute,” he said, flashing a smile brighter than you had ever seen from him. His usual expression was cold, serious, but you liked this one a lot better.

“What’s cute?”

“You.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks in a blush at his sudden compliment. It was small, fleeting even, but you felt all the feelings you had for him last night resurface in an instant. In a rush of sudden desire, you pulled your face up and pressed your lips against his. He pulled back in surprise for a moment before pulling you in, pressing his body against yours. Your sex last night had been good, great even, but the sudden rush you felt indicated to you that you wanted more —no, you needed more. He took your waist in his hands and hoisted you on to the kitchen counter for a better angle. The sudden cold sensation of the marble counters against your skin surprised you, and you let out a small gasp.

You kissed for a while like that, legs wrapped around his waist as you explored his body with your hands once again. He littered kisses down your neck, pulling the hem of your T-shirt up to continue down your breasts.

His lust seemed to overtake him at some point, drawing more and more fervent as he kissed and sucked at your skin. He wasn’t able to fully take out his desires on you last night, and that was evident in the way he kissed you now, hungrily, lustfully, intensely. Although you enjoyed the power you felt last night, you did wonder what he was like when he took control. You let out soft, eager moans as his hands made his way between your legs, rubbing his fingers against the crotch of your panties.

His tongue began to tease the sensitive skin at the inner part of your thigh with gentle licks. It tickled a bit, and you squirmed involuntary, causing him to wrap his arms around your thighs, holding your hips in place while he delivered more teasing kisses. Impatient, you started to slip your own panties off desperately, and he finally gave in to your hints, licking a long stripe of wetness between your legs. He used his tongue skillfully, immediately finding your most sensitive areas and exploiting them, eliciting pleasured moans. You were reminded of how expressive his tongue had been during your encounter the night before, and you certainly weren’t disappointed by how he used it today.

He ate you out with more grace and finesse this time, in less of a drunken frenzy than he was last night. Not that it was bad, just different. He looked up at you, smiling as he dragged his tongue across your clit, squeezing your thighs with his hands. It made your heart skip a beat, as you were dead sober now, and here the most beautiful man on the planet was smirking at you from between your legs.

You moaned, your fingertips scratching along the cool countertop, and your legs involuntarily squeezed around his head. This spurred him on to move faster, and soon enough you were squirming in his hold, biting your lip to try and silence the noises escaping you to no avail. You rocked your hips up against his face, grinding against him as he fucked you with his tongue. You tipped your head back, hitting it against the cabinet with a soft bang, and Seonghwa laughed, his warm breath against your skin sending tingles down your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, your laugh melting into a sigh as his tongue started moving faster. He sucked hard on your clit, and you jolted forward at the sudden pleasure, whining as he ate you out mercilessly. Your legs tightened against his back, your fingers fisting into his hair as he moaned against your pussy, and you came hard, bucking your hips up into his face uncontrollably.

He planted soft kisses against your inner thigh as he stood up, caging you against the countertop once again as he leaned in to press your lips together. He kissed you sweetly for a moment, then abruptly slid you off the counter and spun you around. You fell forward, leaning against the countertop with your chest. He pressed you down onto it as he kissed along the back of your neck, delivering a sudden smack to your ass.

You felt the tip of his dick sliding against you, pushing in suddenly as he draped his body over your back. His hands came up to rest on the countertop, leaning against it with his elbows. He was clearly horny and impatient, wasting no time pounding into you, and you moaned helplessly against the counter as you took each thrust. You could feel his breath against your neck as he moaned, shoving you harder against the counter as his thrusts grew faster.

“Harder,” you whined, and he obliged. You ribs ached against the marble, but you loved the way he groaned through his teeth as he fucked you as hard as he could. You clawed helplessly against the counter as he started to break his rhythm, thrusting wildly as he reached his peak. He pulled out, painting your ass with warm streaks of cum, and you struggled for breath as your body lay plastered to the countertop.

Looks like it was time for another shower.

After showering and getting cleaned up, you left with him so he could set you up at his second place. It wasn’t as swanky as his last, but it certainly was nicer than anywhere you’d ever lived. It was more of a townhouse than an apartment, and it was surprisingly humble, with only a few stand-out pieces that would make you think he was ultra-rich. There were a couple spare rooms, but no extra beds, so he set you up in his room for the time being. It was only for a few days after all.

For the first three days, he visited you to check in at least once daily, usually in the evening, and you’d have some drinks and chat for a bit. He still divulged very little about his past, and the two of you never ventured your conversations further than surface-level. Even so, you enjoyed talking to him. Maybe it was that you hadn’t really gotten to speak like this to anyone since living with your boyfriend, but you felt like you had real chemistry. You took pride in every time you could break through Seonhwa’s hard exterior and make him laugh.

Of course, you’d also fucked. Your attraction to him was impossible to hide, and through your conversations, the tension between you was palpable. Each time was somehow better than the last. You wanted to take advantage of the fleeting opportunity you had to fuck him, as his words had not left your head -- the minute you returned to your home, you were never to contact him again.

On the fourth day, he sent you a text to let you know he wasn’t going to be able to visit you. You were a bit disappointed, but you took the opportunity to snoop around a little, as you still hadn’t learned anything more about him than he had told you the morning at his penthouse. Maybe there was something in his place that could give you a clue to who he really was. Besides your growing curiosity, you were also incredibly bored. What kind of guy didn’t even own a television, anyway?

You were shuffling through some boxes in his closet, looking through stacks of boring documents. You were about to give up on your intrusive quest when one paper caught your eye-- specifically an enormous collection of zeros stacked on the end of a dollar sign. Like an enormous amount of zeros.

His bank statement. Your immediate reaction was to look away. Looking at someone’s bank statement felt incredibly private, almost too private, and you glanced around the room, suddenly worried there was some sort of hidden camera catching you in the act of a crime. But you couldn’t look away. You had never seen anything near that amount of money in your life, and your curiosity was only amplified as you scanned the document.

Maybe this wasn’t even his. It wouldn’t make any sense -- even for someone whose dad owns a bar, even if he owned ten bars, this was more money than any normal human should ever be able to attain. You scanned for a name, and surely, written plainly at the top: Park Seonghwa.

Wait, Park? His last name was Park? You had heard that name before, but it took you a second to figure out exactly from where.

And then it hit you like a truck. But there was no way…

You set the papers down in shock. You could only stare at the wall as your thoughts slowly put the pieces together.

The Park Mafia.

You’d heard about them as a kid, they were notorious in your town, but they felt like a local legend rather than a real organization. All you knew about them was that they had existed for over a century, and you figured they had died out by now.

But here he was, and it made total sense. His apartment, the bar, the way he talked about his father, his aura of power, his unreasonable amount of money…

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your phone and scanned for his number in your contacts. You were simultaneously furious and terrified: furious that he hadn’t told you yet and terrified that you were in way over your head. Maybe you were thinking too much about it, maybe it was just a coincidence that he shared a last name with a notorious mafia. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

The ring of the phone felt endless. He picked up finally, but his voice was immediately laced with annoyance. “I told you not to call me here unless it’s an emergency.”

“Your family. What did you say they did again?” you asked, trying your best to sound calm, but you were anything but.

“I didn’t.”

“Well, then what do they do?” Your voice was rising now, unable to hold back your frustration.

He didn’t want to answer, you knew that, and your suspicions only grew with his silence. He hadn’t admitted to anything, but he may as well have. “How is this important? Look, I have to go.”

You were distracted by the distinct sound of a lock clicking from the entrance.

“Wait, Seonghwa.” Footsteps. Your voice grew panicked. “Are you walking through the door right now?”

“No, I’m—“

The distinct voices of two men grew louder as they drew closer to the bedroom, and your heart dropped to your stomach. “Then who the fuck is?”

A figure came into view in the doorframe, and he smiled as he lunged toward you. You dropped the phone and scrambled off the bed to run, but he grabbed your ankle so you couldn’t escape.

“Where ya goin,’ princess?” he sneered.

You screamed.

[to be continued]

#seonghwa smut #ateez smut #san smut #yunho smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #yeosang smut #kpop smut #mafia au #ngl im super whipped for this seonghwa #ateez x reader #seonghwa fic #park seonghwa #park seonghwa smut #ateez seonghwa

698 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

The right guy

Summary: Dean is more than a rebound guy to you and his brother doesn’t like it a bit.

Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader, former AU!Sam x Reader, Sam x Jess (mentioned)

Warnings: angst, language, arguments, jealous Sam, OOC Sam

A/N: Sequel to Rebound Guy

Six months later…

Jessica Moore, daughter of Mr. Marcus Moore and Karen Moore,

and Sam Campbell, son of Mrs. Mary Cambell,

request the honor of your presence

at their wedding

on the twenty-eighth of May, two thousand twenty

at two o'clock in the afternoon

Regency Hallway Ballroom

Lebanon, Kansas

Dinner & dancing to follow

Black tie & robe required

Dean has to reread the invitation he got to his brothers wedding thrice to be sure Sam didn’t even name his father. While he sulks silently, ready to rip the invitation into tiny pieces you snuggle closer to him.

“What killed your mood, Baby?” Leaning your head against Dean’s shoulder you glance at the envelope in his hands. You recognize the handwriting – it’s Sam’s. “Sam…huh?”

“He didn’t call or talk to me for over two months again and now he sends me an invitation to his freaking wedding. See, he didn’t even name our father.” Dean sniffles, as you crawl onto his lap to cup his face. “I know dad and Sammy, they had bad blood but this…this is…”

“Sam should be ashamed, Dean. This has nothing to do with arguments or living the life you want. Naming only his mother is…”

Nodding Dean tosses the invitation onto the table to place his hands at small of your back. “Your father found his mother's murderer if anything this is worth to be named.”

“I know…” Dean sighs deeply, not understand how Sam could be that cold-hearted to not name John.

He knows that his father was far from being good at parenting but Sam became the man he is thanks to his father. “We should do something else than attending a wedding we are not wanted at…”

“Dean, he sent you an invitation…” You try to find a way to survive Sam’s wedding and to not let Dean down. “I…I hate to attend this wedding too, Dean. Sam, he made me feel like I am not good enough.”

“You’re not the one who fucked up, Y/N. It was Sam’s fault and I must admit.” Pecking your lips Dean grins up at you. “I love he lost you ‘cause it’s my win…”

“Can I be honest, Dean?” Humming Dean runs his hands up and down your back. “I loved Sam, but he gave me the feeling I have to fake things sometimes.”

“Orgasms?” Now you snicker. Dean has the talent to distract you from intrusive thoughts. “I dare you to fake anything with me, Sweetheart.”

“Nah. This wasn’t about sex. In the beginning, it was a wild ride, ya know. Unlike you, Sam lost interested one day. I thought that like other pairs…”

You know you sound like a fool and stop to find excuses. “I think I knew the moment Sam stopped kissing my neck in the morning or to drag me into the shower to have a quickie that he had someone else on his mind. I was just too chicken to confront him…”

“I’d like to drag you into the shower right fucking now, Sweetheart.” Licking your lips, you wrap your arms around Dean’s neck. “You’re a red-blooded woman and I love it. When you bend over my car, I want nothing more than to marry you or fuck you right there and then…”

“Difficult decision, Mr. Winchester. How about we stay with fucking me over the hood and keep the marrying me part for later…” Dean nods eagerly, already sliding his hands down your ass to grope it roughly when the doorbell rings.

“Son of a bitch! Can a man not have dirty sex on his car with his girl on a Sunday morning?”

Reluctantly shoving you off his lap Dean gets up, but not without having a good look at your ass in one of his boxers. “Love you are wearing one of my shirts, Sweetheart.”

While you give Dean a wink, already walking toward the kitchen when he opens the door, your boyfriend freezes. Someone he didn’t want to see after getting the invitation leans against his doorframe.

“Did you get my invitation?” Sam looks over Dean’s shoulder to get a glimpse of you only in your panties and one of Dean’s shirts. An unreadable look on his face Sam watches you place a tray onto the table.

If Sam would be honest, he would admit that deep down inside he had hoped that you and Dean broke up. That his elder brother was only a rebound guy to you but here you are, beautiful as ever, maybe even more beautiful while you are wearing the wrong man’s shirt.

“I got it like three days ago.” Not giving away he’s disappointed, hurt even, Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

“Won’t you let me in?” Sam’s eyes are still glued to you when Dean clears his throat and you look at him, recognizing Sam lusting over you. “Dean?”

“I have to discuss this with my girlfriend before I let you in. We invite people…together.” The door closes and you can’t stop the snorts leaving your lips.

“So…we invite people together now, Babe?” Dean shrugs, glancing at your exposed legs, suddenly too aware of what his brother was staring at the whole time.

“How about I change into something less revealing and you can talk to your brother. I’ll stay in the bedroom…”

“My girlfriend will not hide in a room to avoid my brother. If you want me to attend his wedding and let him in, you’ll stay by my side. Sam can’t come here and ruin our Sunday morning rituals only as he wants me to attend his shitty wedding.” A smile on your lips your cup Dean’s face to kiss him softly.

“I’ll change and we can have breakfast. Thanks to you, I don’t want to kill your brother any longer…” Pecking Dean’s lips again you smirk.

“Why?” While you walk toward your shared bedroom, sway in your hips you turn around to give Dean a wink. “Y/N?”

“I’ll tell you later, Dean. Now let your brother in as the ‘bend me over your car’ part ain’t off the table.” Dean nods eagerly, a dirty grin on his lips. “Love you, Babe.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart.” A love confession leaving his lips easily is something Dean never imagined before but here he is, head over heels for you, his brother’s ex-girlfriend…

“Rules.” Dean glances at the bedroom door, waits for you to come out while he makes sure Sam will behave. “No staring at my girl, no mentioning of your past or pulling shit like last time.”

“Okay…fine…” Sam licks his lips, hearing the door open.

“I mean it, Samuel.” Lump in his throat Sam looks at his brother. Dean never called him Samuel before, not a single time. Not when he found him after he left. Not at John’s burial.

“Y/N and I met without knowing you were her ex. Cut the crap and live with the fact that your ex-girlfriend, the one you dropped for Jess, is my best girl now.”

Dean’s eyes follow Sam’s when you step out of the bedroom. Both men look you all over, drink your outfit in while you only have eyes for Dean. Wearing shorts, a crop top, and no shoes you walk toward Sam, offering your hand with a faked smile.

“Samuel. What brings you into our simple home?” Your smile turns cold. You saw the look on Sam’s face. Dean is a simple guy, doesn’t need fancy furniture, just like you.

All you needed to feel comfortable in his apartment was a few fluffy pillows, a new mattress, and decorative crap – as Dean calls the fairies on the bookshelf or the colorful vase you placed onto the kitchen counter.

“Y/N…” Sam chokes out watching you sit next to his brother, not him. Dean’s hand places yours onto his thigh and you smile at the gentle gesture.

“I…I wanted to say I am sorry for the way I ended our relationship and my reaction the last time we met here.”

“What’s past is past, Samuel. If I am completely honest, our relationship never fulfilled me.” You can see Sam’s face fall when you lean your head against Dean’s shoulder. “I have to thank you for treating me like trash.”

Sam looks at you, surprised by your words. “Thank me? I don’t think I understand…”

“Well, without you acting like an idiot I would’ve never met my soulmate, the man loving me the way I am, Sam. Without you, I would’ve never gone to a bar to get drunk and forget I wasted years on a man not loving me enough to support my dreams.”

Your words are like daggers to Sam’s heart, but he must admit – he brought it upon himself.

“So…thank you, Sam.” Your smile is genuine now and it makes Sam realize, you mean what you said. Dean is the man holding your hand, and he’s the person getting to see you smile. “I hope you are as happy as I am about your decision to end us.”

“Yeah…uh—ahem. I am happy, very happy.” Sam is not very convincing but you let it slip as you don’t want to cause trouble between Dean and his brother.

“That’s the reason I am here, to be honest. We need confirmation that you will attend our wedding.”

Hopefully, almost desperate Sam looks at his elder brother, the last family he’s got left. “I don’t know if you want a Winchester at your wedding.” Dean tries to control his anger and disappointment, tries to ignore Sam did not name his father.

“You’re mad about the names on the invitation…I get it.” While Dean squeezes your hand, you try to encourage him to let his frustration out.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if your brother, the only family you have left not only changed his surname but also pretended for years to have no family. Then he sends you an invitation to his wedding and doesn’t even name his father…”

You tried to keep your mouth shut but you saw the hurting in Dean’s eyes and just can’t stop your tongue from slipping. “That was low, Samuel. Even if you and your father didn’t get along well, you could’ve named him. He wasn’t a monster, only a man on a mission…”

“A possessive bastard.” Sam retorts and Dean gives him a warning glare. “He wasn’t a father, rather a drill sergeant.”

“Yes, he was. John Winchester was a possessive bastard, determined to find his wife’s murderer. And yes, he wanted us to become cops, but this isn’t a reason to change your surname. You did it as mom’s family was wealthy and dad was just…”

“Simple…” You whisper.

“He was a simple man, found happiness in simple things like watching his son become a lawyer.

You know, he was there and watched you from afar as he knew, just like me, that he wasn’t allowed to be a part of your life. When he called you, it was out of desperation to see his son one last time before cancer killed him.”

Huffing Dean looks at the invitation, and his hands shake when he opens the card. “Not even now you can give him a tiny bit of respect, Sammy. All dad wanted was for you to forgive him. If you would’ve come here only once, you…”

“He was stubborn. Dad would’ve never forgiven me for not following his lead. He wanted me to become a cop.” Sam talks back and Dean, well Dean drops the invitation.

“John Winchester was a stubborn man, a proud one but, he would have apologized to you for the pressure he put on you. With his last breath, he said two things.” Dean is close to tears and you need to squeeze his thigh to help him bring the words out he told you months ago.

“Dad, he said that he loves me and that he’s proud calling me his son and then he said I shall tell you that he’s sorry. That he wishes he could’ve said goodbye. His last word was Sammy and then he was gone…”

“He did…” Choking on his words Sam tries to read his brother's expression but over the years, he lost his brother, just like his father. Now a foreign man sits in front of him with watery eyes and Sam can only blame himself.

“I shouldn’t come to your wedding, Sammy. I know you did it out of…I got no clue why you did it but…” Dean gives his brother a sad smile when he places the invitation into his hands.

“You will be happier if you keep on pretending, I never existed, just like dad. There will be so many people you are genuinely interested in, you won’t need me – the brother you didn’t want any longer, at your wedding.”

“Dean, please don’t say things like that. I left because of dad…not you.” Sam tries one last time, but Dean laughs bitterly.

“Odd. Last time I checked you didn’t contact me since dad died and even before, you did not waste a single thought at me. Go ahead, live your life and keep me out of your family, as I am a Winchester and you aren’t…according to your invitation.” Storming out of the room Dean slam the door shut behind him.

“That wasn’t the best result…” Sam sighs deeply, still holding the invitation in his hands. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Dean…is he more than a rebound guy to you? Do you love him?” Surprised you look at Sam, meet his hazel eyes for the first time since he entered your home. “Y/N?”

“Yes. Dean is so much more than a rebound guy, Sam.” Smiling you look at Dean who reenters the room. “Dean is the right guy. The one I was looking for…”

“The right guy…” Dean mumbles.

“I know that I can’t force you to come to my wedding, Dean but please rethink your decision. There’s still time and I don’t need an answer today.”

Placing the invitation and a card with his phone number onto the table Sam looks hopefully at his brother.

“I know that I messed up big time, Dean but the invitation wasn’t my idea. Jess ordered them, just like everything else and I just saw dad wasn’t on it... She believed it’s the right thing to do to avoid questions…”

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll think about it, Sammy. Let me think about it and I’ll call you next weekend. If you can wait that long.” Sam nods, even get up to hug Dean tightly.

“I hope you will come. I need you at my wedding, brother.” Sniffling you look at Dean who doesn’t know how to act around his brother. “Please…”

“I will call you, promised…”

Part 3

SPN Forever Tags

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--------------------------------------

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2

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285 notes · View notes

sigillaria-svt · 3 years

Text

Elevator Meetings (Part Two) - Seokmin

Pairing: Musical Actor!Lee Seokmin/DK x Academic!Reader

Word Count: 3,158

Warning: None

Genres: fluff, slice of life, neighbors, innocently heart-struck Seokmin, appearances of other Seventeen Members, Wingman!Mingyu

Part One (Reader POV): [Part One]

Part Three (Reader POV): [Part Three]

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪��▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Synopsis: After you watched his stage performance for the first time, Lee Seokmin has started to become closer to you as a neighbor. Ever since then, he has enjoyed your company. How will the rest of his members react when they realize that perhaps Seokmin may be seeing you more than just an ordinary neighbor living a few floors down?

SEOKMIN

Seokmin puts his phone down on the table as the rest of his friends order food. Everyone was there, except for Lee Jihoon who was currently working on making a new song, and Wen Junhui who had gone to China for some business schedules.

Jeonghan looks over Seokmin’s shoulder, ready to tease him as he always does. “Who are you texting with such a wide smile on your face?”

“No one, just a neighbor.” He replies, quickly picking up his chopsticks to divert Jeonghan’s attention to the food.

“When I text my neighbors, I don’t smile like that.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I barely even text my neighbors, to begin with. Come on, there’s really no need to be shy about it. We’re way past the age to be shy over our feelings.”

“Ah, is this the reason why you kept looking at us back at the theatre while you were on stage?” Mingyu says as he turns over a piece of meat on the grill.

“No, no, that’s not it,” Seokmin says defensively. “I swear, she’s just a neighbor. I helped her out when she was having a problem with moving her stuff and simply asked her to come to the play, that’s all.”

Yoon Jeonghan shakes his head, but smiles. He knows that this wasn’t the first time Seokmin had small unconscious crushes on people. In fact, it happens quite often, but it rarely turns into anything serious with all the hectic schedules that Seokmin has as a musical actor. Even when the other guys try to ask him about it, he always innocently says that they were nothing more than just a friend, even when everyone else sees otherwise.

“Alright, alright, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Says Boo Seungkwan, who sits right across Seokmin. They immediately move on to another topic and the rest of the story remains unmentioned for the rest of the night.

Seokmin, on the other hand, can’t help but think about it.

When they get back home to their apartment, he stares at his phone for several minutes. He looks at your contact page over and over, enjoying the sound of your name as it plays over and over in his head.

“Do I really?” He says to himself as he rolls over to his side. He tries to think it over once again. “It’s too early, right?”

“Who are you talking to?” Minghao asks, who happens to be sitting right next to him on the other couch.

Seokmin rolls over to face his friend. “Minghao, do I really?”

“Do you really what?”

“Do I really, you know?” Seokmin put his hands up, trying to express his thoughts in words. Minghao looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “You get what I mean, right?”

“No, I absolutely don’t.”

Seokmin gets up, deciding that it would be better to sleep this off instead. He thought that perhaps he was just a bit tired; maybe his racing thoughts would be over the moment he wakes up the next morning.

And yet, when the sun rose, the thought had not left him. That’s when he started to go out at the same time of 7 AM each day, even when there wasn’t any work to do at that time to perhaps get the chance to somehow run into you again along the apartment elevators. Each day, Seokmin would return to his apartment, visibly discouraged in the eyes of his members, but not to himself. Around the next week, he tried to look for your social media accounts but found only a single account filled with pictures of plants. He wasn’t so sure if it was you, or if it was just someone who shared the same name.

Seokmin is in the living room, unconsciously shaking his leg as he waits for you to accept his friend request. Mingyu steps out of the bathroom with a towel over his wet hair. Grabbing a drink from the fridge, he leans over Seokmin.

“What are you doing this time?” He asks, used to seeing the sight of a flustered Seokmin for the past week.

“Shh, this is important,” Seokmin says, eyes still glued to the screen.

“You know that she may not be on her phone right now, right?” Mingyu says, taking a sip of his soda. “It’s not like she’s going to respond faster if you stare at your phone like that.”

“Huh? It’s not like I’m waiting for her to respond.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Seokmin puts his phone aside and drops his hands to the pillows beside him. “You’re right, what am I doing?”

Mingyu decides to take a seat next to his friend. The last time he was like this was two years ago, when he started to have a crush on one of the waitresses at a restaurant that they frequently went to. Back then, they went to the same restaurant for 10 days in a row before Seokmin realized that he was attracted to her. Unfortunately, she changed jobs and they have never met again ever since.

It wasn’t that Seokmin didn’t feel anything--it was just that he was a bit slow at realizing his feelings himself.

“What’s her name? What’s gotten you so interested in her?” Mingyu asks, putting one arm over the back of the couch.

“Well it’s not that I’m really interested, I mean, I met her just a week ago, but her name is Y/N. It has a nice ring to it right?” He says with an innocent smile. “Oh, she’s a teacher! Maybe teaches about plants? All her photos are about plants so maybe she’s into that.”

Mingyu simply nods with pursed lips as he takes another sip.

“And well, she lives on the 8th floor below us... and well, she was moving her things on her own.” Seokmin tried to check his phone again, but you hadn’t accepted his request yet. “I mean, who tries to move ten boxes by themselves up to the eighth floor? We had to move it one by one because we didn’t have those wheely things with us.”

Seokmin narrates the entire story of what happened on that day to Mingyu, who responds with the occasional nod or “Uhuh”. Although it was a series of short encounters, Seokmin manages to relay it as if it were more exciting than it actually was.

“So, what do you think?” Seokmin asks once he was finally able to end the entire narrative.

Mingyu shakes his head as he drinks the last drop of his soda. “I think you’re thinking too much and moving too less.” Mingyu lightly taps the empty can on Seokmin’s leg. “Don’t you remember the waitress two years ago? The event host from three years ago? Or even the class president back when we were in high school? What do they all have in common?”

“They were all... girls?” Seokmin tilts his head, trying to understand what Mingyu was trying to get to.

“You all fell for them at first sight but never made a move for weeks until you either forgot that you had a crush on them, or you never came across them ever again.” Mingyu sighs in frustration. “We’ve been through this, come on, give me your phone.”

“For what?” He says while handing over his phone.

“Ask her to have a meal with you. Don’t neighbors eat together every once in a while?” Mingyu replies, quickly heading over to the texting app. He types in two sentences before passing it over to Seokmin.

“Hey, y/n!!! How are you? Do you want to eat out sometime? It’s on me, think of it as a housewarming gift~ ^^ ” Seokmin reads out loud. “No, no, I definitely can’t send something like this. What if she thinks I’m feeling too close to her?”

“We’ll worry about it once we get there.” Mingyu leans over and hits send, all to Seokmin’s surprise. He hurriedly tries to keep the message from sending, but it’s too late.

“Mingyu!” Seokmin whines as he shakes his friend back and forth. He immediately stops when he hears the familiar ding of his phone at the arrival of a new message. “I don’t want to open it! I don’t want to open it!”

“We’ve taken a step forward, we can’t go back right now.” Mingyu grabs the phone and opens up the message himself. “See? She’s totally fine with it.”

Mingyu holds the phone right in front of Seokmin’s face, his eyes quickly going over your reply.

“Sure, when and where?”

▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫

Seokmin and Mingyu sit at a table in one of the Japanese restaurants just a few minutes away from SC University where you work at. Seokmin managed to pull Mingyu along with him despite his argument that Seokmin should go alone. After a compromise to pay for his meal in exchange for his company, Mingyu reluctantly sits next to Seokmin.

“You’ll pay for whatever I order tonight, right?” He asks, eyes glossing over the wide menu. “Just asking to make sure.”

“Yes, I will. For sure. Just don’t leave me alone, okay?” Seokmin replies, leaning in and speaking in a small voice. “I’ll even order that cooking set you’ve always wanted.”

Mingyu happily nods, satisfied at the additional offers. Moments later, you arrive at the venue, still bringing along your bag containing your laptop and another set of papers to look through.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. We had a presentation that went on for a little longer than I had expected.” Y/N says. She takes a seat across the two men, raising her eyebrows as her eyes land on Mingyu.

“Hey, weren’t you at the theatre last week?” Mingyu says, earning a flustered look from Y/N.

She gives him a small wave. “Yes, hello. It’s nice to meet you, again. My name is Y/N, I live a few floors down Seokmin’s apartment.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mingyu says straightforwardly. Seokmin hits his knee slightly, making Mingyu jump a bit. “I wanted to tag along, so Seokmin told me about it. My name is Kim Mingyu, call me Mingyu.”

With an unreadable expression, she nods. “Ah, I see. By the way, Seokmin, are you sure that you’re fine with paying for me? I mean... this isn’t exactly the cheapest place in town, you know.”

Seokmin gives a wide smile. “No, no, it’s alright.” Seokmin hands Y/N a menu from the side of the table. “Really, order anything you like. We eat here a lot, their food is really good.”

Despite Seokmin’s slight awkwardness, Mingyu manages to move the conversation enough to create some small talk about work and life at the apartment. Apparently, Y/N’s roommates had just moved in, and work had gotten busier now that students are starting to pass their outputs for their final requirements. By the time the food arrives, the conversation had become natural enough for it to happen between Seokmin and Y/N without Mingyu’s need to become an emcee.

Sensing the situation, Mingyu decides to hurriedly finish his food and make a random excuse of needing to quickly head over to work. Out of their sight, Mingyu texts Minghao to call him quickly. With the acting skills acquired from years of being Seokmin’s practice partner at home, Mingyu picks up Minghao’s call.

“Hey, Mr. Jeon. What is it?” He says. Seokmin looks over to Mingyu, but his plan to ditch them hasn’t become apparent to him yet. “I’m eating right now, but I guess I could help out a bit. What’s wrong? What? Really? Right now?”

Although he says this, Minghao is completely unaware of the other side of the call.

“Alright, I’ll be there in a bit,” Mingyu says before quickly turning off the screen of his phone. He gives Seokmin an apologetic look. “Hey, I’m sorry but I really have to go. Apparently, something is going on at work and I need to go there in a rush.”

Y/N gives a nod of understanding, while Seokmin had just understood what Mingyu was trying to do.

“Are you going to be alright? You just finished your meal.” She asks.

“It’ll be fine, my workplace is nearby.” He gets up and picks up the coat that he had laid on the back of his chair. “I’ll see you later at the apartment, Seokmin. So sorry I had to go early this time.”

Seokmin sits there with his mouth open, looking at Mingyu as he quickly moves out of the restaurant. In a few moments, Seokmin received a message from that same friend.

“Fighting :*”

“I hope they’re okay. It seemed like it was really urgent.” Y/N says, picking up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks and dipping it in soy sauce.

Seokmin gives a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s just the kind of work that he does.” Now that Mingyu is gone, Seokmin’s thoughts are a mess. “By the way, I sent you a friend request.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you? I wasn’t really able to check, today was a pretty hectic day. I’ll make sure to check it when I get home.” Y/N gives him a small smile. “Is Mingyu one of your roommates?”

“Yeah, I live with four other people. Well, all in all, we’re a group of thirteen friends that just live in separate apartments in one building.” Seokmin replies, trying his best to brave through the situation. “I know it’s difficult to imagine, but all thirteen of us lived in one apartment at one point.”

For the rest of the night, Seokmin and Y/N talk about anything that could possibly pop into their heads. At first, it was a mumble of random topics with the occasional awkward silence, which eventually turned into an exchange of laughter as Seokmin acts out his best scenes so far. Near the end of the night, it becomes a sentimental talk about work and living away from family members.

“I get what you mean. Throughout my career, I had to live away from my family too.” Seokmin says, taking a sip of water as he swallows his final bite. “Although my family is from the city, I had to move in with the other guys when I was in high school to prepare for my acting career.”

“That’s tough. I can’t imagine living away from my family at that age. I mean, up until now I still call my brother from time to time to ask for help in fixing things around the house.” Y/N purses her lips. “My roommates are always so busy, their workloads are literally two times heavier than mine, so I rarely get the time to go out with friends.”

Y/N looks up at Seokmin with the most genuine look.

“Thanks, for asking me to come out with you today. It helps a lot.” She says, and all of the sudden, Seokmin is completely soft.

“Woah, the mood just went... Well... I just, If it helps you, then I’m happy to help out any time.” Seokmin replies, taken aback for a second time by Y/N’s sincerity. Seokmin checks his watch, seeing that it’s already halfway past 10 PM. “We should get home. The restaurant will close in a bit, anyway.”

She nods in return and the both of you head out, taking the next bus toward your apartment building. For the duration of the ride, both of you stay silent as you sit next to each other. Both of you enter the elevator, tapping both your cards to access the higher floors. When the elevator stops on the 7th floor, Y/N gives Seokmin her final greetings for the night.

“Good night, Seokmin. See you again next time.” She says before finally turning to her apartment door at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, Seokmin arrives at his own apartment with an eager Mingyu waiting in the living room, managing to pull with him a tired Minghao. Seokmin stares at him, not sure whether to thank him or to get angry at him.

“So, how was it?” Mingyu asks with a glimmer in his eyes.

“You’re really crazy, Kim Mingyu,” Seokmin replies flatly. “But it was good.”

The two stare at each other before the two of them burst out in jumps of excitement. “I did it, I did it! I can’t believe I did it! Wah, I’ve been holding this in for hours.” Seokmin says, running over to hold Mingyu by the shoulders.

“See? You can do it if you actually try! I’m so proud of you, you’re finally managing to get through it.” Mingyu says, ruffling Seokmin’s hair.

“Is this the reason why you asked me to call you earlier?” Minghao asks with a judging expression on his face. “I swear--”

“Yeah, but it all went well, so it’s good, right?” Mingyu cuts him off in excitement.

“Hey, tone it down!” Boo Seungkwan shouts from his room. “Geez!”

The two men immediately zip, but not without a fit of small laughs and giggles. “Look at you, Lee Seokmin, finally getting over the unconscious crush curse,” Mingyu says quietly, albeit with the exact same excitement.

“Oh man, what am I going to do? My heart won’t stop beating fast.” Seokmin says, trying to calm himself down. “Minghao, what do I do?”

Minghao shakes his head. “So long as you’re happy, do whatever you want. I’m going to head off to bed first, I’ve got a schedule early tomorrow.”

With that, Minghao returns to his room, shortly followed by Seokmin and Mingyu after Seokmin promised to tell them about the other details the next day.

While on his bed, Seokmin receives a notification telling him that Y/N had accepted his friend request. It was then that he found out that although Y/N didn’t post much on her wall, she was rather active on her My Day’s. With a tap, many things about her day pop out, including her meal with Seokmin and Mingyu. The picture was of the two guys eating, with a small “thank you” caption at the bottom.

Seokmin takes a quick screenshot and closes his phone for the night. It was more than enough to lighten his mood, and surely a great memory for him. It was his first time ever making a move after years of never acting upon his feelings for someone.

Some people might see it as a quick rush of emotion, but to him, it was a wave of something new that he wanted to cherish. There was something different with her sincerity--although he heard people compliment him many times throughout his life, it was just then that it felt really, really real to him. At first, Seokmin merely thought of her as admirable in trying to move all her things by herself, but with her sincere words after the stage play, he was hooked.

For that, he was greatly thankful.

That night, Seokmin slept well for the first time in a long time.

▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫ Part Three (Final) : [Part Three]

#svt fanfic #DK #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #DK x reader #Lee Dokyeom x Reader #Lee Seokmin x Reader #Lee Seokmin #Lee Dokyeom #seventeen fic #kim mingyu #I can't believe I'm actually writing fanfic after so many years

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tehyunqs · 4 years

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓 — 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑂𝑁𝐸

HEART OUT in which an angel is sent down to earth to change the reckless ways of the boy she was assigned to protect before his time runs out. ( a kim taehyung au )

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: foul language, toxic masculinity, mentions of hell, etc. . . .

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: hello! uh, wattpad sucks and people on there don’t give a shit about my work, so i thought that i’d come back to tumblr just to give it a second try! hope you enjoy this little series :’)))

the moment God told eden her last mission before finally becoming one with the archangels she knew it would be almost impossible to accomplish it. the person she'd been assigned to guard didn't quite turn out the way she hoped. the little boy who always talked about becoming a lawyer to help his single-mother out disappointed her greatly when he turned into everything she feared. sure, he became successful in the educational and career fields and was the youngest CEO of a very rich and famous enterprise. but he was very empty inside.

drugs, the never ending one-night stands, the selfishness, his egotistical, conceited mind and personality. eden felt ashamed of herself because it was as if like she wasn't any good at her job. sure she sometimes made sure that the right people crossed his path and twisted things around so they'd go his way, but no matter what she did, he always made the wrong decisions.

so the angel gave her father a determined nod and furrowed her brows, attempting to look as serious as ever, but ended up mimicking a cute bunny trying to be mad. "you got it, dad." he sent her down to the earth and within his heart, he knew eden would be able to complete her mission; change the boy's heart.

the girl landed face first on a large, rural area.

"ow." came a muffled groan from her lips.

eden placed her palms on the ground and lifted the top half of her body up to look around at her surroundings. "you could've been a little nicer on the landing!" she called out to the sky, knowing her father could hear her. eden stood up and softly sighed when she looked down and saw her white dress covered in dirt.

all of a sudden, as she occupied herself in patting the brown particles off, a loud, startling rumble was heard in the sky, causing the girl to shriek and jump in surprise.

she lifted her hands up in surrender and looked back up at the dark sky. "dang, okay, my bad."

the angel's eyes scanned her surroundings. she could make out a large farm house on the other side of the field with a strip of wind turbines behind it. there was a dirt road in front of it as well.

"follow the road, eden." she nodded her head and obliged as white combat boots lead their owner across the grass to the road.

kim taehyung was at his favorite bar with the bad influences he's proud to call friends. he was on his eighth glass of the strongest whiskey the bar had to offer as he and his buddies listened intently to steven jeong's absurd mentality.

"i'm leaving areum." he announced all of a sudden. as the two other men beside him raised their eyebrows in curiosity, tae, in his expensive black & white suit and tie, leaned back to stretch his glass out towards the bartender for another drink. once he was given what he asked for, he settled back into his seat with eyes glued onto the talking man.

"i don't know, man. she just got annoying. being around her makes me feel. . . ." steven's mildly drunken mind tried to search for the right word to describe his feelings, but shrugged his shoulders when he received nothing. "i don't even know anymore. . . . she got fat. doesn't look like she did when we first met."

"i mean she did give birth three times." park jimin tried to defend the woman. steven ignored jimin's justification, but mentally told him off.

"the other day i was sitting on the couch, right? just watching t.v. and she walks in, telling me to go wash the dishes and sweep the kitchen. i get home after a long day from work. i want to relax. and she expects me to do her job? that shit doesn't fly with me."

tae and another friend of theirs began mumbling in response, nodding their heads, except for jimin, who could only shake his.

"so, you're throwing away two years of marriage over cleaning and because she's not "hot" anymore?" jimin scoffed. steven clenched his jaw as he abruptly turned to face him.

steven stood up from his seat. "hey, stop making it sound like i'm the asshole, alright?"

"i'm not gonna cover it up." jimin declared with his arms raised defense. "how else am i supposed to make it sound like?"

"not make me sound like an asshole!"

"you're a fucking piece of shit." jimin grumbled under his breath.

"hey, taehyung, why'd you invite this bum, anyway? i've told you hundreds of time i don't like him." steven turned to look at tae with his hand pointed towards jimin and an accusatory expression.

it was a first jimin heard something like this from him. of course, he's always noticed how uneasy and annoyed steven feels when he's around but he never said anything to his face. the alcohol triggered something in him.

"let it go, steven." taehyung groaned in response.

"always such a fucking buzzkill, man!"

off to the side, a random man turned around and pleaded steven to take it outside. "my night isn't about to be ruined by some punks."

long story short, after a few more rude exchanges, a large brawl broke out between greg mendel, the other friend, the annoyed man, and his friends. not wanting to be a part of this, a small smile spread across tae's face when he managed to slip out unnoticed without a single scratch.

the man sat back down in the back of the bar, making sure to take a seat significantly far from the large fight—which was now slowly coming to an end as big security men began to pull them apart from each other. taehyung chuckled and looked down at the floor with a shake of his head, shaking his head. once he was finally looking up again, his eyes landed on a beautiful brunette woman who danced the night away. he instantly become intrigued by her. his eyes roamed her body and moves, feeling a small shiver run down his spine at the sight of her in a tight black dress that stopped at mid-thigh.

the girl suddenly locked eyes with him. her eyes followed his hand, and she watched as his fingers wrap around the transparent cup, the golden watch on his wrist impossible not to notice. she sent him a shy smile as she pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear, and in return the side of tae's lips curled upwards.

eden was currently sitting in taehyung's living room after four hours of nonstop walking. she would've used her wings to fly and it definitely would've taken much shorter to arrive, but God rid her of her angelic powers before sending her down for some unknown reason to eden.

her eyes roamed around his expensive penthouse and she couldn't help but shake her head in disappointment.

kim taehyung had everything, but not everything.

the sound of keys desperately trying to unlock the door caught eden's attention as she leaned back on the couch with her head turned towards the door. she then decided to rest her arm on the top of the couch.

the sight of a familiar man and an unknown woman entered the room with their hands and lips all over each other.

nothing unusual for taehyung.

it wasn't long before eden made herself present when her chirpy voice spoke up in the dark, "hey, sweetie, do you want this to go anywhere?"

the engaged pair quickly pulled apart in shock and looked down at the sitting girl with confused expressions on their faces—but taehyung's was much worse.

"who the hell are you?!" he questioned in a panic, but his tone was more demanding.

"look," eden began and stood from the couch. "i know you want to wake up tomorrow with him by your side, and i know that you want this to go somewhere, but that's not gonna happen. you'll wake up alone with nothing but a note on the nightstand that reads 'hey, i had a fun time. let's meet up some other time. call me'. because this sir here," eden pointed her finger at tae. "left for work and he doesn't care about you. he used you."

"you'll be calling, and calling, but he won't pick up. ever. trust me, it happens every single time a girl walks in through that door. so, unless you want to waste your time, i suggest you go on your merry way." eden concluded with a grin.

the girl looked between the beautiful angel and taehyung, who had an uneasy smile plastered onto his face with raised brows. "um...." the girl nervously began. ".... i'll go on my merry way."

"have a good life." she waved goodbye before walking out the door.

"wise choice!" eden grinned once the door slammed shut and raised her arms out in front of her a tiny bit. "proud of you!"

taehyung turned to look at the stranger with the same confused and horrified expression from before. "again, who the hell are you?! i'm—i'm calling the police if you—"

"i, eden, am your guardian angel." she introduced herself as she took a small bow, leaving the boy a hundred times more confused.

"are you—are you serious? you're being serious right now?!"

"uh, yeah, man, i've been watching over you since december 30th, 1995." the nervous boy reached into his pocket for his phone, and shook his head as his long fingers shakily pressed the green icon at the bottom of the screen.

"you're crazy!" he laughed. "i'm—" before taehyung had the chance to dial the police, the phone suddenly exploded and flew across the room. "wha—"

eden looked up at the roof of the house and pressed her hands on the side of her mouth, giving the impression of a megaphone. "thanks, dad! i really appreciate it!"

"okay, that was weird." he stated with furrowed brows, finger pointing at the shattered phone on the floor.

"here's the deal, tae. . . . your time is running out. you’re gonna die in a few years." taehyung's eyes widened at the words being thrown around like nothing.

"wait, wha—"

"and you exactly didn't turn out the way i expected you to turn out. you see, God created the Ten Commandments for you humans to follow, and go to heaven. you've broken every single one of them. even murder because although you didn't kill anyone physically, the things you say to others are not exactly the nicest."

"like the girl who asked you out a few weeks ago, and you laughed in her face, and said no because she looks like a cow...." taehyung's lips formed an o shaped when he realized she was telling the truth about being a guardian angel.

"yeah, you killed her self esteem. and that girl is now starving herself because of you."

an awkward silence followed soon after as tae's eyes fell to the ground in shame. he began to regret his words.

"also didn't expect you to commit adultry." eden inquired as she placed on her arms on either side of her waist. this made taehyung wish she'd stop rubbing his mistakes in his face already. "shame on you and that—at the time—married lady."

eden placed the palm of her hand on her forehead as she rested the other on her hip in disappointment. she sighed before looking up at the roof of the penthouse. "God, what did i do wrong?" she questioned helplessly.

"anyways," she waved her hand in front of taehyung, dismissively. "um, so you need to change before you die, because you're gonna go down...."

the girl stepped closer to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder as the other occupied itself by pointing down at the ground. "there." she whispered, slowly nodding.

a lump formed in the back of tae's throat. he cautiously watched as eden took a few steps back and he couldn't help but feel a bit frightened when memories of a few of his sins began to linger into his mind.

"i've known you your whole life. it kills me to see you do all these things. the drugs, the one-night stands, how highly you think of yourself. you need to be humble. i don't know what i'm going to do with myself if i'm not able to help you save yourself from your possible fate."

eden once again walked up to tae and placed both of her hands on his shoulders, raising her head up a bit to meet eyes with the frightened boy.

she smiled up at him with the most humble eyes he'd ever seen. "i'm going to figure your heart out."

masterlist

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silverlightqueen · 4 years

Text

Teacher’s Pet

‘if I pass this quiz, will you give me your babies?’

little body, big heart masterlist

teacher!seokjin x student!reader - smut, fluff, angst, humour

Word count: 15.9k+

Summary - Peach sets her sights on her new Food and Nutrition teacher, and enlists the help of her friends to seduce him...

Warnings - bad language, mention of drugs and alcohol, teacher x student, age difference, oral sex (m and f receiving), cock-warming (but in her mouth lol), public sex (maybe, idk lol), fingering, degradation, underwear sniffing (lmaooo), gagging, pussy slapping, ‘sir’, I think that’s it, lmk if I’ve missed anything pls

a/n: the first instalment of the ‘little body, big heart’ series !! unedited as usual lmao but I hope y’all like this, and lmk if you wanna be added to the masterlist x

taglist: @jintendoswitch @atulipandarose

silverlightqueen masterlist

‘Peach!’ I hear from behind me, turning to look down the corridor, spotting Daisy and Dream walking towards me. ‘Hey, girls,’ I say as they near me, hugging the two of them. ‘Hey, babe,’ Daisy says, pushing her glasses up to sit stop her head, handbag resting in the crook of her elbow. ‘You’re in Mr Kim’s lesson this morning too, right?’ Dream asks, and I nod, the girl grinning. ‘Good! Let’s go now,’ Dream says excitedly, Daisy rolling her eyes.

‘What for? The lesson doesn’t start for another ten minutes.’ ‘Don’t you wanna get seats together?’ Dream says, and Daisy lets out a gentle laugh. ‘Dream, we’ll get seats together even if we show up late. I’ll make sure of it,’ she replies, before turning on her heel. ‘Let’s go get a drink from the cafeteria,’ she calls over her shoulder, Dream hurrying after her, and I follow behind them both, taking my time.

My shiny black school shoes (with a slight heel on them) squeak against the checked linoleum floor, pastel pink and baby blue. Everything at this school is pastel pink and baby blue; the dormitories, the classrooms, the walls, the floor, the cafeteria, our uniforms. Though, I won’t complain about the uniforms; they are kinda cute.

The pleated check skirt is supposed to be loose and long, but my friends and I have tightened ours, rolling them up so they reach mid-thigh. The white blouse is supposed to be thick and long-sleeved, but my friends and I have thin short-sleeved ones, fitted to accentuate our assets. The pink and blue check blazer is supposed to be long and shapeless, but my friends and I have all cropped ours to our waists and bought a size too small. The white socks are supposed to be knee high and thick, but my friends and I wear ankle socks with a lace frill on them.

Whilst everyone else looks like conservative nuns, we look like we’ve just stepped out of Clueless, and as much as the teachers hate it, there’s nothing they can do; it’s not like we can go and get new clothes from the uniform shop in the city when we’re miles and miles away from it. And it’s not like we have time to travel there, what with lessons on Monday through Saturday, Sunday our only day off.

This school is like a prison. I guess that’s what it is though; a prison for naughty children. It’s a reform school, for anyone in the school years K-12, hence the ridiculously creative name (note my sarcasm there, please). We’re all in the final term of our final year, some of us having been here longer than others. I’ve been here since ninth year, Honey since ninth, Sunshine since tenth, Pearl since ninth, Daisy since eighth, Angel since tenth and Dream since eleventh.

We’ve all been sent here for very different reasons. I was caught shoplifting a designer handbag, and then they discovered my eBay account, selling hundreds of (stolen) designer items that I had stashed under my bed. Honey got into a fight with a girl at her old school and put her into a coma (she’s still in one, apparently). Sunshine was caught doing drugs with her ex-boyfriend. Pearl was caught selling drugs with her ex-boyfriend. Daisy was caught in bed with a boy years older than her (he still phones her sometimes). Angel flunked her ninth year because she ditched every other lesson to see her ex-boyfriend at the school down the road (the other school apparently thought she was one of their students because she was there that often). And Dream failed Chem (her parents are scientists and they took it a little… deep).

That’s our little friendship group, the pretty and popular girls that everyone hates. But we’re honestly not that bad. We can just come across as exclusive, but it’s only because we’re so close. We’re like sisters; we know everything about each other. Well, nearly everything.

We don’t know each other’s’ real names; the school gives all the girls a new name when we arrive, to help with reformation apparently. We’re all called sickly sweet things, like Princess, Buttercup, Honeybun, Sweetie. You name it, someone’s called it. They’re supposed to reflect the way we should behave; ladylike, elegant and graceful (what’s elegant about Peach, I don’t know, but whatever). The boys don’t have to have new names though. It’s just one of the very many double standards at this school. I think being out in the countryside means it’s light-years behind the rest of society. Our friendship group has changed that a little bit, though.

Some of the girls have boyfriends (which is totally against the rules), prompting some of the other girls in our year to do the same. Some of us have piercings and tattoos and false nails (don’t ask how Daisy managed to sneak in piercing and tattoo equipment). Honey smuggled hair-dye in with her, one colour for each of us (my hair’s peach, Honey’s is honey-blonde, Sunshine’s is bright blonde, Pearl’s is a silvery-grey, Daisy’s is a baby blue, Angel’s is platinum blonde and Dream’s is baby pink). Daisy brought loads of alcohol and Pearl brought loads of drugs, so we all get drunk or high every Saturday. If anything, the school’s made us worse.

As we enter the cafeteria, Sunshine and Angel call our names, waving at us from where they’re sat on our usual table in the corner with their boyfriends, Hoseok and Taehyung, and their boyfriends’ friends, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook. We head over to say hi, Daisy strutting over with her head held high, attempting to catch Jimin’s eye.

They’ve been on and off since Daisy arrived in eighth year (the boys have all been here since seventh year after they set their school on fire at the end of sixth year), but he’s come back after the holiday with a new girlfriend, much to Daisy’s dismay. It seems he still fancies her though, his eyes glued to her as we near the table.

‘Hey, guys,’ I say, everyone greeting us in return. ‘What do you guys have this morning?’ Angel asks, leaning against Taehyung. ‘Food and Nutrition with Mr Kim. What about you?’ Dream asks. ‘We’ve all got a free lesson. How amazing is that? I’m so having a lie-in every Monday morning,’ Sunshine says. ‘That’s so not fair,’ Daisy complains, voice a little softer in front of Jimin. ‘You shouldn’t have chosen such a terrible subject then,’ Namjoon says evenly, and I roll my eyes. ‘It’s not terrible; the old teacher was. Maybe Mr Kim will be better,’ I muse, the boys laughing.

‘What?’ Dream asks, and Hoseok raises an eyebrow. ‘Have you not seen him?’ he asks, all of us shaking our heads. ‘Let’s just say, you won’t be doing that much learning in his lesson. You’ll be too busy staring at his face,’ Hoseok says, and Daisy raises an eyebrow. ‘Is he good-looking?’ she asks, the boys nodding. ‘Someone needs to tell Mr Kim to watch out. Daisy’ll be trying to seduce him,’ Yoongi says, everyone laughing. ‘I do have a thing for older men,’ Daisy jokes, referring to her ‘reform’ story, as the school calls it (everyone is required to share their reform story with their first class on their first day), and we all burst out laughing, save for Jimin who looks less than amused.

‘I’m going to get a drink. Anyone want anything?’ Daisy asks, and I nod. ‘I’ll have my usual, please,’ I say, Dream asking for her usual too. Daisy sashays towards where the lunch ladies serve food, Jimin’s eyes watching her retreating figure. As soon as they spot her walking over, they plaster big smiles on their faces. No one wants to get on Daisy’s bad side; I feel sorry for Jimin’s girlfriend.

‘Where’re the other two of your little gang? Pearl and Honey?’ Namjoon asks. ‘Pearl doesn’t arrive ‘til tomorrow, and Honey had a 9am with Mrs Lee,’ Dream explains, the boys nodding. Dream’s fit into our group really well, becoming the innocent little baby that our group never head. I’m the mum friend, Honey’s the ‘will fight you if you’re rude to her friends’ friend, Sunshine’s the sunshine of the group (her name’s fitting), Pearl’s the clever friend, Daisy’s the promiscuous and glamorous troublemaker and Angel’s the romantic drama queen. We’re all so different, and that’s what brings us together.

‘I know I’ve said this before, but I love the hair, Peach. I’ve been thinking of going that colour soon,’ Taehyung says, and I smile. ‘Thanks, Tae. I’ve got some spare dye if you want it,’ I say, and Angel whines. ‘No, baby, I love your hair the way it is. The blue suits you,’ she says, and he rolls his eyes. ‘I’ve had it blue for months. It’s time for a change. I’ll have that dye if you don’t mind, Peach. When my roots start to show,’ Taehyung says, and I nod as Angel pouts, Daisy returning with our drinks.

I have a caramel frappe, Daisy has a mango and passionfruit smoothie and Dream has an iced vanilla latte. ‘Come on, let’s head to lesson. We’ll be late otherwise,’ I say, Daisy groaning, and I shake my head. ‘No, come on, no complaining. It’s our first day back, we can’t be late. Let’s go,’ I say firmly, ever the responsible friend, and we bid goodbye to our friends before heading to Mr Kim’s lesson.

We walk down the corridor, people parting for us to get through, as Daisy and Dream gossip about the latest scandal at the school (apparently Kai cheated on his girlfriend, Crystal, with the new girl, Dumpling), and I just listen, sipping on my drink. When we reach the lesson, there’s a minute left until 10.30 and the classroom is completely full. Daisy, eyes set on the desks at the back of the room, whispers, ‘watch this,’ to Dream and I.

Now, Daisy’s not a mean girl. But she’s manipulative. Where anyone else would go and tell those people to move from their seats, Daisy takes a different approach. ‘Oh, no. You were right, Dream, we should’ve come earlier. Now we can’t even sit together, let alone at the back like we wanted to,’ she whines loudly, lips pouted and eyes wide.

Instantly, the boy sat in the back middle seat gets up and prompts his friend in front of him and his friend to the left of him to do the same. ‘Here you go, ladies,’ he says, eyes on Daisy, who giggles, placing a hand on his chest as she passes him, taking his seat. I sit in the seat in front of Daisy, Dream sitting beside her, watching as the boys make the people in the row in front of us move so they can sit in those seats.

I’m placing my books and stationery onto the table when the door opens and the teacher walks in, the class falling completely silent as the door falls shut. I look up, intrigued at this man that the boys said is good-looking, and I have to actively stop my mouth from falling open. ‘Good morning, class. I’m Mr Kim, your new Food and Nutrition teacher. Sorry I’m late, I got a little lost. I’ll make sure I’m here before you all next week.’

He’s beautiful, his skin fair and clear, hair dark and swept back, revealing a slice of his forehead and dark eyebrows, lips plump and pink and glasses covering his chocolate brown eyes. He’s tall with wide shoulders, complemented by his black suit. ‘It’s lovely to meet you all. I thought we could begin today’s lesson with introductions rather than getting started with content straight away,’ he says as he sets himself up at the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, my eyes glued to him.

‘Peach,’ I hear Daisy hiss from behind me, and I turn to look at her, her face covered in shock when she spots the blush on my cheeks. ‘I was gonna ask if you think he’s hot, but you obviously do,’ she whispers with a smirk, and I feel my blush deepen, turning to face the front once more.

‘Let’s start with the introductions. I’d like to hear all of your names, and your… reform stories? That’s what the school calls them, right?’ he asks, all of us nodding. We go around the room, from front to back, Mr Kim listening with interest to all of the stories. When he reaches me, I will my voice not to crack, and I hear Daisy whisper, ‘confidence,’ from behind me.

‘Hi, Mr Kim. I’m Peach,’ I say, sounding like a different person to my own ears. It’s almost like Daisy’s possessed me or something. ‘Hi, Peach. I like the hair,’ he replies with a small smile, and I feel a rush of satisfaction at his words. ‘Thank you, Sir. I like yours too. Anyway,’ I say, not giving anyone enough time to dwell on my compliment to him before I move on, ‘I was sent here because I was caught shoplifting a Saint Laurent bag. And then my parents found all the other designer stuff hidden under my bed that I was reselling on eBay to make enough money to go to Glastonbury.’ Mr Kim looks like he’s trying not to laugh, nodding with a smile on his face. ‘Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you, Peach,’ he replies before moving onto the next student.

When he reaches Dream (complimenting her hair too – the compliment he gave me seems a little less genuine now), she says, ‘I failed Chem and my parents were angry because they both have Chemistry degrees,’ and he lets out a gentle laugh. ‘Oh, gosh. Well, the only thing you’re here for is to improve your Chemistry grade, right?’ he asks, and she nods. ‘I was great at Food and Nutrition, sir.’ ‘That’s perfect. Makes my life easier,’ he says, before moving on to Daisy.

‘Hi, Mr Kim. I’m Daisy,’ she flirts, and he smiles at her, already sussing out the kind of person she is. I try not to feel jealous, knowing Daisy’s a natural flirt, but the smile he gives her makes my heart twist with envy. Grow up, Peach. ‘Hi, Daisy,’ he replies amusedly, and she pouts. ‘Sir, you complimented Peach and Dream’s hair. Don’t you like mine?’ she asks teasingly, and he laughs. ‘I can’t be seen encouraging behaviour that is extremely against the rules. But, off the record, yes, Daisy, I do like your hair,’ he replies with a grin, and I know the girl is preening from the praise without even turning to look at her.

‘Thanks, sir. Anyway, I’m here because the teachers caught me having sex with a high school senior in the school changing rooms. When I was in seventh year,’ she says, the grin audible in her voice, and Mr Kim’s cheeks and ears blush slightly as she speaks. I know Daisy’s over the moon about having this effect on him, the smugness clear in her tone. For some reason, Daisy brags about her reform story, when it’s very clearly statutory rape. ‘Well, that’s an interesting one, Daisy,’ he replies, voice slightly strained, and Daisy grins. ‘I’m an interesting girl, sir,’ she replies, Mr Kim nodding before moving on to the last person in class.

The lesson continues, not eventful in the slightest, but I can’t help but chew on my pen as I listen to him speak, the plastic mangled by the time we’re halfway through the lesson. He’s just so captivating, the unique way in which he laughs, how he’s got such a broad and intimidating build but seems so… sweet and kind, how beautiful his face is.

As part of the curriculum for Food and Nutrition, we have to learn about drugs and alcohol, and how they can be detrimental to your health, and when Mr Kim starts talking about this part of the topic, Daisy decides it’s time to disrupt the lesson. ‘Marijuana’s terrible if you’re trying to lose weight, Sir,’ she says solemnly, the man turning to look at her amusedly. ‘And why’s that, Daisy?’ ‘Well, I don’t know about everyone, but it gives me the munchies. I eat everything in sight,’ she says lightly, everyone laughing at her open admission to smoking weed. To our brand-new teacher.

‘I’m not sure this is something you should be discussing with your teacher, Daisy,’ he says with thinly veiled amusement, failing to hold back the smile from his face. ‘It’s fine, Sir. You’re no snitch… right?’ she says softly, almost threateningly, and Mr Kim seems to pick up on that, shaking his head. ‘I was a kid once too, Daisy, not long ago,’ he replies.

‘How long ago, Sir?’ I ask, and he smiles at me. ‘Is that a polite way of asking how old I am?’ he asks, and I nod shyly, laughing. ‘I’m 22, so I would have been your age four years ago. Gosh, that makes me feel old,’ he says, and we all let out disagreements, various ways of telling him he’s not old. ‘Sir, you’re the youngest teacher here. And the hottest. Old people aren’t hot,’ Daisy says shamelessly, Mr Kim blushing slightly again.

‘Thank you, Daisy,’ he replies, slightly stiffly. ‘No problem, Sir. You should hang out with us sometime,’ Daisy says, and he shakes his head with a smile. ‘That would be ridiculously against the rules. But thank you for the offer. Maybe at your end of year prom?’ he suggests, all of us nodding. ‘Now, anyway. Let’s get back on track,’ he says, continuing with the boring content of the lesson.

As soon as he sets us the first written task, Daisy kicks the back of my chair, gentle conversation beginning around the room. ‘You’ve so got a crush on him,’ Daisy teases, and I roll my eyes. ‘Why were you flirting with him then?’ I hiss, and she laughs. ‘Babe, come on, you know I’m not interested in him. There’s only one guy on my mind,’ she replies, and I deadpan her. ‘Okay. So why?’ I ask again, and she shakes her head.

‘I was sussing him out, Peach. Trying to get a feel for him, and whether or not he’s your type,’ she replies, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘And is he?’ ‘Totally. And he’d so go for you, too. See how much he was blushing when I spoke about my reform story? It means he was thinking about me having sex. If he can think about a student having sex and blush from it, then he can have sex with a student,’ Daisy says, and my eyes widen.

‘I don’t wanna have sex with him!’ I hiss, and she raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Girl, you don’t have to lie to me. Back me up here, Dream.’ ‘Yeah, Peach, it’s totally okay if you do. People always have crushes on their teachers, especially if they’re so good-looking,’ she replies, and I roll my eyes. ‘Okay, but would you advise me to if the opportunity arose?’ I ask, and Dream hesitates.

‘I wouldn’t advise you against it, because we’re already at a naughty school. What’s the worst they can do?’ she says, Daisy nodding in agreement. ‘You should so go for it. Try to seduce him. Yes, he might be a teacher, but he’s a young one, basically a boy. He won’t be immune to a bit of feminine charm,’ Daisy says, and I shake my head at her disapprovingly.

‘Oh, come on, don’t act all high and mighty. We’re at the same reform school, for God’s sake, you’re no better than me,’ she says, and I supress a laugh. ‘We’re here for very different reasons, Daisy,’ I point out, and she waves a hand in the air. ‘Promiscuity, stealing, failing Chem, it’s basically all the same thing,’ she says, Dream and I exchanging an amused glance.

‘Whatever you say, Daisy. The point is that you may feel comfortable to seduce a teacher, but I am not,’ I say firmly, and she rolls her eyes. ‘What’s the worst that could happen? They tell your parents? Wow,’ she says scornfully, and I shake my head at her. ‘It’s not happening,’ I say, and she purses her lips. ‘Spoilsport,’ she says, just as the door opens.

I turn to face the front, watching as one of the deputy headteachers, Mr Song, walks in. ‘Mr Kim,’ he says by way of greeting, not giving Mr Kim a chance to speak before he continues, ‘I thought you might like to know that I’ve been watching this classroom on the CCTV and those three young ladies at the back of the room haven’t done a single bit of work since you turned your back. I’d advise you separate them, or move them to the front of the room where you can keep an eye on their work.’ Daisy sighs as I internally groan, Mr Kim turning to look at three of us with a disappointed look on his face.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ Mr Kim replies stiffly, and I can’t meet his gaze, feeling ridiculously guilty. Not only have we disrespected him as a teacher, we’ve made him look like he can’t control his own class. In his first lesson. Mr Song leaves, Daisy sticking her middle finger up at the door as it closes, and Mr Kim sighs.

‘Girls… move to the front row, please,’ he says, Daisy groaning. ‘But Mr Kim-’ ‘No. Don’t argue with me. Move,’ he says sternly, the three of us collecting up our things and swapping seats with the people in the front row. Daisy pushes me towards the middle seat, right in front of Mr Kim’s desk, and I try not to blush as she grins at me.

I pull my glasses out of my bag, putting them on and beginning to write, and after a couple minutes, I hear Dream sniffling to my left. ‘Dream? You okay?’ I whisper, the girl looking up at me with watery eyes. ‘Yeah, I just… I just don’t like getting in trouble,’ she whispers back, my heart melting. ‘Here,’ I say, getting a tissue out of my bag and handing it to her, and she gives me a smile. ‘Let’s go the cafeteria together after lesson. We’ll get milk and cookies. My treat,’ I say, and she gives me a wide smile. ‘Thanks, Peach.’ ‘No problem, babe. Don’t be sad,’ I reply before going back to my work.

Time flies as I write pages and pages, and when the bell rings, I’m surprised the lesson’s already finished. ‘No homework for today, students, just make sure you remember the content we went over this lesson. See you next week,’ Mr Kim says as we all start packing up. ‘Sorry about earlier, Mr Kim,’ I say as I leave, and he smiles at me. ‘No problem, Peach. Just make sure you work next week,’ he says, and I nod with a smile. ‘Bye, Mr Kim.’ ‘Bye, Peach.’

As soon as I leave the room, I sigh dreamily, Daisy and Dream laughing at me. ‘You’re so into him,’ Dream says, and I smile. ‘Maybe,’ I reply in a sing-song voice. ‘Oh, shit,’ Daisy says, stopping dead in the corridor. ‘What?’ Dream and I chorus, turning to look at her. ‘You left your book. On your table. You should go get it.’ ‘I have my book.’ ‘I took it out of your bag,’ she says with a smirk, and I sigh, my body going cold.

‘Daisy, you need to stop meddling! You go get it!’ I say, and she shakes her head. ‘We’ll be waiting in the cafeteria for you. Milk and cookies will be my treat,’ she says, linking an arm through Dream’s and dragging her down the corridor. I sigh, heading back to the classroom with shaking hands and my stomach turning. I knock on the door, hearing Mr Kim call out, ‘come in!’ I open the door slowly, popping my head through first, and he smiles at me.

‘Peach. Back again so soon? You loved learning about drugs and alcohol that much?’ he teases, and I laugh. ‘I knew enough about those anyway,’ I say as I step into the room, and he laughs. ‘Well, what gives me the pleasure of your presence?’ he asks, leaning back in his chair, and my breath hitches in my throat. ‘I, um, left my book on my desk,’ I say, his eyes landing on the textbook sat atop my desk. ‘Forgetful?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Embarrassingly so,’ I reply, walking to pick up my book and tucking it into my handbag.

‘Whilst you’re here, Peach,’ he begins, and I turn to look at him. ‘Yes, Sir?’ ‘Was today’s lesson okay? Should I carry on like this?’ he asks, and I debate whether or not to tell the truth. ‘Well, Sir, I won’t lie, it was good, but maybe you should make them a little more interactive. Maybe with, like, quizzes, or group discussions, or something like that. Just to engage us a bit more, or some of us will switch off,’ I say, and he nods. ‘Okay. Thank you, Peach,’ he says with a smile. ‘No problem, Sir,’ I reply, and he reaches into his briefcase.

‘Here. I saw you give Dream a tissue when she was upset. I felt terrible. Take these. One for you, one for Dream, and one for Daisy,’ he says, holding out three pink lollipops. ‘Daisy?’ I ask with a raised eyebrow, and he laughs. ‘I have no doubt I’ll hear all about it if I didn’t give her one. She’s outspoken, that one,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘You don’t say so. Imagine what’s been like for me, being best friends with her for nearly three years. It’s like having a daughter,’ I say, and he laughs.

‘I take it you’re the mum friend then,’ he says, and I nod with a sigh. ‘A mum to six other girls. Honey, Sunshine, Pearl, Daisy, Angel and Dream,’ I list off, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think I can get used to hearing names like that,’ he says, and I roll my eyes. ‘Trust me, it’ll take a while. They’re honestly terrible. Everything here is terrible,’ I complain, and he raises his hands in a ‘surrender’ motion.

‘I’m not saying anything. I need this job. My wife will kill me if I lose it,’ he says, his words like a punch to my stomach. His face drops when he registers his words, and the room is silent for a moment. ‘Well, anyway. Here you are, Peach,’ he says with a smile, handing me the lollipops. ‘Thanks, Mr Kim,’ I reply, trying to ignore the spark I feel when my hand touches his, drawing my hand away and tucking the lollipops into my bag. ‘See you later, Sir,’ I say, heading towards the door. ‘Bye, Peach,’ I hear him call after me as I leave, the door falling shut between us.

The moment I enter the cafeteria, lollipop in mouth, Dream calls my name, beckoning me over to our corner. Dream and Daisy are both there, along with Pearl, Honey, Yoongi and Jungkook. ‘Is that lollipop from Mr Kim?’ Daisy asks as soon as I’m in earshot, and I nod with a smirk. ‘Ooh, really?’ Dream asks, taking a sip of her milk. ‘Yeah. He gave me one each for you guys too,’ I say, pulling the two other lollipops out of my bag and handing them one each. ‘Aw, he’s sweet,’ Daisy says with a knowing glance, and I roll my eyes amusedly before turning to Pearl and Honey.

‘Hey, girls,’ I say, both of them greeting me in return as we hug. ‘Sunshine and Angel?’ I ask. ‘12’o’clock with Mr Choi,’ Honey replies. ‘So what did you talk about with Mr Kim?’ Daisy asks, lollipop between her fingers. ‘The lesson. And then how terrible the school is. And then he mentioned that he has a wife,’ I say, Daisy and Dream’s mouths falling open. ‘Well. That puts a spanner in the works,’ Daisy says distractedly, lost in her scheming thoughts.

‘Wait, what? What’s going on?’ Honey asks confusedly, and I sigh. ‘Daisy’s trying to get me with our new Food and Nutrition teacher,’ I say tiredly, Honey, Jungkook and Yoongi bursting into laughter as Pearl looks at us in shock. ‘Daisy, are you insane? Not only would you be absolutely ruining his career, it would get Peach into loads of trouble!’ Pearl exclaims, and Daisy rolls her eyes.

‘Pearl, babe, you worry too much. It’s totally fine. No one will find out,’ Daisy says, and Pearl raises an eyebrow. ‘You can’t guarantee that, Daisy. I know you guys never listen to my advice, but I’m telling you, this is not a good idea,’ Pearl says seriously, and Daisy waves her off. ‘Come on, Pearl, let’s be real. It’s not gonna happen anyway. It’s just a joke,’ she says, a glint in her eye, and I know she’s up to something. ‘Wait, it’s a joke? I thought you were being serious,’ Dream says, and Daisy shrugs elegantly.

‘I was, before I realised Peach would never do that. She hasn’t got the guts,’ she says challengingly, and I roll my eyes, the rest of the group looking between us interestedly. ‘Come on, Daisy, you know your manipulation doesn’t ever work on me,’ I reply, and she raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m telling the truth. I’m also telling the truth when I say that I don’t think you could do it,’ she says, and I raise an eyebrow in return. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, if Mr Kim would get with a student, it wouldn’t be you,’ Daisy says, and I feel a pang of hurt. ‘Daisy, don’t be nasty,’ Pearl says, and Daisy rolls her eyes. ‘You know I don’t mean it like that. Peach is hot, we all know that. Right?’ Daisy asks Jungkook and Yoongi, who both nod instantly. ‘See? But she’s too… nice, too angelic. Teachers are never interested in the nice kids, and Peach could never play the role of the bad girl,’ she says, a daring sparkle in her dark eyes, and I narrow my eyes at her.

‘Daisy, I’m a drama student. Top of the class. I’m also a thief at a reform school,’ I reply, and Honey nods. ‘Exactly. Peach could act, but she doesn’t have to. She has the bad girl in her already. What she did is probably the worst out of all of us. No offence,’ Honey says. ‘None taken.’ ‘The point is that Peach is more than capable of playing the bad girl, but it doesn’t mean she should,’ Pearl says, and Daisy laughs. ‘How can I believe you without sufficient evidence?’ Daisy asks, and I roll my eyes.

‘Daisy, I love you, but you’re so childish sometimes. You think your manipulation will work on me? I’m not going to start acting up in his lesson to prove some point to you. I could get him without turning into a bad girl anyway,’ I grin, Pearl sighing. She knows her advice was useless; we won’t listen to it. ‘You think so?’ Daisy challenges, and I nod. ‘How, Peach?’ Dream asks, and I let out a little laugh. ‘Teacher’s pet.’

‘Teacher’s pet?’ Jungkook asks, and I nod. ‘I sit at the front of the lesson, attentive and hard-working. I show up early to lessons and stay late afterwards, asking if he needs help with anything. I ask him to do extra sessions with me. The more time I spend alone with him, the more likely he is to succumb,’ I say simply. ‘God, you’re good, Peach,’ Yoongi says, and I smile serenely, watching as Daisy thinks. ‘I don’t agree.’ ‘I don’t care. It’s not like I’m gonna do it anyway. I’m just telling you how I would if I did.’ ‘My method’s better.’ ‘No, Daisy, mine is, and you know it.’

‘Prove it,’ she says gently with a grin. ‘You try your method, and I try mine. We’ll see who’s more successful,’ she says, our eyes locked together as I think over her challenge in my head. It wouldn’t kill me… right? ‘You’re on,’ I reply, and Pearl groans as the others let out various noises of excitement and interest. ‘May the best girl win,’ Daisy grins, holding a hand out to me, and I shake it firmly. ‘Trust me,’ I say with a smile, ‘she will.’

‘Oh! Peach. Goodness, you scared me,’ Mr Kim says from the door. ‘Sorry, Mr Kim. I just… with our old teacher, I used to get here early and help her set up. I used to write the date on the board and tidy up if she needed me to. I thought you might like it if I did the same for you,’ I say softly, and he smiles at me. ‘That’s really nice of you, Peach. I’d appreciate that a lot, thank you,’ he says, and I smile back. ‘No problem, Sir,’ I reply.

I’m perched on his desk, phone in hand, and I watch as his eyes spot it. He doesn’t tell me to put it away. Instead his eyes travel over the rest of me, and I know exactly what he’s looking at. I spent a while looking at it myself this morning. The top two buttons of my shirt are open, revealing an ample amount of my chest, and my skirt is even higher than normal, skimming the tops of my thighs. My hair is up in a ponytail and I’ve put on a little more makeup than usual, glossy lips, shiny cheekbones, dark eyes. When his eyes meet mine, I grin and he blushes slightly. God, he’s so cute.

‘Do you have any chalk, Sir? So I can write the date?’ I ask, and he nods, putting his briefcase down on the table beside where I’m sat, opening it and rummaging around for chalk. When he finds it, he hands it to me and I take it from him, making sure my nails gently scrape against his hand as I take it. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ I say before walking around to the other side of the desk.

I check my phone for the date and write it slowly, not hearing any motion from behind me, and I know he’s watching me, probably noting how my skirt barely covers my ass. I take my time writing it, and only when I’m writing the last number do I hear him moving around, smirking to myself.

‘Okay, I’m done with the date, Sir. What else can I do?’ I ask before I drop the chalk (on purpose) and then sneakily kick it behind me. ‘Oh, God. So clumsy,’ I mutter to myself before turning around and bending over to pick it up, giving him a full view of my lacy pink underwear. When I turn back around, his eyes are on the floor and his ears are bright red, the sight making me satisfied that I’ve achieved the desired effect.

‘Sir?’ I ask again, and he coughs, looking up at me again. ‘Sorry. Um, can you… put one of each of these handouts on each desk please?’ he says, giving me a pile of different worksheets. ‘Yes, Sir,’ I say, taking the pile from him and starting to hand them out. By the time I’m done, he’s sat at his desk, glasses on and eyes focused on his laptop. ‘Done with those, Sir,’ I say, putting the spares on the desk, and he looks up at me with a smile.

‘Thank you, Peach. No problem, Sir. Anything else?’ I ask, and he shakes his head. ‘That’s it for now. You can go to the cafeteria for a while if you’d like,’ he says, and I shake my head. ‘Lesson starts in ten, I might as well just wait,’ I say, taking my seat at the front of the room and getting all of my things out and beginning to write the date into my book.

I’m practically lying across the desk, giving him a clear view down my shirt, and I know he’s enjoying it, his fingers no longer typing. Once I’ve done that, I go back on my phone, my classmates arriving one by one. Daisy and Dream walk in last, drinks in their hands. Daisy gives a smirk when she sees me, Dream’s eyes widening.

‘Peach, you look really good!’ Dream exclaims, and I smile. ‘Thanks, Dream. Nothing on you two though,’ I reply, and Daisy grins. ‘Looking like that, Peach, I want to be on you,’ Daisy says, and I let out a gentle laugh. ‘Bold of you to assume you’d top, babe,’ I reply, and she raises an eyebrow with an amused grin. ‘I love it when you talk dirty to me,’ she replies.

‘Ladies, I’m not sure this conversation is appropriate,’ Mr Kim says, voice strained and stiff, ears and cheeks red. ‘Are you being homophobic, Sir?’ Daisy asks mildly, and Mr Kim laughs. ‘Not at all. You girls can get up to whatever you want to in your free time, but I think it best you don’t discuss your activities in my lesson,’ he says amusedly, and Daisy nods, replying with, ‘fair enough.’

‘Take your seats, ladies, and we’ll begin,’ he says, and Daisy and Dream sit down on either side of me, Dream handing me a drink, my usual, as she passes by. ‘Are you allowed to have drinks in lessons?’ Mr Kim asks. ‘No, Sir,’ Daisy replies before taking a sip of her drink. ‘Noted,’ he replies amusedly before he begins the lesson.

Daisy doesn’t give him a chance to get through a single full sentence, constantly interrupting with witty one-liners, dirty jokes and double entendres. At first, Mr Kim is amused, but I can see his patience beginning to wear thin. Whereas, with me answering every question correctly, he doesn’t look at me once without smiling. Daisy’s losing this game, and we both know it, the girl scowling when he sternly tells her to stop interrupting the lesson. I shoot her a grin and she rolls her eyes, knowing full well who’s in the lead.

I also notice that he took my advice on board, starting a group discussion about the components of a realistic balanced diet, and doing a little quiz towards the end of the lesson. I get the highest score, both Daisy and Dream one mark below me, and Mr Kim gives me a lollipop as a prize. He seems to regret it a few moments later when I’m sat directly in front of him, leaning over my desk and writing with the lollipop in my mouth, trying desperately to focus his eyes elsewhere.

When we reach the end of the lesson, he sets us a 4 mark question, a very kind homework compared to all of my other subjects. When he dismisses everybody, I stay behind, waiting until the door’s fallen shut before I speak. ‘Today’s lesson was great, Sir. Better than last week,’ I say, and he smiles. ‘Thank you, Peach, that’s good to hear. I’ll continue the lessons like this then,’ he says, and I nod.

‘Sounds good. How are you finding it here, Sir?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘It’s okay. My room’s decent and all of my classes are nice enough. It’s just…’ he trails off. ‘Homesick?’ I ask, and he laughs. ‘Not quite. It’s the food,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘The food’s not that bad,’ I say, and he shudders. ‘Peach, I’m a Food and Nutrition teacher. I’ve been on dozens of culinary courses. Believe me when I tell you that the food here is not that good,’ he says, and I’m surprised to hear how passionate he is about cooking.

‘Are you a really good cook then, Sir?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘You’ve gotta let us try some of your cooking sometime,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘Definitely. I’ll bring some of my baking in at one point. But for now, you’ll have to make do with the food from the cafeteria.’ ‘Honestly, Sir, if you order the right things, the food’s kinda nice. They do this cake sometimes – god, it’s to die for. I’ll bring you some next time they’re doing it,’ I say, and he nods with a smile. ‘That’d be great, Peach.’

‘Well, I’m gonna head off, unless you need me to do anything?’ I ask, and he thinks for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Nope, you’re free to go,’ he smiles, and I smile back. ‘Okay, Sir. See you next week,’ I say. ‘Bye, Peach,’ he says as I head to the door, and I hear him let out a long drawn out sigh as I shut the door behind me.

Dream and Daisy are waiting for me a little further down the corridor and I grin as I walk towards them, a little pep in my walk. Dream smiles at me affectionately and I throw my arms around them both. ‘Isn’t it just a great day, guys?’ I say happily, Dream nodding with a grin, and Daisy grumbles under her breath. ‘Relax, you haven’t won yet,’ she says to me, and I laugh.

‘Yeah, and you haven’t either. And I’m pretty sure you won’t. But we can keep this going if that’s what you want,’ I say, and she raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? I will be stepping it up next week,’ she says, and I laugh. ‘So will I, babe, don’t you worry,’ I say, and she grins at me. ‘I can’t wait to see what both of you do next week. Now, come on, it’s a nice day, let’s go sit outside for a little while,’ Dream suggests.

‘Good idea. Let’s stop at the cafeteria on the way and get Honey and Pearl. And the boys, if any of them are there,’ Daisy says. Five minutes later, us five girls are sunbathing on the grassy bank beside where the football pitch is, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook all playing football. We gossip idly, Honey playing music from her phone, and the atmosphere is so nice. The sun beats down onto us, a very gentle breeze cooling us down, and the sky is a bright blue, fluffy white clouds dotted around.

‘Daisy,’ Pearl says, interrupting the current discussion about Queen and whether or not she’s dating Daniel. ‘Yeah?’ Daisy replies without opening her eyes, lying on her back. ‘What’s that on your neck?’ Pearl asks slowly, and we all look at Daisy’s neck, spotting the purplish bruise disrupting her smooth and clear skin.

‘Oh. I forgot to tell you guys. Jimin stopped at my room last night,’ she says with a smirk, all of us gasping. ‘So he’s broken up with that little girlfriend of his?’ Honey asks, and Pearl gives her a disapproving look for referring to the girl like that. ‘Apparently so. I told you I’d get him back,’ she says smugly, and I shake my head. ‘You official with him?’ Honey asks, and Daisy scoffs. ‘We’ve never been official, and we never will be. You know that’s not how we work,’ Daisy replies, all of us rolling our eyes.

‘I wonder if he knows that you’re trying to get with Mr Kim,’ I say, and she sits up, rolling her eyes. ‘Of course he knows. All the boys know about our challenge. They placed bets and everything,’ she says, and my mouth falls open. ‘This is news to me,’ I say, and she grins. ‘Well, Jungkook and Yoongi were there when we first discussed our… competition, and it’s not like they’d keep their mouths shut about something so interesting. Of course they were gonna tell the other boys,’ Daisy says, and I sigh, annoyed that the boys know about something like this.

If it got out that Daisy and I were doing this, I can’t even imagine the trouble we’d get into. ‘Why’d you look so troubled, Peach? Got an issue with the boys knowing about it? Because we can call it off if you want,’ Daisy smirks at me, and I roll my eyes, wanting to knock the girl off her high horse. ‘No, I’m just worried about you. It won’t be good for your pride for the boys to see you lose to me,’ I say, Daisy rolling her eyes in return. ‘We’ll see.’ ‘We will.’

‘Ladies, how are we all on this fine day?’ Hoseok says as he throws himself down onto the grass beside us, the other boys following suit. ‘We’re good. Just discussing Peach and Daisy’s bet, dare, competition thing,’ Dream says, and I shoot her a look, the girl grinning mischievously in response, prompting me to stick my tongue out at her. ‘Oh, yeah, Yoongi mentioned it to me. Sounds interesting,’ Namjoon says, the boys all nodding in agreement.

‘I’m assuming this competition thing is the reason behind your new look, Peach,’ Jimin says, and I nod. ‘I just hope this look works because I don’t want to be hoeing it up every Monday for no reason,’ I say, everyone laughing. ‘Well, I certainly like this look of yours, Peach. Mr Kim must be either insane or a monk if it doesn’t work,’ Taehyung says with a flirty smirk and a sparkle in his eye.

We’re all more than used to Taehyung’s flirty nature (though Jimin can put him to shame if he’s in the mood), but I still can’t help but glance over to Angel to see her reaction. It used to really bother her when her boyfriend flirted with her friends, regardless of it being jokey, but she’s gotten used to it over time. She’s lying on her back, enjoying the sun with her eyes closed, obviously only half paying attention to the conversation.

‘Thanks, Tae. I just… don’t you feel like it’s too much? I feel like a cheap whore,’ I say, Pearl making a disapproving noise. ‘Stop feeding into misogynistic ideas about women, Peach,’ she says, but before I can reply, the boys all start talking. ‘No, Peach, you look good.’ ‘You don’t look like a whore at all.’ ‘You could definitely get away with another button open if you wanted to.’ ‘Don’t be silly, Peach, other girls do way more than you.’ ‘You look like this look is unintentional.’ ‘It’s sexy, Peach, not whorish at all.’

‘Thanks guys,’ I say, just as Pearls breaks into a coughing fit. ‘You okay?’ Honey asks, hitting her on the back. ‘I’m fine. Just allergic to all the misogyny that just came out of all of their mouths,’ she says drily, us girls laughing as the boys all shake their heads and roll their eyes.

‘Get used to it, Pearl. It’s never going to change,’ Namjoon says, and Pearl narrows her eyes at him. ‘Not if people like you exist,’ she says, and I can sense an argument brewing between the two of them. They’ve always had a tense relationship, having been competing with each other academically since Pearl started in ninth year and threatened Namjoon’s place at the top of the class in all of the subjects they have together.

‘Anyway. Should I carry on with this look then?’ I ask, and everyone nods. ‘I think you should have this look every day, Peach, not just Mondays. Let the rest of us appreciate it too,’ Jimin says with a small grin, eyes piercing and hooded, and I have to fight to not sound breathless when I reply, ‘I’ll consider it.’

Daisy looks between us amusedly; she’s never felt threatened by Jimin’s flirting because she knows that whilst she might not own his eyes (which wander all the time), her name is written across his heart. He’s hers and everybody knows it. God help the person that gets between them. ‘If you do, Peach, you’ll practically own any boy at this school. Maybe even some of the girls too,’ Yoongi jokes, all of laughing.

‘We all know that if Peach were to get with a girl, it would be me,’ Daisy says confidently, and I roll my eyes, though I’m not quite sure whether it’s a lie or not. We played truth or dare a couple years ago, and she was dared to kiss me. Let’s just say, I’ve seen her kiss Jimin the same way, just before they disappear to one of their dorms. And I didn’t exactly dislike it either.

‘Aren’t you gonna deny it, Peach?’ Taehyung asks after a few moments of my silence, licking his lips with a glint in his eye. ‘Why would I deny it? I’m not a liar,’ I say serenely, hunger practically emanating from the boys. Daisy winks at me from across the group and I grin back, the boys watching with desperate interest, the girls completely unbothered; they’re used to Daisy flirting with all of us.

‘Well, Peach, if you ever wanna join Daisy and I, you know where to find us. Or if Daisy’s busy, you know where to find me,’ Jimin says, and I roll my eyes. ‘Down, boy,’ I reply, everyone laughing as Jimin grins. ‘I don’t mind spectating,’ he says, and Daisy rolls her eyes. ‘Not for free, babe.’ ‘So I’m guessing,’ Yoongi begins with a playful grin, ‘you’re gonna say no to the rest of us watching too?’

‘Morning, Peach,’ Mr Kim says when he enters the classroom. ‘Morning, Sir. How was your weekend?’ I ask, with a smile. I’m sat on his desk, just like every Monday, and I’m dressed provocatively, just like every Monday. Short skirt, unbuttoned shirt, pretty bra visible through my shirt and pants visible when I bend over, peach hair up in a ponytail and just a little bit of makeup.

‘It was good, thank you, Peach. I went home on Friday night and I just arrived back this morning,’ he says with a smile, putting his briefcase down onto the desk beside where I sit. Just like every Monday, he opens his briefcase and pulls out a lollipop, handing it to me, and I grin back at him. And just like every Monday, I reach into my bag and hand him a piece of cake wrapped up in foil, and he takes it with a smile. His hands linger on mine for a moment, eyes locked, before he pulls his hands away, putting the cake into his briefcase without looking at me.

‘That must have been nice, Sir. How’s Mrs Kim?’ I ask, noting the way he blinks a few times, just as he does whenever I say her name. ‘She’s… she’s okay,’ he replies, and I raise an eyebrow at him. ‘That doesn’t sound very convincing. Less and less convincing each week, Sir,’ I say, and he lets out a gentle laugh. ‘It’s difficult, Peach. Married life is difficult. You’ll understand one day,’ he says, and I pull a face.

‘Me? Getting married? You must be crazy, Sir,’ I say, kissing my teeth, and Mr Kim bursts out laughing. ‘Why not, Peach? Marriage is a beautiful thing.’ ‘Oh, yeah, sure seems beautiful, based on the way you sigh and frown whenever I bring up your wife,’ I say sarcastically, and the smile disappears from Mr Kim’s face, the man looking down at his briefcase unseeingly.

‘No, marriage isn’t for me. I’d rather travel the world with my friends and have a string of glamorous love affairs that I can one day tell my friends’ kids about,’ I say, and Mr Kim laughs. ‘Where will you get the money from for this, Peach?’ he asks, and I grin. ‘How I was planning to get my money for Glastonbury,’ I say with a wink at him. He laughs, shaking his head, ears reddening slightly.

‘Well, I hope these plans work out for you, Peach. If I ever meet a man whose heart was broken by a mysterious beautiful girl with peach hair, I’ll tell him he was lucky to have even met you in the first place,’ he says, my heart warming at his kind words, and my cheeks warming at hearing him call me beautiful. ‘Thanks, Sir,’ I say shyly, and he laughs. ‘Oh, don’t act all coy now,’ he chuckles, trying to act cool but his reddened ears betraying him, before moving around to the other side of his desk.

Just like every Monday, I take the chalk out of his briefcase and go around to the blackboard. I write up the date, my ass mere centimetres from the back of Mr Kim’s head. Still thinking about what he just said, I’m distracted, and so the chalk slips between my fingers. ‘Butterfingers,’ Mr Kim teases when he hears the chalk hit the floor, and I laugh as I bend down to grab it. My ass hits the back of his seat, and I fall forward from the impact.

Mr Kim spins around, a worried look on his face, and I burst out laughing at myself crumpled up on the floor, the man joining in too. ‘Come on,’ he says, getting up from his seat and tucking it in so he has space to pull me up from the floor. He holds out a hand to me and I take it, his other hand wrapping around my waist as he helps me up. ‘You’re so clumsy, Peach,’ he says, hands still around me, his eyes unwaveringly locked with mine.

For a moment, just a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, our heads moving closer together as my lips part, and my heart rate rockets. And then there’s a knock at the door. We instantly jump apart from one another, and I quickly grab a stack of worksheets on the desk. ‘Come in!’ Mr Kim calls, his voice slightly shaky, as I begin to walk around the classroom, putting one worksheet on each desk.

One of the deputies, Mrs Lee, walks in, bidding me good morning before talking to Mr Kim about some stupid briefing this Wednesday. What feels like a million years later, she finally leaves, and I turn to look at Mr Kim with a grin, the teacher smiling back at me.

The rest of my class starts arriving then, and I take my seat at the front, writing up the date in my book. When Daisy and Dream arrive, Dream hands me my drink and we idly chat about the upcoming prom, mere weeks away, until Mr Kim begins the lesson. It seems that Daisy’s given up on our competition, having gotten bored after four weeks. Now, two and a half months after I first met Mr Kim, it’s no longer about the competition for me.

I get on with him so well, and he’s so kind. I’m doing so well in this class, better than I’ve ever done it in before, and I find it so fun, because he’s the one teaching it to me. Whenever I get an answer right, or raise my hand to ask a question, or even just make eye contact with him, he gives me this smile, and my heart melts every time. Our conversations before and after class are the highlights of my week, and when we catch each other in the corridor, I replay the moment in my head over and over again. He’s just so… mature, and he really gets me.

I think I’m slowly falling in love with him.

The lesson flies by in a blur of shy glances, gentle smiles, subtle touches and locked eyes, and when everyone leaves, I stay behind, just like every Monday. ‘Sir,’ I say, and he smiles at me. ‘Yes, Peach?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Um, it might not be my place to say this, but I feel like you’re not really close with any of the other teachers, so I don’t think you’ve got anyone to talk to, and I thought you might want to get it off your chest, so I wanted to ask what’s going on with your wife?’ I say all in one breath, and the smile slowly disappears from Mr Kim’s face as I speak.

He sighs, taking off his glasses, and leaning back in his seat as he pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Oh, Peach,’ he says tiredly, and my heart jumps. ‘Sir, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business. I’ll just get go-’ ‘No, Peach, it’s okay,’ he says, getting up from behind his desk and coming to sit in Daisy’s seat beside me.

‘You’re right, Peach. I’m not close with any of the teachers, and I don’t have anyone to confide in. but that doesn’t mean I should confide in you,’ he says gently, and I sigh. ‘Sir, can we be honest here?’ I ask, and he nods, though he looks slightly nervous. ‘Our relationship is already pushing the boundaries. And you and I both know that this isn’t accidental. It’s intentional, on my part. And you haven’t rebuffed my advances once. You’ve encouraged them. And we’re both in the wrong, you and I both know that.’

He sighs, sitting back in his seat. ‘But it’s wrong, Peach. It’s so wrong,’ he says, and I laugh humourlessly. ‘It doesn’t feel wrong. But we’ve already slightly broken the rules. Why not just go all the way?’ I ask, and his eyes lock with mine, his tongue poking at his cheek. ‘What are you saying?’ ‘You know what I’m saying. But, wait. We’ll come back to that. Tell me about your wife first. You need to get it off your chest. I can tell it’s affecting you.’

He’s silent for a few seconds before he finally speaks. ‘We were so happy, so in love. And then I started teaching here. And I met you on my very first day. And my first night sleeping here, instead of thinking of her, I thought of you. The girl with the peach hair. I was thinking about my wife less and less, and you more and more. And then… the first time I went home to visit her, after a few weeks of working here, and we had sex, I…’ he trails off, and I know exactly what the rest of the sentence is. I was thinking of you.

My heart is nearly beating out of my chest at his confession, and I’m trying not to jump up and celebrate. ‘You’re just… you’re so grown up, Peach, and I see you as an equal rather than as my student. You just… you get me. And you’re beautiful, Peach, you’d have to be blind not to see that,’ he says, and I blush, unable to believe my ears. He likes me too. He really likes me too.

‘And my wife knows that there’s someone else. I don’t know how, but she knows,’ he says, stress written all over his face. ‘Women always know,’ I reply, and he nods. ‘Yeah. She knows. So she confronted me about it on the weekend. Because she said I’ve been distant, that I’ve been avoiding sex, that I’ve been coming home less than I promised I would, that I never text or call her. And she asked who the woman is. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it isn’t even an affair, and it’s just a crush that has me like this,’ he says.

‘So… so what are you gonna do now? What did you tell her?’ ‘I lied. I said there’s no one else. That I’m just busy and stressed, but she knows. Anyway, she said she wants to work on us, she wants to try and fall in love again, like the way we were before. We’re high school sweethearts, you see, and I proposed to her fresh out of uni. We got married a few months later, and only three months after that, I started here. Maybe we rushed into it, because now… I’ve fallen out of love with her.’

I’m in complete shock. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. But I know I can’t let this pass me by. He feels the same way. I have to seize the moment.

‘Sir, I… I really like you. And you really like me. I don’t… I’m not seeing an issue here,’ I say, and he laughs humourlessly. ‘Peach, you don’t even know how much I wish I could agree. But I’m married. I’m your teacher. If we were found out, I’d lose my job, and I’d never be able to teach again,’ he says, and I sigh.

‘Mr Kim, no one would ever know. I won’t breathe a word, and neither will you,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘I… what are you suggesting, Peach?’ he asks, and I feel a rush of excitement that he’s actually considering it. ‘I mean… I don’t think we’d get away with you coming to my room. But I could go to yours. We could say that you’re tutoring me,’ I suggest, and he thinks for a moment.

‘Give… give me some time to consider this, Peach. Because I need… I need to consider whether or not this is worth it,’ he says, and I frown. ‘You don’t think I’m worth it?’ I ask, and his face falls. ‘No, Peach, that’s not… that’s not what I’m saying. You know what I mean,’ he says, and I stand up. ‘No, Sir, I’m not sure that I do. Forget I said anything,’ I say, and he gets up too, panic on his face.

‘Let’s discuss this, Peach, don’t leave,’ he says as I begin gathering up my things. ‘I think it’s best that I do,’ I say, brushing past him and leaving the room. When the door falls shut, I grin to myself, knowing my plan will just fall into place now, and I join my friends who wait for me in the corridor. ‘Did it work?’ Dream asks and I smile. ‘We’ll see.’

‘Peach! Peach!’ I hear Angel calling from behind me, and we turn to see her rushing towards us with Sunshine, the boys following leisurely behind them. ‘What? What’s happened?’ I ask when she reaches us, and she grins. ‘The whole school is talking about you. It worked,’ she says, and I grin. ‘I told you it would,’ Daisy says, and I roll my eyes.

‘I came up with the plan,’ I say, and she raises an eyebrow. ‘Half of the plan. And I lent you my man to enact this plan,’ she says, and I laugh. ‘Come, let’s go sit outside,’ Taehyung says when the boys reach our group, and we all head out to our usual spot outside, where we can talk freely with no one eavesdropping.

‘I’ve had loads of people asking me this morning if it’s true,’ Jimin says as I sit down beside Dream, the girl instantly resting her head on my thigh. ‘What did you say?’ ‘I didn’t say yes, and I didn’t say no. I was just laughing, or I said that ‘a gentleman never tells’ or some stupid shit like that,’ he says, and we all laugh.

‘It was genius, Peach. It happened exactly the way you said it would,’ Hoseok says, Sunshine’s head against his shoulder and his arm around her waist. ‘Let’s just hope it gets back to Mr Kim,’ Namjoon says, and Honey scoffs. ‘Of course it will. The whole school is talking about it. You don’t think he’ll hear people in his classes talking about how Peach slept with her best friend’s man?’ she says with a raised eyebrow.

‘What if he doesn’t buy it, though? He knows Peach well enough to know that that’s something she’d never do,’ Dream says, and Yoongi sighs. ‘Yeah, but we never thought Peach would try to seduce a teacher, and here we are,’ he says, and I frown at him. I don’t like it when they say I’m trying to seduce him. This isn’t just about sex. This is something more. I can’t tell them that, though. They wouldn’t understand.

‘And, anyway, I think that a group of people seeing Peach sneaking out of Jimin’s room at like two in the morning, wearing his clothes with her hair a mess and her mascara streaming down her face means that it’s more than likely people will believe it,’ Pearl says drily, and we all laugh, blood rushing to my face.

‘What did you guys actually do?’ Jungkook asks, and Jimin smirks. ‘Guess,’ he says with a grin in my direction, and I roll my eyes. ‘We chose suitable clothes of his for me to wear for when I left, messed up my hair and smudged my makeup across my face,’ I say, and Pearl narrows her eyes at me. ‘For like four hours?’ she asks, and Jimin grins at me. ‘And we played scrabble,’ I say, the others bursting out laughing.

‘Scrabble? Is that a euphemism for something?’ Taehyung asks, and Jimin shakes his head, still grinning. ‘We sat there, on my bed, and played scrabble for three hours,’ he says, and Daisy looks between us. ‘Who won?’ she asks. ‘Peach,’ he admits straight away, and I smile proudly. ‘Of course I did. He wanted to play strip scrabble,’ I say, Daisy swatting at him amusedly as the others laugh.

‘Yeah, so we compromised,’ he says mysteriously, our friends looking intrigued as I roll my eyes at Jimin. ‘We played dirty scrabble.’ ‘Dirty scrabble?’ Namjoon asks interestedly. ‘Scrabble with dirty words only. I’d have gotten bored otherwise. But I was surprised at how… vast Peach’s vocabulary is,’ Jimin says with another smirk at me, and I feel my face heating again.

‘You out-dirtied Jimin?’ Namjoon asks, the whole group looking surprised, and I nod with a small smile. ‘Our Peach is a dark horse,’ Daisy grins at me, and I grin back. ‘Okay, I hate to change the subject, but, like… what are you guys gonna do now?’ Yoongi asks, directing the question at Daisy and I. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean, you supposedly slept with her man. Shouldn’t Daisy act like she’s angry at you?’ Yoongi says, and I shrug.

‘It’s fine. Look how many rumours there have been; we haven’t let those affect our friendships, because we know they aren’t real,’ I say, and Yoongi shakes his head. ‘But you want people to believe this one, surely?’ ‘It’s fine. As long as Mr Kim has heard the rumour, that’s all that matters,’ I say, and Pearl raises an eyebrow. ‘So what happens now then? What is your plan after this?’ she asks, and I hesitate for a moment.

‘I don’t know yet,’ I lie, not wanting them all to know. I only need to tell two people; nobody else needs to know. And I think it’s best to keep this as quiet as possible. Because it’s where things start to get serious.

So, hours later, in the literal dead of night, I sneak out of my room, praying no one sees me. When I reach my destination, I knock carefully on the door, making sure it’s not loud enough for anyone else to hear. The door opens a few seconds later, and a cosy Jungkook stands on the other side of it, dressed in his pyjamas with his hair a fluffy mess. ‘Peach?’ he asks but I shush him, pushing past him into the front hallway.

‘I need your help,’ I say once he’s shut the door, and he looks confusedly at me. ‘My help? What with?’ he asks, just as Yoongi pops his head in from the bedroom. ‘Peach?’ ‘I need your help too.’ ‘Come sit in here,’ Yoongi says, turning back into the bedroom. Jungkook and I follow behind, and I take a moment to look around their room.

It’s neat and tidy, very minimalistic, with two beds a few feet apart from each other, a TV mounted on the wall, and several computer screens set up on a desk, a game paused on one of them. ‘What’s up, Peach? Is everything okay?’ Jungkook asks, concerned. ‘Everything’s fine. It’s not, like, serious. I just need your guys’ help. But… no one else can know,’ I say, both of them raising their eyes. ‘Um…’ Yoongi says, and I sigh.

‘Please? I swear, it’s not that bad. I just… I need you guys to not tell anyone,’ I say, and Jungkook sighs. ‘I won’t say anything,’ he says before both of us look to Yoongi. ‘Fine, I won’t either. Now, what is it?’ Yoongi asks, and I grin.

‘You know how there’s a camera in every classroom?’ I say, both of them nodding. ‘I need you guys to disable to one in Mr Kim’s classroom,’ I say, both of their eyes widening. ‘You’re kidding?’ Jungkook asks, and I shake my head. ‘I’m not. I just…’ I begin, but Yoongi waves me off. ‘You don’t need to explain; we’re not stupid, we know exactly why you want us to disable the cameras.’

‘But… won’t they realise straight away? If the camera isn’t working, they’ll just get someone to fix it,’ Jungkook says, and I sigh. ‘I only need it disabled up until Monday’s lesson.’ ‘I’ve got an idea. What if… instead of disabling the camera… we loop the footage from last week?’ Yoongi says, directing the question to Jungkook. ‘Good idea. But how?’ Jungkook asks, and Yoongi laughs. ‘Don’t act like we haven’t hacked into the school cameras before.’

‘Yeah, but we did that to delete footage. Not loop it,’ Jungkook says, and Yoongi raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s not like we won’t be able to do it, we’re practically experts after years of computer science. It might take a while, but it’s night time, so it’s not like anyone will notice that we’re messing around with the systems. We can take as long as we need. Let’s at least give it a go,’ Yoongi says, and Jungkook hesitates before sighing.

‘Fine, let’s do it. But I’m gonna need snacks,’ he says, and I grin, holding up the bag in my hand. ‘I came prepared,’ I say, both of them grinning. ‘Won’t your roommate notice you’re gone?’ Jungkook asks, and I shake my head. ‘If Angel can sleep through Taehyung’s sleep-talking, sleep-walking and cuddling, she can sleep through anything. That girl needs a foghorn to wake her up,’ I say, both of them laughing. ‘Right, then,’ Yoongi says, ‘let’s get to it.’

The boys spend the entire night at the desk, hacking into the school’s CCTV systems and looping the footage, whilst I watch You on Netflix, nap, and hand them snacks and drinks as and when they need them. The boys finish at sunrise, Jungkook instantly crawling into his bed and passing out as Yoongi shows me what they’ve done.

‘So, long story short, the footage from the past week is looped. It will keep playing again and again until someone realises and changes it, but I doubt anyone will notice it for a long time. So you’re free to do whatever you want in that classroom without it being caught on camera. I’ll keep checking up on it to make sure it hasn’t been discovered,’ he says. ‘Thank you, Yoongi, you’re the best. And tell Jungkook I said thanks to him too,’ I say, both of us looking at him fast asleep on his bed.

‘Yeah, of course. Just shout us whenever you need help with anything. And, don’t worry, we won’t mention anything to anyone. Now, you go, get some sleep. I think the others were saying they want to spend the day at the football pitch today so make sure you’re there, and not looking tired, or they’ll suspect something,’ he says, and my heart warms at his kindness.

‘Okay, Yoongi. See you later. And thanks, again, for your help,’ I say, and he grins. ‘It’s cool. Just make sure that you fill us in on whatever happens with Mr Kim tomorrow. If anything does happen, that is,’ he says mischievously, and I grin. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I grin back, ‘there’ll be plenty to tell.’

‘Peach? Do you mind staying behind please?’ Mr Kim says as I begin to walk towards the door with Daisy and Dream, and I grin to myself before I turn back to him sullenly. He waits for everyone to leave the room before he speaks. ‘Take a seat,’ he says, and I scowl. ‘I’d rather stand.’ ‘Peach, don’t be like that. Please, just sit down,’ he says and, with as much attitude as possible, I sit down in my seat.

‘Why weren’t you here at the beginning of the lesson?’ he asks, looking concerned, and I laugh humourlessly. ‘I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted,’ I reply, and he looks so pained. I actually feel a little guilty. ‘Peach, come on. You know that that wasn’t what I meant last week. I’m just worried about the consequences. I could lose my job,’ he says, and I roll my eyes.

‘No one would ever find out,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘I know you wouldn’t say anything, Peach, but that’s not to say that nobody will find out. Someone could just walk in at any moment,’ he says, and I look at the door. ‘There’s a lock,’ I say, and he sighs again. ‘The camera?’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘What if I told you I’ve taken care of it?’ I say carefully, and his eyes widen. ‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ he says, grabbing on to his temples. ‘I’d be lying if I did. Sir, I’m serious about this,’ I say, and he’s silent for a few moments, head in his hands.

I take the silence as my opportunity. ‘What if I persuade you, Sir?’ I ask, and he looks up at me, only his eyes uncovered by his hands. ‘Pardon?’ he asks, voice muffled, and I get up from my seat, slowly walking to the door. ‘I said… what if I persuade you?’ I say, leaning against the door, Mr Kim’s eyes on my fingers as they turn the lock. ‘Peach,’ he says in a strained voice, and I know it’s working, my heart beating so fast.

‘Sir, stop stressing, for just a minute. You worry too much,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘It’s in my nature,’ he says, and I roll my eyes. ‘It was in mine too. And then I realised life’s too short to worry about everything. I didn’t worry about stealing designer things to sell so I could go to Glastonbury, and I’m glad I didn’t worry about it,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow at me.

‘You’re glad?’ ‘Yes, I’m glad. Because of it, I’m away from my stupid parents, at a school with a group of people that I love. And I’ve met you,’ I say, and he just stares at me, face unreadable. ‘Life’s too short to worry,’ I repeat, and I can practically see the battle between his head and his heart. His heart seems to win.

‘Persuade me then,’ he whispers, the words nearly making me cry from happiness. ‘Pardon?’ I ask, wanting to hear him say the words again. ‘I said, persuade me then,’ he says, all the stress and worry suddenly disappearing, a small smirk now on his face. Taking my time, I walk over to him, joining him behind the desk, and I grab on to his tie. He grins at me as I pull him up from his seat, before looking over at the camera.

‘Are you sure you handled it?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Want proof?’ I ask, and he nods. I grab my phone out of my bra, his eyes lingering on the curves of my breasts as I dial Yoongi’s number, putting the phone on loudspeaker. ‘Hey, Peach,’ he says, his voice ringing out into the room. ‘Can you check the camera for me?’ I ask, and he lets out a gentle laugh before I hear some movement and then some typing.

‘According to the camera, Mr Kim is sat at his desk, marking. No one else is in the room,’ he says, and I grin at Mr Kim who looks shocked. ‘Okay. Thanks, Yoongi, you’re the best,’ I say, and he laughs again. ‘No problem. Have fun,’ he says amusedly before the phone cuts off. ‘Does he know?’ Mr Kim asks, and I shrug. ‘I haven’t said anything to him about why I wanted the camera hacked, but he’s probably worked it out. He won’t say anything,’ I say, Mr Kim nodding, obviously slightly nervous.

‘Stop worrying. It’s okay,’ I say gently before I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down towards me. I close my eyes and wait for him to kiss me. When I feel his soft lips brush against mine, I supress a celebratory shout, instantly pulling him closer to me.

Within moments, the kiss has gone from tame and innocent, to passionate and desperate. His hands furiously trail up and down my body, our mouths moving in sync. He pushes his tongue between my lips, and I sigh into his mouth at the feeling. He wraps his hands into my hair and accidently tugs it, but I let out a gentle moan against his lips.

‘Fuck. Fuck, you like that?’ he asks, mouth still pressed against mine, and I nod. He pulls my hair again, this time harder, and I moan again, the sound obviously driving him crazy. He pulls away from me and lifts me up to sit on his desk before his lips attach to mine again. I wrap my legs around him, sitting on the edge of the desk so that our bodies are completely pressed up against each other.

I can feel how hard he is, his bulge pressed against my upper thigh, and a surge of confidence makes me palm him through his trousers. ‘Fuck, Peach,’ he groans, the sounding making me let out a shaky breath. ‘Can I… can I do something?’ I ask against his mouth, pulling away a few moments later. ‘Do what?’ he asks, and I grin.

‘I want your lollipop,’ I joke, and he laughs. ‘I’ve got some in my briefcase,’ he jokes, and I raise an eyebrow, holding back a laugh. ‘I want the one in your trousers instead,’ I say, looking up at him through my lashes, and his eyes darken, a smile on his face. ‘Who am I to deprive my best student?’ he says lowly, and I grin.

I get up from the desk, grabbing his tie again and walking backwards around the desk. I sit down in his seat, and he grins down at me. ‘Authority suits you. You look good in that chair,’ he says, and I let out a gentle laugh. 'I’ll look even better when I’ve got your dick in my mouth,�� I say lightly, and he chokes, coaxing a laugh out of me. ‘Let’s test that then,’ he says, and I grin. ‘Gladly.’

I pull down the zip of his trousers, purposely scraping my nails against his bulge. I push his trousers down just to the tops of his trousers, and his underwear goes down with them. His length, hard and red, springs up and slaps against his clothed stomach, and I try not to actually salivate. He’s long and thick, smooth with a prominent vein running along the underside, and his head is swollen, already leaking with precum.

My tongue darts out to wet my lip before I spit on my hands, Mr Kim watching me with interest. Gently, I place my hands on his length and run them up and down the shaft, revelling in pride from hearing the hitch in his breath. I lean forward, tentatively licking the precum from his tip, looking up at him with big eyes, and he groans. ‘God, Peach, you’re so fucking sexy,’ he breathes out, just before I sink my mouth down around him until he hits the back of my throat.

His hips buck up, pushing down my throat, and I gag around him, as he moans. I take a moment to compose myself before I start bobbing my head up and down his cock. ‘Yes, Peach, God, that feels so good,’ he grunts, gathering my hair into his hands and holding it back from my mouth. I lick along his vein, hands cupping his balls, before I swirl my tongue around his head.

‘You suck dick like a pro,’ he breathes out, and I grin up at him. ‘Thank you,’ I say before sinking my mouth back down onto his length. Obviously he’s getting close, moans and curses falling frequently from between his plump lips, and it’s as though he can’t control himself, starting to thrust into my mouth. I grip onto his strong thighs as he rams into my mouth, forcing himself further and further down my throat with each thrust. And then there’s a knock on the door.

Mr Kim panics, but my brain engages instantly. I pull boxers and trousers back up, quickly zipping him up, before I push him towards the door and hide myself under his desk. Mr Kim takes a couple deep breaths before he unlocks and opens the door, and I hold a hand over myself to stop the loud breathing.

‘Mr Kim. Why was the door locked?’ a voice asks, and I recognise it straight away. Mrs Choi, the strictest deputy headteacher. ‘Somebody kept pushing it open and running away, and it was annoying me, Mrs Choi,’ Mr Kim replies instantly, and I’m impressed at how quickly he thought of that reply. ‘Oh. Well, I need to speak to you about something. Let’s sit,’ she says, and I hear her enter the room, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. Her feet are mere inches from where I’m sat on the floor, only a wooden panel separating us.

Mr Kim takes his seat opposite her, slotting his legs around either side of me, and my head is centimetres from his crotch. The idea forms in my mind straight away, and I grin to myself, adrenaline running through my body.

‘What would you like to speak about, Mrs Choi?’ Mr Kim asks, just as I rest my hands on his knees. His body tenses beneath my hands, before relaxing a few moments later. ‘I’d actually like to speak to you about your twelfth-year class,’ she says, and I move my hands further up his legs. ‘Are you finding any problems with them?’ she asks, as I unzip his trousers as slowly and quietly as possible.

‘Um, no. They’re a fantastic group. High ability and a pleasure to teach,’ he says, voice tense. I’m not surprised, considering I’m pulling his still rock-hard dick out of his underwear as I unbutton my blouse so that if he looks down, he’ll get an eyeful of my boobs, spilling out of my bra. ‘Is that so? No problems at all?’ she asks as I lean forward and put my mouth around his head, staying still once I’ve done so. ‘No, Mrs Choi, none,’ he replies, hands finding my shoulders. I wait for him to push me away, but he surprises me, pulling me closer to him so that my mouth sinks all the way down onto his cock.

‘Really? I’m surprised to hear that. Am I mistaken in thinking you have Daisy, Peach and Dream in your class?’ she asks, and I try not to react at hearing my name from her mouth. ‘No, you are not mistaken,’ he replies, hands on my neck, holding me still, and I realise what he’s doing. He’s turned the tables back on to me. Instead of me torturing him beneath the desk, he’s torturing me, forcing me to hold his cock in my mouth with no movement.

‘And they don’t cause you any problems?’ she asks. ‘No, they’re brilliant students. Engaged in the lesson, intelligent, hard-working, helpful. They’re a lovely group of girls,’ he says, and Mrs Choi is silent, obviously surprised. ‘I must say, I’m shocked to hear you think so, especially of Daisy. We’ve had issues with her since she arrived. Dream and Peach, not as much, but still. They’re all part of the worst friendship group in the school. Their friendship group is the root of nearly all problems within their year group.’ Lovely.

‘That’s surprising to hear. I’ve never had any issues with them. A little talkative at times, but nothing more. They’re on track to achieve the best grades in the class,’ he says, and my heart swells at hearing him speak about us like this when no teacher ever has before. ‘That’s pleasing to hear. They must really like you, Mr Kim,’ Mrs Choi says, and Mr Kim lets out a gentle laugh. ‘I’d like to think they do,’ he says, and it’s obvious he’s thinking about the fact that one of the students must definitely like him because she’s under the table with his dick in her mouth.

‘Well, as it’s reaching the end of their time at the school, we’re looking for… a valedictorian, of sorts. A student, or even multiple, to give a speech at their end-of-year prom. Do you have any recommendations?’ she asks, and I’m curious to hear what he has to say. ‘Any of the three girls. Dream, Daisy or Peach. Or all three of them,’ he says instantly, and my heart warms. ‘That’s not the first recommendation I’ve had for those girls and the rest of their friends. It’s obvious they’re popular with the staff, despite being troublemakers,’ she says, almost fondly, and I think back to all the times we’ve been shouted at in Mrs Choi’s office. Now that I think about it, we almost always have a lecture from her, almost like the lectures you get from your mother. She must have a soft spot for us. Bless her.

‘Well, thank you for your recommendations, Mr Kim. We’ll definitely take them into consideration. I will leave you to your marking now,’ she says, her chair scraping against the floor as she gets up. I hope she doesn’t point out my belongings sat on my desk. ‘Thank you, Mrs Choi. See you later,’ Mr Kim says, and she bids him goodbye before leaving.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, I’m taking him as far down my throat as possible, and he stifles a moan. ‘Let me lock the door, Peach,’ he breathes out, hands weakly trying to push me off, but I ignore him, wanting to make him cum as soon as possible. ‘Fuck, Peach, someone could come in,’ he says pleadingly, but his words are broken up by moans, and I know that the thought of someone entering is turning him on even more, because it’s not long before his cock is twitching in my mouth.

‘Fuck, Peach, I’m gonna cum,’ he groans, and I pull him out of my mouth. I tug at his length with one hand, playing with his balls with the other, and his orgasm hits him within seconds. He throws his head back, face scrunching up, as his hands tighten on my shoulders. He lets out a long, drawn out moan of my name as his hot cum spurts out of the tip, covering my chin, neck and breasts. It’s as though he hasn’t cum properly in a while, depositing an endless amount over my face.

He looks down at me once he’s done, cursing under his breath at the sight of me. I gather some of his release up from my chin and lick it off my finger, the man biting his lip at the sight. ‘Sorry. I don’t usually cum so quick,’ he says sheepishly, moving back and helping me get up from under the desk. ‘It’s okay. I have that effect,’ I joke, and his eyes darken. ‘Oh. So did you have the effect on Park Jimin?’ he asks, and I nearly scream aloud, so glad that he’s brought it up (I really thought I’d put in all that effort for nothing).

He makes me sit on the desk in front of him, and he spreads my legs, making me rest my feet on his armrests. ‘I asked you a question,’ he says, eyes on my soaked pants. ‘I, um… who told you about that?’ I say, and he scoffs. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I was going to hear about it. Everyone was talking about it. Peach sleeping with her best friend’s man,’ he says, looking up at me disdainfully.

‘Are you that desperate for cock? That desperate you’d sleep with Daisy’s man?’ he says, and I stay silent, biting on my bottom lip. ‘Go on, speak. I’m sure you had a lot to say with Jimin’s dick in your pussy, huh? Or did he shut you up with his cock in your mouth? Fucking whore,’ he says, landing a harsh slap on my clothed heat, and I whine at the feeling.

He hooks a finger around my pants and pulls, ripping the flimsy material off me and holding it up to his nose. ‘Fuck. You’re so wet,’ he says, looking at my dripping wet core as he puts the ripped material down on the desk beside him. ‘Only for you, Sir,’ I whimper, and he groans. ‘Fucking slut. I bet it’s for Jimin. I bet you’ve been thinking about having him inside you again, huh?’ he says, and I shake my head. ‘I’ve only been thinking about you. I thought about you while I was with him,’ I whisper, and he looks up at me with dark, dilated eyes.

‘Is that so? Well, what were you thinking about?’ he asks, and I bite my lip. ‘Your pretty lips on my pussy,’ I breathe out, and he groans again. ‘God, you’re so fucking sexy. Let me give you what you want then,’ he says, and I spread my legs even more, leaning back on my hands and shuffling forward so I teeter on the edge of his desk. I’m so close to his face that I can feel his breaths hit my core. ‘Please, Sir,’ I whimper, and he grins at me before he leans forward a licks a bold stripe across my pussy.

I let out a pathetic sigh, my head falling back as he licks at my core slowly, tongue lapping at my slit languorously, dipping his muscle between my folds every few seconds, sending mind-numbing shocks through me. ‘Fuck, you taste so good. So fucking sweet,’ he praises as I let out a small moan, legs curling around his shoulders to pull him closer.

Without warning, he attaches his lips to my clit, sucking and tugging on the bundle of nerves, and my back arches as I throw my head back, broken moans falling from my lips. ‘Stay still, whore,’ he warns harshly, the words against my heat making me shiver as one of his arms snakes around my waist, tightly holding me in place. His other hand scoops some of his cum from my breasts before joining his head between my legs, rubbing the cum onto my clit as more moans escape me.

‘Please, Sir, I want your fingers,’ I plead and he chuckles before slowly pushing one finger between my folds. ‘So tight, baby. Am I not turning you on?’ he asks, plunging another finger in, forcing another moan out of me. ‘How will I get my cock in? At this rate, I won’t even fit another finger into this tight little cunt,’ he says, still with his lips wrapped around my clit and his two fingers slowly pumping in and out of me.

Gradually, he increases his pace, adding another finger in, his mouth still working wonders at my clit. I can feel my orgasm building up, moans falling more frequently from my mouth. He only increases his pace more and more, until his fingers pump in and out furiously fast, his tongue licking up and down my folds before pulling on my clit with his lips.

My hands, threaded into his soft, dark locks, pull him closer and closer to my core, and I can feel myself fast approaching the edge. He curls his fingers into me, hitting the soft spongy spot inside me, and I let out a particularly loud whine. ‘Fuck, Mr Kim, right there, please,’ I whine, and he freezes. ‘Fuck, you’ll make me cum again if you call me Mr Kim. Here,’ he says, pulling his tie off and stuffing it into my mouth before going back to his ministrations.

I can feel myself tumbling towards the edge, pleasure coursing through my veins as I let out muffled moans. ‘Come on, I can feel you’re close, Peach. Fucking cum for me,’ he whispers and, when he curls his fingers and pulls on my clit at the same time, I finally reach my climax. I curse and moan, all of it muffled by the tie, as my orgasm washes over me, back arching.

Once I’ve come down from my high, he licks my release up as I pull his tie out of my mouth before holding his fingers out to me, and I lick them clean as he watches with a smug smirk, lips swollen and shining. ‘That was so fucking hot,’ he says as I hop down from his desk. I pick up my pants and tuck them into his chest pocket with a grin before smoothing down my skirt and rebuttoning my blouse, the man watching as I do so.

‘Wait, are we not going to…?’ he trails off, and I look over to see that he’s already hard again. Very hard. ‘I’ll come to your room,’ I say as I pull some tissues out of me bag, cleaning his cum off my face. ‘But I’m…’ he says, looking down at his length, and I hold back a laugh, putting some powder on my face and pulling on a hoodie.

‘You left me hanging a week. You can deal with a few hours,’ I say, slipping out of the room before he can even formulate a response. I walk down the corridor, unable to wipe the smile off my face, nearly skipping all the way out to the grass where I know my friends will be waiting for me. Honey, Pearl, Daisy, Dream, Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi and Jungkook are all lazing around on the grass, instantly perking up when they spot me.

‘So?’ Honey asks excitedly when I reach them, and I grin. ‘Mission accomplished,’ I say, pulling a spare pair of pants out of my bag and pulling them on underneath my skirt. ‘Wow. He kept your underwear?’ Jimin asks, and I nod with a smirk. ‘Had he heard about you and Jimin?’ Dream asks, and I nod again. ‘He was so mad,’ I grin, all of them laughing as Jimin smirks.

‘Well, damn it, Peach, I didn’t think you would, but you did. You really had sex with a teacher. You won the competition. Good on you, girl,’ Daisy says, and I grin at her. ‘Well, I didn’t really have sex with him. I just… sucked him off. And then he ate me out,’ I say, and Daisy frowns, everyone else looking confused. ‘You should’ve fucked him,’ she says, and I shrug.

‘I’ll fuck him when I go to his room tonight,’ I say, the girls squealing as the boys (and Pearl) look at me incredulously. ‘Wait, you’re really leaving him this long before you fuck him? God, you’re evil, Peach,’ Namjoon says, and I smile smugly. ‘Peach, fucking in a classroom is one thing, but going to his room? You’re asking for trouble,’ Pearl says disapprovingly, and I shrug with a grin.

‘You know what, Pearl? Maybe I am.’

#bts #bts series #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts angst #bts smut #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts humour #kim seokjin #bts seokjin #bts kim seokjin #bts jin fanfiction #bts jin #bts jin fanfic #seokjin #ficswithluv #smutcentralnet

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prairiesongserial · 3 years

Text

14.2

John watched Cody in the side mirror as Cody’s back retreated. John could tell he wasn’t even looking for a free spot as he walked down the line of trucks. John felt queasy. He was dimly aware that he was picking at the skin of his hands.

“What’d he do?” asked the woman in the driver’s seat.

John kept his eyes fixed on Cody. He had slowed down, and now paused by the seventh or eight truck in the line; to John’s eyes, he was just a dot. John struggled to pull his attention away from the mirror.

“Cheat on you? Make eyes at a burlesque girl?”

“No,” John snapped, more at the implication that he was a jealous man than the idea that Cody might take a liking to someone else. The idea didn’t sit well. John and Cody had both had enough of jealous men.

The woman, Abernathy, started the truck’s engine. Ezra appeared at her open window, a map pushed before Abernathy’s face.

“Hey,” he said, addressing Abernathy, though his eyes fell on John. John looked away. His fight with Cody had been loud. After an uncomfortable moment, Ezra dragged his attention back to Abernathy and the map. “So, here’s the thing about this road…” he began. “To get out of the mountains, we need to pass by Shenandoah River territory.”

“Great,” muttered Abernathy. Her finger traced the road on the map. Ezra nodded beside her, half hanging through the window.

“Judging by how far west the big swarm has spread since last year, it’s hard to say what the Shenandoah River will be like. We’re gonna try to pass unnoticed.”

Abernathy gave him a look, her raised eyebrows speaking volumes.

“It looks like we’re passing right on top of them, but look, we’ll be up on the mountain road - ” Ezra’s finger moved over the map. “ - while they live in the valley below. If we’re quiet from mile marker three to, say, thirteen or thereabout, there’s no reason they should notice us.”

Abernathy sighed. “Alright. John, you can fire a gun, can’t you?”

John was surprised to be addressed.

“Uh. Yes.”

Still looking at Ezra, Abernathy said, “Good.”

Ezra rolled his eyes, then took his map and moved on to the next truck down the line.

The truck engine idled under them both. Abernathy tapped her good leg. The other leg of her slacks was pinned up, to keep it out of the way of her prosthetic. Its pneumatic mechanism - a word Enis had taught John - hissed softly.

“How do you keep up?” John asked abruptly.

Abernathy shot him a look, but after a moment of consideration, it turned into a toothy smile.

“You mean with one eye and one leg?” she asked. “Not much to keep up with around here. Half of us are mutants, or have had bites taken out. Same difference, most of the time.”

John nodded. Abernathy’s attention was pulled away to the side mirror, where she read a succession of flashes of sunlight. She put the truck in gear.

“It’s not about keeping up,” Abernathy added, her eyes glued to the mirror, her foot hovering over the gas. “You can’t keep up. You make him slow down.”

John looked down at his lap.

“Sure, you can kill yourself to carry on like you used to, but you can’t sustain that, and you shouldn’t have to.” The mirror flashed twice, and Abernathy took the signal to go. The trucks in line behind her followed. “Heard you talking to Enis about a brace. You should get one, redistribute the weight from your knee as much as you can. But that won’t help you if he won’t slow down.”

John had the idea that Abernathy was speaking from experience.

“Anyway, there’s a rifle behind your seat. Go ahead and get ready.” Abernathy lit a cigarette using a component of the car’s dashboard that looked to have seen Enis’s touch. It was a fragile, exposed mechanism, but it lit Abernathy’s cigarette sure enough. “Ezra’s an idiot.”

The buzz of conversation turned to stony silence as the lead truck passed mile marker three. Every subsequent truck in the line silenced itself as it passed through that invisible barrier, until John could no longer hear even the distant noise of the last truck in the caravan.

The mountain road had gotten steeper, and narrower. Abernathy, as driver of the lead truck, set the pace for the rest of the caravan. She had given John the pocket mirror - not that he knew how to use it - to signal back down the line.

The caravan inched down the mountain. The trucks somehow fit inside the tiny lane, hugging the side of the mountain so close that the brush growing from the craggy rock sometimes scraped John’s window. John was glad the mountain was on their right. There was no guard to prevent them from going over the side.

Abernathy grumbled to herself as she guided the truck through a particularly sharp turn. She had to slow to a crawl to make it.

John noticed a succession of flashes in his side mirror. So did Abernathy, but late; she jerked her head to read the end of the message, swearing.

“Ask them to repeat,” she said. “Flash, pause, flash.”

John held the mirror out the window and hoped his fumbling to get it into position hadn’t signalled anything. He managed to reflect the sun into the mirror, then pause before doing it again. Quickly, he withdrew his hand so Abernathy would be able to read.

The message came again. It was a long message, longer than John had realized.

“John, how many trucks can you see before the turn we just passed?” Abernathy snapped.

John twisting around to see out the back window. There were two trucks behind them; the sharp turn obscured the rest.

“Two,” he said. He saw the nose of a third coming around the bend.

“Flash back ‘no’ - that’s three quick flashes. Come on, quickly.”

John did so. Abernathy sped up, then, to John’s surprise, turned around in the middle of the road. John met the eyes of the driver of the truck behind them - Johannes - who leaned out the window and gestured his confusion and alarm, unable to yell now that they had passed mile marker three. Abernathy sped back up the mountain; John gripped his seat as they skirted the edge. Gravel trickled out from under the truck’s tires, sliding down the mountain with a quiet hiss.

“Truck eight’s trailer is deviating; they won’t make it around the bend,” she muttered. Abernathy slowed as she approached the curve in the road from the opposite side. In the time it had taken them to backtrack, six trucks had passed the bend.

“Shit, we aren’t going to make it,” Abernathy said, speeding up. The seventh truck was coming out of the end of the turn; the eighth truck was beginning it. John saw, and understood. By ‘deviating,’ Abernathy meant that the trailer was hanging at a right angle to the truck, obeying the downward slope of the mountain. Something was wrong with the hitch. If that truck slowed down, or stopped, the trailer would swing out further. As truck eight entered the turn, forced to slow down to the pace of the truck in front of it, John watched as just that happened. The trailer swung out. Suddenly, its back wheels were hanging over the side of the mountain, in the air. Abernathy stopped the truck, and John realized she was hoping for a collision, despite the noise it would make. The nose of her truck would at least force the trailer back onto the road.

“There’s something wrong with the hitch,” John said, sitting up in his seat.

The trailer door opened, and John caught a glimpse of Enis’s face before gravity slammed the door closed again.

“There are people in there?” Abernathy hissed.

The trailer collided gently with the nose of the truck, as Abernathy had planned. Instead of nudging it back toward the mountain, the trailer sprang free of the hitch, separating from the truck.

John tumbled out of the passenger side. The trailer slid over the edge of the mountain.

14.1 || 14.3

#story

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beautyruthy · 3 years

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"The Little Prince "

The Little Prince, French Le Petit Prince, fable and modern classic by French aviator and writer Antoine de Saint-Exupéry that was published with his own illustrations in French as Le Petit Prince in 1943. The simple tale tells the story of a child, the little prince, who travels the universe gaining wisdom. The novella has been translated into hundreds of languages and has sold some 200 million copies worldwide, making it one of the best-selling books in publishing history.

The Summary

The narrator introduces himself as a man who learned when he was a child that adults lack imagination and understanding. He is now a pilot who has crash-landed in a desert. He encounters a small boy who asks him for a drawing of a sheep, and the narrator obliges. The narrator, who calls the child the little prince, learns that the boy comes from a very small planet, which the narrator believes to be asteroid B-612.

The little prince tells the narrator about his life. On his asteroid-planet, which is no bigger than a house, the prince spends his time pulling up baobab seedlings, lest they grow big enough to engulf the tiny planet. One day an anthropomorphic rose grows on the planet, and the prince loves her with all his heart. However, her vanity and demands become too much for the prince, and he leaves.

He decided to explore in six planets. On the Prince's journey, the narrator tells us, the little prince passes by neighboring asteroids and encounters for the first time the strange, narrow-minded world of grown -ups. On the first six planets the little prince visits, he meets a king, a vain man, a drunkard, a businessman, a lamplighter, and a geographer, all of whom live alone and are overly consumed by their chosen occupations. Such strange behavior both amuses and perturbs the little prince. He does not understand their need to order people around, to be admired, and to own everything. With the exception of the lamplighter, whose dogged faithfulness he admires, the little prince does not think much of the adults he visits, and he does not learn anything useful. However, he learns from the geographer that flowers do not last forever, and he begins to miss the rose he has left behind.

The geographer’s suggestion, the little prince visits Earth, but he lands in the middle of the desert and cannot find any humans. Instead, he meets a snake who speaks in riddles and hints darkly that its lethal poison can send the little prince back to the heavens if he so wishes. The little prince ignores the offer and continues his explorations, stopping to talk to a three-petaled flower and to climb the tallest mountain he can find, where he confuses the echo of his voice for conversation. Eventually, the little prince finds a rose garden, which surprises and depresses him—his rose had told him that she was the only one of her kind.

The prince befriends a fox, who teaches him that the important things in life are visible only to the heart, that his time away from the rose makes the rose more special to him, and that love makes a person responsible for the beings that one loves. The little prince realizes that, even though there are many roses, his love for his rose makes her unique and that he is therefore responsible for her. Despite this revelation, he still feels very lonely because he is so far away from his rose. The prince ends his story by describing his encounters with two men, a railway switchman and a salesclerk.

It is now the narrator’s eighth day in the desert, and at the prince’s suggestion, they set off to find a well. The water feeds their hearts as much as their bodies, and the two share a moment of bliss as they agree that too many people do not see what is truly important in life. The little prince’s mind, however, is fixed on returning to his rose, and he begins making plans with the snake to head back to his planet. The narrator is able to fix his plane on the day before the one-year anniversary of the prince’s arrival on Earth, and he walks sadly with his friend out to the place the prince landed. The snake bites the prince, who falls noiselessly to the sand.

The narrator takes comfort when he cannot find the prince’s body the next day and is confident that the prince has returned to his asteroid. The narrator is also comforted by the stars, in which he now hears the tinkling of his friend’s laughter. Often, however, he grows sad and wonders if the sheep he drew has eaten the prince’s rose. The narrator concludes by showing his readers a drawing of the desert landscape and by asking us to stop for a while under the stars if we are ever in the area and to let the narrator know immediately if the little prince has returned.

Characteristics of popular literature emphasized in the novella

The Little Prince makes observations about life and human nature. The Little Prince became Saint-Exupéry's most successful work, selling an estimated 140 million copies worldwide, which makes it one of the best-selling and most translated books ever published. By that, we can tell the the book was very popular and it was really entertaining. It was produced and read by a lot of people and it become one of the favorites.

Appealing Features

There are few books in the world literature legacy that equally satisfy the tastes of both children and adults. One of the first masterpieces that come to mind is probably The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. This charming story takes the reader on an engaging trip all over the universe; a trip that results in fascinating discoveries and helps to realize true values. Adventures that happen during this intergalactic space investigation keep young readers' eyes glued to the pages of the book, whereas the novella’s hidden meaning attracts a grown-up audience.

The main theme of The Little Prince is the importance of looking beneath the surface to find the real truth and meaning of a thing. It is the fox who teaches the Prince to see with one's heart instead of just with one's eyes.

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itzasunflower · 4 years

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“The Three Stages of a Party.” (part three)

-> no warnings, just angst and fluff.

part one,, part two,, part three

The Last Stage; The After-Party and The Truths Untold.

The next morning, you woke up with a heavy headache. The sun was blinding your vision and warming your bare legs. Your body felt so uncomfortable as you still were in your tight dress from last night. Just by this sense of touch, you could remember to yourself that miserable party of that night, and to add more water to your already-full-cup, your miserable drunk self. Shame, you just felt ashamed.

You looked at the ceiling a few seconds, and started to itch your puffy eyes while stretching your lazy body. Suddenly, your legs hit something, or someone to be exact. Haechan? What the fuck, he was shirtless. This boy. If only you had not thrown up on him... that was embarrassing. He was sitting on the ground, his back against the opposite side of the couch, with his head lowered. Ouch, his neck might hurt. You did not want to wake him up. Hence, you sat down beside him, and placed his head on your shoulder. You knew that you should have not done this: Haechan had a girlfriend now, and this thought made you want to keep your distance far from him but you could not retain yourself from taking care of your lover. Hearing the birds singing, you concluded that it was too early to begin the day and put your head on his. You were so eager to put his hand in yours, caress it with your thumb, and whisper him how much you loved him. He was so close yet so far, the world felt so heavy all of a sudden. You sighed and went back to sleep quite easily as you wanted to forget faster how deeply heartbroken you were and how tired you were from the early morning headache.

After what seemed like an hour for you, a voice made you flinch off of your sleep.

“Okay baby, I’ll be home in the afternoon.” Haechan murmured with his husky voice of the morning. You did not want to wake up to him calling another girl baby though. Was their relationship even serious? Whatsoever, you felt like you could never have him, as usual. You were used to this empty feeling, but now it was different, it was a total reality. Your head was on Haechan’s shoulder, and you just wished you could stay like this all day long. His voice, his perfume, his soft skin, you were going to miss it, damn. It hurt how much you wanted to be his, and how much you wanted to be whoever this girl might be. She was lucky to have such a mature, handsome and goofy man as her boyfriend.

“Hi dickhead.” you mouthed as you stood up, and gave him a little awkward smile while he was still on call with his girlfriend. It hurt so much, seeing him talking to his lover, who was obviously not you. You pointed out to your outfit to tell him that you were going to change. You picked two extra large t-shirts from your closet, one for you, and the other one for the shirtless Haechan: buying men’s t-shirt is a big yes. You put the t-shirt on and left your legs naked. Then, you went to take off your ugly make-up from yesterday, wash your face and brush your teeth to look a little less miserable. After that, you went back to see Haechan who was drinking water in the kitchen.

“There, put a t-shirt on sir.” you said coldly, and threw it to him. “Whatever I said yesterday.. it wasn’t totally false though.” You hesitated a second before saying out loud the last part of your sentence, but this situation needed to stop: he deserved to know the truth, and you needed to let go of this to move on peacefully. You bravely looked at him straight in the eye. “Look, I’ve been in love with you for the past few years, but I just can’t handle it anymore. Now that you have a girlfriend.. I’m super happy for you yet I feel so miserable for myself.” you gulped at your own words, how embarrassing. You felt even more miserable when he just walked past you without saying anything. His face was expressionless, and unreadable. An electric shock crossed your body. Your tears filled your eyes, but you just avoided them, closing your eyes as tightly as you could. Were you two over from this moment on? You turned your back to see him wearing your t-shirt and putting on his shoes. He was going to be gone forever, and you could not believe it was going to end like this. “So that’s how it ends? You don’t have the balls to tell me anything? Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend? You made my hopes up, and now you’re going to leave like a fucker? Bullshit!”

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled, looking at you with his frowned eyebrows. “Were you that blind to see that I felt the same all these years?! Everytime I showed you how much I cared about you, you’ve always taken it for granted. And it hurt me too! Now that I have a girlfriend, you’re complaining? I just need someone who sees the efforts I make for them. How many times I wanted to take you on dates, but yeah, I didn’t have the balls. So what now?! I’m still in love with you, but you’ve waited for me to have a girlfriend to confess?” These words escaped his mouth all at once, as he made some steps towards you. He looked down at you, and it made you panicked. His confession turned your brain off, you could not even think straight, neither your eyes knew what to look at. It felt awkward not to be able to say anything. You were hard-headed, so you were usually always talking back to people, you loved to have the last word. Haechan was the only one to put you right in your place, and that was one of the reasons you loved him: he was brave enough to face you when you were wrong. However, although you were hardheaded, you were really softhearted, you just did not show it often. You could tell Haechan was confused not to see you responding back to him. “Talk to me, we have things to talk about.”

“Why having a girlfriend then? Just, why?” you finally looked up at him, with a tear falling on your cheek. Oh, fuck, not tears. “You didn’t have to move on like this, and to keep on making my hopes up. It’s totally unnecessary and mean.” you erased quickly your tear and waited for his answer. He confessed to you, yet you needed more explanation. How could someone move on so easily?

“I didn’t know my feelings were mutual. And in order not to hurt myself more, I wanted to forget you while dating another girl. I know what I’m doing is bad, but I couldn’t help myself.” he lowered his head, feeling ashamed of his actions. It was the worst solution, and he had chosen it anyway. You felt a bit disappointed, but what could you do? This is humans’ wrongs. You sighed in response.

And at this exact moment, you craved to hold his hand, which was so easy of access, to comfort him. You gave up, and just did it anyway. Your eyes were fixing on your fingers intertwining his for the very first time, and your heart softened. Oh, you hated this side of you though. But, it made you realize that both of you just confessed each other’s feelings. You felt nothing more but relief.

“It’s okay, just tell her the truth. What you did was bad, indeed, but you can’t judge yourself. Okay?” you whispered, while your eyes were still glued to your hands.

You suddenly felt Haechan’s hand on your chin, to lift it up. His eyes were mesmerizing, and you could not take your eyes off of them. And at that moment, you also thought about what you two were going to be, a couple? close friends? how did things were going to turn after these confessions? And when you blinked, you didn’t know how close your faces were. You were getting closer and closer so slowly, and it drove you crazy. Fuck it. You grabbed him by his collar and kissed him tenderly. Your lips were perfectly synchronized, and it felt so good to feel the warmth of his mouth after such a long wait.

What the future holds, only belongs to the future. You wanted to know what you two would become, but you decided to let go of your overthinking and fears to live with the flow. Right now, you were in your lover’s embrace, and it was all that mattered. “I love you.” he shushed, caressing your cheeks and looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world. His eyes’ sparkles lighted up your world, and you could not be happier. “I hate you, why would you make me wait for so long, god!” you giggled, hitting his shoulders and went directly for a hug. Fatality, was it so? Who knows.

Hello guys, so that was the last part of TTSP! It’s my first time writing a story with chapters, I’m usually very bad at keeping writing about the same plot, in the long -not so long though- run. I really tend to write one-shots, so it was kinda a challenge for me! It was really interesting to go through this process, I just now can pinpoint more easily my weaknesses and know what I can do to improve my plots, and writing! Thank you for those who have read the three parts and liked it! If you have any request, just tell me! If my writings can be an escape for you, it’ll be a pleasure for me to write for you! -🧸

#haechan fluff #nct fluff #haechan blurbs #nct blurbs #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 blurbs #haechan #haechan angst #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios

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yandere-society · 5 years

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Hi! Would do a reverse-idol scenario where the reader is filming a music video for the ballad of their new cd, and RM is cast as the love interest?

Sunset Serenade

Admin: @nomnomsik 🎉

Trigger warning: heavy misogyny, yandere-themes, love-hate relationship, slight mention of stalking. Please read with caution.

»»————- ★ ————-««

Look at me. I want you to look at me, please.

I’ll do anything to capture your attention, to earn your love and affection.

Why won’t you look my way?

Please…

Wait, where are you going? Don’t go… Don’t leave me.

Namjoon’s eyes were glued to his phone, mind hazy as it went in and out of consciousness. The blue light illuminated in the dark, burning his eyes, but he didn’t care. He was simply lying on his soft bed, ruffling the dark, black locks on his head as your image appeared on his screen, flickering back at him.

You were chatting vibrantly away with the hosts of a certain show, answering trivial and insignificant questions. Namjoon’s grip tightened on his phone as he shuffled in the blankets, turning to his side.

His gaze sharpened, eyes furrowed as he began to question himself. Why was he even watching these? He hated you. Everything about you.

Your laugh was nails on a chalkboard, always too high pitched to ever seem real and genuine. Your hair was styled weird, too much volume that made it look like it was bigger than your face. The clothes you sported didn’t even fit the shape of your body, often too baggy, and not even on purpose. Your habits and gestures always seemed so stiff and off making him wonder: were you even real?

You were nothing special. You were everything he despised in a person. And even though he hated your existence, he continued to watch. He couldn’t understand why he was so enthralled, why his eyes continued following every scrunch and expression of your face.

He hated women like you.

He hated you, specifically.

He hated how he could never have you.

There was a spark in his mind, flashing images in front of his eyes. He wanted to see you cry, wanted to show you how it felt, wanted to get over people as terrible like you. It wasn’t until the host spoke again that Namjoon was pulled from his thoughts and back at his phone.

“Y/n-ssi, so, care to share what your ideal type is?”

You blushed a shade of pink, Namjoon’s jaw clenched as he wanted to launch his phone onto the ground and scream at the top of his lungs. His resentment brewed, not only because of you but because of himself.

Why did he always get trapped by these type of women? The ones he hated so much that he couldn’t help but be captivated, that he couldn’t help himself but look at you again and again from his screen.

“I guess… I like really tall men, not too tall, preferably fit? If they can pull off white hair too or a platinum blonde color, that’s bonus points?” You laughed nervously, scratching the back of your hands as your legs swung off your seat.

Namjoon’s mind blanked, the video coming to an end a few minutes later, black screen. His arm seemed to move on its own, setting his phone aside on his nightstand and powering it off. He just stared at the ceiling, the white color staring back.

White, huh…

»»————- ★ ————-««

It took a couple of weeks, but Namjoon stepped outside the hair salon, his white fringe blowing in the breeze as the hair covered his eyes. He was lucky he decided to do research on his client much earlier than he usually did. The hair came out even and sharp, dark roots probably not showing for a few solid weeks.

His fingers came up to his blank strands of hair, surprisingly still looking alive despite all the heavy bleach he had to endure that burned his scalp. Namjoon would adjust his hair for the next couple of days, his fitness trainer who he had befriended for not even a month complimenting him on his new look, only for Namjoon to give him a ‘thank you’.

All for what again? Another one to not look his way?

“Kim Namjoon.” He had smiled, extending his hand out only for you to accept it, giving him a shake in return.

“Nice to meet you.” You had shyly pursed your lips, eyes lingering on his for only a second before snapping away. “Nobody really does handshakes nowadays, don’t you think? I’m so used to bowing you caught me off guard.” You confessed, chuckling at yourself as your director led the two of you to the set. Namjoon agreed out of necessity, sharing the same sentiment, not that he meant it.

You were to spend the next two days filming, Namjoon cast as the love interest of your music video. The two of you were drenched in jewels, diamonds encrusted in the collar around his neck and a necklace around yours that dangled to your chest. You sighed in a joking manner, wondering why you were dressed up in such a flamboyant way for a slow, ballad type song as your title track.

“Don’t you think this is a bit too much?” You muttered, pulling at jewelry that seemed to tangle around your wrists. While Namjoon was getting his hair readjusted and makeup getting the eighth touch up of the day, he laughed.

“Of course not, you look beautiful.”��

His words set you off, face blowing up with heat, but foundation covering your reddening face perfectly.

“Oh god, don’t say that.” You begged, hand coming up to cover your flustered state.

Namjoon was a tall man, chest broad, biceps and thighs thick, and voice so soothingly deep. His aura oozed of charisma, the makeup artists even falling for his beauty. He was a man who knew exactly what he was doing and just how good he looked, on and off-camera.

His hand completely engulfed yours, gently stringing you along in the set as the camera panned over to follow the pair. With the soft ambiance of your track in the background, you two twirled around for the camera, sharing flirtatious giggles, smiles, and touches that lingered for far too long. Even Namjoon got bold, spinning you around until he was directly behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You never wanted the shoot to end. When you were with Namjoon, you felt like you were in love. It was like you had a husband, a lover, who loved you as much as you did. Your hearts were beating as one. The look of his eyes filled you with something warm, melting into his embrace. With Namjoon, it’s like you knew what love was supposed to be.

It hurt your heart when you heard the final “cut” that echoed in the room. The shoot was over. Your time with Namjoon was over. As you were getting your clothes and accessories unhooked off, all you could think was how a person you just met impacted you so deeply. You knew nothing about him, but exactly everything.

He had to be the one.

You didn’t care if you were delusional, you wouldn’t be able to take the pain of never seeing him again, never getting to know him. When you were finally released, you sprinted out of the changing rooms, running to the lobby and searching for the man you longed to see again.

Where was he? Did he leave already?

“Kim Namjoon? Oh, yes, he just gave me his farewell a few minutes ago. He’s such a polite gentleman-” The director spoke, only to get cut off as you quickly thanked him and sprint off and out the door.

“Kim Namjoon!” You yelled, legs running to chase after the man who seemed to disappear after the recording was finished. You saw his figure down the empty street, crossing one of the small bridges over a stream that flowed underneath. With the sun setting in the distance, you willed all the power of your lungs, catching up to the man you couldn’t bear to not know, to never see again.

Namjoon turned around at the sound of your voice, the golden sun shining on his skin, eyes wide as you panted, hands grasping onto his white dress shirt.

“I-I…” You harshly exhaled, only for the man in front of you to look at you with worry in his eyes. “I want… I want to know you. I want you to be in my life. I can’t have someone like you leave me… Don’t do that to me.”

Namjoon’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, hands shaking as he boldly cupped your cheeks. This was it. This was the moment.

Even when Namjoon lowered his head down to yours, lips so close they were barely touching, you realized you could reject him, refuse the intoxicating taste of his lips, but you didn’t.

You sealed your fate with him as your lips met his, his hold so tight and intense. When Namjoon fluttered his eyes back open, he didn’t see just you. He saw all the women he chased after in your face, in your eyes.

It was then he hid a smirk beneath his smile, hands joining yours. You had looked his way. He had won your attention.

And he was never letting go.

#yandere bts #namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon x reader #bts scenarios #bts reaction #kpop x reader #yandere kpop #bts au #bts drabble #bts namjoon #namjoon

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bangtan-madi · 4 years

Text

546 Days Without You — Three: Day 1

Pairing — Seokjin x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Seokjin, older brother!Yoongi, producer/songwriter!MC, military au (ish), idol au (ish)

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 2.9k

Summary — Kim Seokjin is your entire world, and that world falls apart the moment he and your older brother Yoongi are conscripted into the South Korean military.

Part — 3 / 15

Warnings — not a very fun chapter, a lot of angst, enlistment

(gif not mine. credit to original creator.)

Previous — Next

"Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"Yes. Please, Jagi. I don't think I could—I can't do it myself." Seokjin places the razor in your hands, closing your fingers around it as he plops down on the stool in the bathroom. Deep brown eyes find yours in the reflection of the mirror. "I trust you."

Taking a deep breath, you steady your hands as you select the shear closest to military standards. It'll be a close shave, but that's what's required of every man entering the South Korean military. While you knew this was coming, you didn't expect Seokjin to ask you to be the one to do the act.

Without giving it too much more thought, you raise the razor to his head, release that same breath, and run the blade from the side of his head to the nape. Inches of inky black hair fall. One after another, the strands litter the floor. The whole time, Seokjin maintains his attention on you.

After touching up a few areas around his hairline and neckline, you place the blade on the bathroom counter and round the bench to face Seokjin. For the first time, he shifts his gaze to his reflection. A soft smile tugs at his lips, and he slips an arm around your waist.

"I haven't had hair this short since I was nine," he murmurs.

Absentmindedly, you run your fingers across his scalp, the familiar resistance no longer there. "I kinda like it. You look handsome."

Seokjin pulls you closer and rests his cheek on your shoulder. You rest your chin on his head, turning your face so that your hair hides your expression. The last thing you want is him to see how much all of this is affecting you.

"Are you okay, Jagiya?"

The tenderness in his voice only makes you want to hold him tighter. "I've been better. You?"

"Not really."

The part that upsets you the most isn't the fact that Seokjin's hair is gone; he's still as handsome as ever. What bothers you is just how much conscription strips each person of their identity, of their freedom, of their uniqueness. Cutting his hair is just another in a long list of things he's had to do to prepare to become a soldier the past few weeks.

"I know I've said this a lot the past few weeks, more than usual, but I love you and we're gonna get through this."

"I know, Jinnie. I love you, too."

"Also, if you don't smile at least a little bit before tomorrow, I might have to tickle you until you do."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would." Seokjin pulls back slightly, his signature goofy grin plastered on his face.

His ever-present giddiness and joy spread to you like wildfire. You run a teasing finger across his jawline and slowly slip from his grasp, walking back towards the master bathroom door.

"Then why don't you come prove it, Seokjin?"

It doesn't take long for the sadness of the incoming enlistment to be temporarily forgotten behind the closed doors of your bedroom, behind the love you both share, behind the promise of the rest of your lives. Even as the cool evening slips away, wrapped in Seokjin's embrace is exactly where you'd want to spend your last few hours together. Alone, with just the company of each other, proving that no amount of time will tarnish what you share.

Seokjin's twenty-eighth birthday is spent in the very last place you want to be, doing the very last thing you want to do. It's spent in Nonsan, Chungcheongnam-do province, where families from all over South Korea have come for the military enlistment ceremony. The ceremony lasts for just a few hours, but after that, we will have to say goodbye to our bright-eyed boys and girls. Beyond the fanfare, food, and festivities, there's an underlying sadness that you try to ignore, if only for Seokjin and Yoongi.

But it doesn't matter in the end. To you, the send-off is just a show, the government's way of trying to ease the hearts of their citizens. The venue of the training facility, where the recruits will spend the next five weeks in basic training, brings back all sorts of memories for you. You were here five years ago to say goodbye to a childhood friend, only to never see him again.

"Do you think the news knows we're going to be here?" Jungkook asks quietly, breaking the silence in the back of the car.

"Maybe," Namjoon responds. "Bang PD said he leaked another location to the press, so hopefully they're across the city at another venue. If they find us, then we will deal with it then."

The youngest nods, turning instead to you. You're seated between Seokjin and Yoongi, clutching both of their hands in each of yours. The van falls silent again, and Jungkook gives you a small smile as your eyes flicker up to meet his. The Golden Maknae has always had a soft spot for you and often treats you like his older sister.

You return the expression, but the smile immediately slips off your face as the van pulls up to the front gate of the training facility. As the driver checks in with the guard, your grasp on their hands tightens.

From the moment the van is let into the training camp until the moment you're all seated in the bleachers around the open training grounds, the silence remains. The field and its seating area are filled with active-duty soldiers, new recruits, and loving families alike. Not one of them pays you or the group much thought, which gives you instant relief.

Both the Min and Kim families find you at the entrance. Mothers embrace their sons, fathers show resolve and strength as they follow suit. Your eyes find your mother's, and it takes all your strength to hold her hand as she coons over Yoongi. Your oldest brother, Junki, ruffles Yoongi's hair and gives him reassuring words.

"You're gonna be fine, Yoongi," he affirms. "It's not nearly as bad as everyone makes it out to be. You're a Min. You're going to be just fine."

Seokjin's mother, the dire beauty that she is, refuses to release her youngest for minutes on end. Seokjin rests his chin on her shoulder and lets her cradle him in her slender arms. His gaze shifts to you, and he offers a tiny smile. His father embraces him after she lets him go, being tucked into the arm of Seokjin's older brother, Seokjung.

Junki finds you after he separates from your brother. He tugs you aside, lowering his voice a bit. "How are you holding up, [Y/n]-ie?" he asks, using your childhood nickname.

You offer a shrug as a response and let him pull you into a tight hug. You've never been as close with Junki as you are with Yoongi—part of the reason being your age difference, as he is six years your senior, and also do to your home life as children—but you've never doubted that either of your brothers cares deeply for you.

"You got this," he murmurs, pulling away after a moment. "Chin up, okay? We need to be strong for them."

"I know. Trying my best."

He ruffles your hair, just as he did to Yoongi. "Proud of you."

Once both sets of parents are semi-stable, the entire group makes its way into the stadium. All heads are low, and you reach for Yoongi and Seokjin's hands once again. Even though they wear recruitment attire—plain black T-shirts and navy pants—the fear of being recognized still remained. It was enough to have the rest of BTS wear hats, masks, and sunglasses in an attempt to disguise their identities. But most of those around you are too busy fussing over their children, siblings, and significant others. No one is paying attention to the strange group of oddly-dressed youngsters, each sitting more closely than the next.

The ceremony begins without much fanfare. Your hands remain glued to the hands of the men most important to you. Despite the patriotism in the air, despite the food and music that flows in from the field, you can't bring yourself to feel one ounce of any of it.

You do not sing the anthem. You do not put your hand over your heart. You do not pledge to the South Korean flag or to the President. The pit in your stomach grows, and anger fills your being. It's nearly impossible to push away, even with your head against Seokjin's broad shoulder and your fingers laced with your brother's.

You feel nothing but pain as you count down the minutes until the moment you have to let them go, for what might be the last time. None of you have any idea if you'll see the two oldest members again, or when they might return. So much is up in the air. So much is out of your control. So much is ever-changing.

The unknown is strong enough to kill.

Towards the end of the ceremony, after the introductions and anthems and speeches presented by the boot camp instructor in South Korean military greens, the new recruits are asked to join him on the field as part of the final send-off.

"Don't worry, you will have another chance in a few moments to say your final goodbyes," he assures the families whose gasps and sobs have started to fill the stadium. "This is merely a formality as they accept their duties as soldiers. Young men, please join me on the grass."

While hesitant, Yoongi and Seokjin obey the orders from the commanding officer. Their hands slip from yours, releasing at the last possible minute as they tread the stairs along with the fifty or so other recruits. Seokjin keeps glancing over his shoulder, while Yoongi's eyes slide to yours every few seconds. They line up with the other enlistees, standing at attention, shoulder to shoulder on the field.

You slip into the seat nearest your mother, reaching for her hand. The middle-aged woman always felt more at ease with your fingers threaded through hers; she was like Yoongi in that regard.

"These are South Korea's future," the man in military greens continues in a proud and confident tone. "When I call their names, know that those are the names of heroes."

He begins to go down the line, announcing each man and woman's names with authority. Half-way through the process, you hear the two names you've been waiting for.

"Kim Seokjin."

The name sends a murmur across the crowd as people recognize the familiar name of BTS' oldest member. Seokjin smiles softly, dark eyes shifting up to yours. He offers a tiny shrug, his actions saying, "Well, the secret's out. Nothing we can do now."

"Min Yoongi."

The second familiar name causes the voices to raise in volume. The people closest to you start to analyze the group with skeptical eyes. Both Yoongi and Seokjin had come from your row, and they're starting to pick up on it. No one says anything directly to you or the members, or acts on their new-found suspicions, but it causes the others to pull their hats lower on their heads and curl in under their disguises.

This is everything you didn't want.

The officer completes his listing of the new soldiers and turns back to the families in the bleachers. "The ceremony is nearly over. If you would like to say your final goodbyes, please join your sons and daughters on the grass. You will have a few minutes, after which you will be asked to leave, and your brave loved ones will begin their training."

You're up and running towards the field before the soldier finishes his sentence. Bounding over bleachers, dodging family members, hurling over the low fence that separates the audience from the arena, you collide into both Yoongi and Seokjin. Somewhere along the way, you've lost your cap and your scarf, but none of that matters now.

The crash nearly sends them both off-balance, but they regain it easily as their arms pull you closer. One arm around each of them, you feel Yoongi's face bury into the crook of your neck while Seokjin's lips press against your hair.

"You're going to be fine," Yoongi insists in a low voice. "We're going to be fine. Just think of this as another tour."

"I already tried that one," Seokjin chuckles softly. "Didn't work."

You shake your head and tighten your grip. "No...No, I'm okay. Yoongi's right. It sounds scary, but both of you are strong as hell. I know you'll be okay." Pulling away, you reach for both their hands and squeeze comfortingly. A semblance of a smile graces your face before you add, "If you can be brave, I can be brave, too."

"Oh, so you listen to him but not me?"

Seokjin's comment breaks the intense atmosphere as the rest of the members scurry over to the trio. Taehyung wraps his arms around Yoongi, giving him a back hug, whilst Jungkook does the same to Seokjin. Hoseok and Namjoon stand to their sides, close enough to speak in low tones for only the group to hear. Jimin leans his head against your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist. The Busan native has always been one of your closest friends; he knows how hard today is for you. Your families join in, gathering close to their boys.

Jokes are shared, goodbyes are said, and eventually, the families are called to start wrapping up. Five minutes doesn't feel like long enough, but you'll have to make it work. As Seokjin continues to make the teary-eyed group laugh, Yoongi tugs your sleeve so you turn to him. Taehyung releases his hold on his Daegu brother, allowing the two younger Min siblings to slip away.

"You know I'm not great with telling my feelings," he begins, grip on your sleeve tightening. "I'd rather show how I feel than tell...but I want you to know I love you and that I'm proud of you, [Y/n]. You're never going to find a prouder brother than me."

You wrap your brother in another of your many tight hugs, resting your chin on his shoulder. "You know I feel the same."

"Really? I gave you that heartfelt confession and all you have is, 'Same'?"

You pull away with a giggle, playfully tapping Yoongi's nose with your finger. "Just kidding. I love you and am proud of you, too, Yoongles."

Seokjin approaches after another few moments, after Yoongi turns to your parents and older brother. Your boyfriend slips his hands into yours, his touch tender and loving despite the tiny gesture.

"I wish there weren't strangers here," he sighs, looking down at his feet.

A pang settles in your heart at his words, your grip on his fingers tightening. "I know."

This isn't the first time that your secret relationship has come back to bite you. It was a choice you both made early on, one that you both knew was right at the time. Between his career as an idol and you being an employee of BigHit, everyone—including the company—agreed it was for the best. Both you and Seokjin are very private people who value personal space and a certain level of anonymity. Keeping your relationship on the down-low for the past few years has been difficult, but ultimately worth it.

But there have been a few times where you've wanted to chuck the whole secret relationship thing out the window and throw caution into the wind. This is one of those times. You can't kiss the love of your life goodbye. Sure, you had done so many, many times earlier that day, but this is it. The last time you'll see him for months, at least until he earns personal days.

"It won't be as bad as we think," he murmurs. "After training and after we get assigned to our units, we'll start to get our personal days. You can bet I'll be taking all of mine to see you and the boys. Maybe we can arrange for the same personal days so we can all be together again."

"Time's up," the commander announces. "Families and loved ones, please leave the field."

Seokjin leans in, wrapping you in one last hug before you part ways. He leans down and whispers into your ear, "Love you and miss you already, Jagiya."

"I love you, too, Jinnie." Pulling away, you force a smile onto your face, one that he eventually mirrors. "See you in a minute."

The brunet chuckles at your usual farewell. "Don't you dare be late."

Jimin wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close as the group starts to leave the field. He tugs you along with him. "C'mon, Aein, We gotta go before the press starts a stampede."

His sweet nickname does nothing to deter you, nor does it make your feet move. After a few additional tugs and another hand from Taehyung on your shoulder, you allow the boys to steer you towards the seats, where your parents and older brother stand with tears in their eyes.

You cover your mouth with your hand, and as your brother and lover turn towards the training facilities, their figures blur behind your tears. It takes everything in you to whisper your next words, rather than scream them at the top of your lungs.

"Don't go."

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19umbrellas · 5 years

Text

Villain I appear to be || Diego Hargreeves x Reader

Description: You were the eighth member of the infamous Umbrella Academy. Your adopted father, Reginald Hargreeves, had raised you and your seven other siblings to fight crime and stop evil, however, as you grew older you found yourself straining farther and farther away from the life of a hero your father always wanted you to be.

This will be a One-shot series or something? I don't really know what it's called. It's like, same title and concept but different stories and pairings per chapter. If that makes sense. ùwú

Pairing: Diego x Reader

Word Count: 2829

ONE-SHOT

Two security guards and their police dog stood at the entrance of the city's most extravagant art museums. CCTV cameras were looming over their heads, turning every so often in order to scan the vicinity for any threats or suspicious behavior.

This museum always had strict security staff since this building contained many priceless art pieces that are worth more than an entire town. Tonight, however, their usual security had increased tenfold because the museum had received a new contemporary piece from one of the world's most well-known artists. It was the newest piece from her and she decided to hold an unveiling party in this very building. She trusted the museum to protect her work and, for good measure, she hired her own defense against robbers.

She paid a good amount of money to a security agency lend her their best men to help protect her most valuable work. She was able to recruit fifteen highly trained soldiers and one special agent who she hired in secret. By nightfall, all the security guards were in their normal positions while the hired guns waited inside for an attack. The place was locked up tighter than most prisons. Even a rat couldn't get in without being shot or mauled by an aggressive German Shephard.

But of course, for you, this is nothing but childs play.

You were crouched on the roof, your entire body blended into the shadows except for your (e/c) eye as you observed the guards below. Scoffing when one of them jumped at the scampering fox. "This is the top of the line security Madame Sol was bragging on about?" you cringed as you shook your head, standing up and walking over to the edge. "Is she trying to mock me?" you silently jumped down behind the two security guards without them noticing. Their dog however instantly perked at the slight sound of your heels hitting the ground. You smirked as you crawled backwards and phased through the wall before the dog could turn around.

You looked up with awe at the architecture of the inside. The last time you were here, you were with your siblings trying to stop a group of thieves from stealing precious art. Oh, how time changes. You smiled to yourself as you took a quick look around before phasing inside one of the huge cylindrical pillars as two men wearing camo uniforms passes by. Once they were distant enough you slowly poked your head out and looked around. When the coast was clear you quietly sprinted out and strategically avoided all the cameras inside.

You pressed your back to the wall as you sneaked a glance over at the two men standing silently in front of a large wooden door. Humming in delight, you suppressed a soft giggle that went up your throat. "This will be fun." you said as you phased into the wall.

The two grunts stood attentively, their eyes glued to what was in front of them. Suddenly a buzz cut through the silence and a strong voice spoke through their radios. "Halpert, Scott, do you read me, over?" the voice said one of them took the radio into his hands and pressed the speak button. "Loud and clear, over." the voice came again. "I might need some back up down at the basement." he said. "I think I saw unauthorized personnel running around. Can one of you come over here, over." the two guards looked at each other and nodded. "I'll be right down, over." the one holding the radio walked away while the other guard stood at the center of their position, not even batting an eye.

After a few minutes, a loud rattling captured the guards attention and he quickly pointed his gun to one of the paintings. A portrait of a woman clad in a black veil was starting to shake violently as it's wooden frame banged on the wall. The guard slowly walked over and stopped in front of it. He inspected it for a minute before he pressed the gun's nose to the painting's frame making it stop moving. He was about to pull his gun away but suddenly a hand shot out of the painting and forcefully grabbed onto his face, covering his mouth as he screamed. (h/c) hair started to poke out as well until suddenly a head was floating right in front of his. The figures face was covered in her hair making her seem more menacing and scary. The guard was having a hard time processing what was happening and had a hard time moving his limbs due to shock and fear. You tilted your head upward a bit, showing him your eyes as you smirked and put a finger on your lips while saying, "Shh, the sun has set. It's time for bed.". The hand you used to cover his mouth suddenly emitted knock-out gas that quickly rendered the poor man unconscious.

You stepped out of the wall and fixed the glove on your hand that still had some fumes leaking out of it. You blew on the flat nozzle on your glove, pushing away all the remaining smoke before you grabbed a hold of the man and hid him in a dark corner. With that out of the way, you dusted your hands and skipped inside the door. "Most secure building in the city my ass." you mumbled cockily as you stood in front of the podium. The room was dark, and the only light source was coming from one spot light that shone above the beautiful ostrich egg that was purely mad with diamonds and other precious stones. You pursed your lips at the piece of art before approaching it. "Not your best work Madame."

You heard a click behind you as you felt a gun pressing to your back when your fingers brushed the luminous egg. "Step away from the egg and put your hands up." your eyes widened for a bit but your shock didn't last long. You chuckled as you turned around. "Congratulations." you said. "You're being very rude." before the man could react you gave him a swift kick on the head and knocked him out. You huffed and turned back to the art piece. "Alright, take two." you lifted up the egg from the bottom and examined it in the light. You mumbled the possible prices you could sell this at as you quietly marveled at its colors.

"So you're the special agent Madame hired?" you suddenly said aloud before placing the egg inside the small messenger bag that you brought with you. "Don't even bother throwing one off your precious knives at me, I'll probably just catch it." You looked to the side as a familiar man walked into the light. Diego crossed his arms. "Haven't heard from you in awhile (y/n). I was scared you might have gotten killed in a dirty alleyway or something." he said sarcastically. You laughed dryly, not taking your eyes off of his hands that both held double-sided knives. "Sorry, Diego, I just didn't have time to call is all. Work has been really hectic lately. You understand, don't you?" you said as you slowly walked backwards but Diego took a step forward everytime you did. "You got dad really worried, you know." he gave you a look when you let out a cackle. "When did you start to care how the old bastard thought?"

"Ever since he told me what you've been doing this past few years." Before you could say anything Diego already threw one of his knives at you but you were able to catch it with ease. You sighed in annoyance as you threw the knife in front of him. "It's been a long night Diego. I don't want to fight you." you said but Diego was already in a fighting stance as he cracked his neck. "Too bad." he lunged towards you and you blocked his fists before it made contact with your body. The two of you fought gracefully around the room, Diego moving more on the offense while you just tried to block all of his blows.

After a while, it didn't look like Diego was backing down and you were starting get impatient. With a strong kick to the stomach you were able to push him a fair amount of distance away from you and you booked it to the nearest wall. As you were about to phase shift you felt your bag tear open and the egg roll on the floor. You stopped and looked down, Diego's knife was pierced on the wall in front of your messenger bag. You huffed and quickly tried to get the egg back but Diego already tackled you to the ground, pinning your arms next to your head. You struggled under his grip but he his hands were too tight and he had pinned both your legs as well.

You huffed in defeat as you finally stopped your squirming and glared daggers at him. "Gotcha." he smirked. "What are you going to do now?" he asked mockingly and your only frown deepened... until an idea popped into your head. "That was a good fight Diego. I gotta admit you've gotten way better since we were teenagers." you smiled up at him but he wasn't buying it. "What are you-"

You cut him off when you leaned upward and kissed him right on the mouth. When you pulled away, Diego was in a state of shock and confusion and you used this to your advantage. You were able to wiggle your leg free and kick him right on the family jewels before pushing him off of you and you grabbed the egg. Diego was holding his crotch as he huffed in pain.

"You know, for a guy, you have really soft lips." you winked as you gave him a two finger salute before phasing walking out of the building.

The next morning, Madame Sol was downright devastated when they found them art work gone and the guard knocked out. The museum received an anonymous message from the thief, threatening her to buy the egg from the thief or else they would sell it to other buyers who were already interested. Madame agreed to pay the money without another even thinking and gave you a rather large metal briefcase in a discreet location. You thanked her for her patronage and with that you happily skipped into the bank where you deposited all your cash into your five different accounts.

Now, you were sitting outside a cozy little cafe, sipping on your favorite drink and eating some (f/f) cake. A waitress stopped by and asked if you needed anything but just smiled and shook your head. It was a quiet day, people were calmly walking down the street and there wasn't a lot of cars driving by. It felt really peaceful. Deciding that you want to go home. You finished off your drink and cake, took out your wallet and left your payment and a tip.

The sun was slowly setting as you neared your apartment building. You looked up at the sky and smiled. Today really was a beautiful day. Suddenly you heard the sound of someone being slammed in a garbage bin in an alleyway right across the street. You stopped in your tracks, looked to the direction of the noise and debated if you should go check it out. Suddenly, screams erupted from the same alleyway and you broke off into a sprint to the other side and pressed your back against the wall. You looked to see what was going on and you saw two men dragging a flailing girl into their van. You cursed under your breath as one of them hit her in the stomach making her cry out in pain. You quickly phased into the wall and waited for them to get the girl inside the van. Once she was inside, they locked the door and banged on it, telling at her to keep quiet.

As they were walking to the front of the vehicle you suddenly jumped out of the wall and slammed into one of them. They hit their head on the van with enough force to knock him out. The other guy took out a pistol and to the other side of the van but there was nothing there other than the his unconscious friend. He frantically searched for the intruder, pointing his gun in every every direction until the doors of the van swung open, hitting him on the head and he fell to the floor. You ran out the van with the girl next to you but before you could reach the street a shot rang through the air and a sudden sharp pain manifested at the back of your stomach. You tripped and your face hit the ground as tears suddenly rolled down your cheeks and your mouth was Coughing out blood.

You felt one of their boots turn your body around and you heard him gasp and laugh in glee. "Holy shit, (y/n) fucking Hargreeves." he crouched down so you see his face more clearly. His stained teeth was smiling down at you his and his eyes were disturbingly yellow. "Ohoho, you are worth so much more than that other slut we almost took." he stood up and laughed as he walked to the van and got something from the back. He said something about catching tuna but they got a great white instead. You couldn't quite comprehend what was happening anymore as the senses of your body started to shut down one after the other.

Suddenly, you could hear man's muffled screaming as the sound of something sharp cut through the air but you didn't pay much attention as you just started up onto the orange sky. A dark figure was now looming over you but you couldn't recognize who it was due to since your eyes were starting to get foggy. When the mystery silhouette kneeled down to you, you couldn't handle the pain anymore and you finally blacked out.

When you finally regained consciousness you heard a sweet voice coming next to you. Your eyes slowly opened and you instantly knew where you were. You've been in here so many times when you were still a child. You look to your side and saw your robotic mother happily cleaning a bloody scalpel. "Mom" you croaked. She looked at you and smile "Hello (y/n) dear. How are you feeling?" Grace asked as she walked over to you. "Well, not dead because of you." you said and she chuckled. "Oh, I can't take all the credit dear. Diego was the one who brought you back here."

"Imagine what would have happened if I came a minute later." A new voice entered the conversation. It turned over to Diego who was leaning on the door frame. "Ah, Diego, my savior, as thankful as I am for your heroism why do you have to be so intense all the time." you shot him a playful smile and he laughed as he shook his head. He walked over and took a seat next to you. Grey smiled as she walked out of the room, giving you two some privacy.

Diego looked at your bandaged stomach as he gently ran his hands over it. "Does it hurt?" he asked concerned. You felt a small twinge of pain as he put pressure on your stomach but it was practically nothing. You shook your head and said no. You were looking at his face as he stared at your wounds. It was silent for a minute or two until you spoke, "Thank you." you stuttered softly. "For saving me." Diego looked at you with a half smile. "Well, it's kind of my job." he responded. "Saving people and breaking bones?" you asked, quoting him. He laughed and nodded. Your happy expression faltered slightly. "Even for a criminal like me?" you asked and he looked at you for a minute before he said, "Nobody's perfect." He smiled as he placed his hand on yours and give it a gentle squeeze. You smiled and he cleared his throat and stood up.

"Anyways," he started "About what happened at the museum." he said and you rolled your eyes. "Oh come on, I already gave the egg back. You can't still be mad about-" he shut you up with a soft but passionate kiss and you instantly kissed back. When he pulled away he rested his forehead on yours. "I've always wanted to do that ever since our first mission together." he whispered and blushed, smiling. You were about to lean in for another peck but then the booming voice of yours father shook the room.

"Number 8! Your recent actions across the city are extremely inexcusable!" he said, standing at the door way. Diego smirked as he stood straight. "Have fun pumpkin." he said as he walked out.

"You fucking prick."

AN:

So here's the first story for, Villain I Appear to be! I decided to write a one-shot series for the Umbrella kids because why not, you know? Don't worry, The Great Escape is still my number one priority so this won't change update time for it. uwu. It's just refreshing to write about other characters. Huhu.

I'll be writing for every single Umbrella kid except for Five because honestly it makes me uncomfortable since his actor is so young. But hey, if ya'll want me to add Five then just DM me or something. uwu. I promise to try my best.

#diego hargreeves #umbrella academy diego #diego hargeeves #the umbrella academy x reader #tua x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader #fanfiction #fanfic #number two #number 2 #the umbrella academy grace #tua #the umbrella academy #tua diego #the umbrella academy diego

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yallreddieforthis · 6 years

Text

I’ll Stop By Your Room

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language, talking about sex, mentions of past sexual situations)

Words: 7.1k

Movie canon-compliant but not book. Aged-up (16-17) Also posted on AO3

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

As he steps onto the bus to head back to Derry High, Eddie is prepared for the first time in his entire school career, to declare this field trip A Success.

He’s made it almost halfway through tenth grade without ever having gone on a field trip where no disastrous shit went down—either for the class in general, or just specifically Eddie-related shit. There was one in sixth grade where the bus driver got lost and they didn’t get home until after five, and Eddie’s mom had already gotten the police involved by the time the bus pulled into the parking lot of Derry Elementary. Or the eighth grade one to the botanical gardens where Eddie got stung by a bee. Or when they went to the zoo in second grade and some asshole monkey managed to fling his shit far enough out of his enclosure that it splattered Bill right in the chest and like, okay, maybe that was more of a tragedy for Bill than it was for Eddie but Eddie was standing right next to him when it happened. It was scarring for everyone, okay?

Well, maybe not for Richie, who laughed so hard he almost peed his pants and still brings it up anytime anyone mentions monkeys, even in passing. Like someone will say this is so easy, a monkey could do it, and Richie will invariably butt in with haha, hey Bill, remember the time…

In fact, Eddie thinks that a large part of what has made this art museum field trip such an unmitigated success is that he has managed to stay as far away from Richie as possible. Not the actual art part; that was boring as fuck. Bill and Ben were the only ones who got anything at all out of that shit—Ben was all, did you know that this painting was commissioned for Colonel Assface during the War of Whateverthefuck in the year Long Enough Ago That No One Cares Anymore, and Bill was quiet the whole time but his eyes were all lit up and Eddie could practically hear him thinking about color and brushstrokes and shit. Which is fair, because Bill’s art is starting to get really good. He drew Richie during chem last week and Eddie liked the sketch so much he managed to muster up the courage to ask Bill if he could keep it. He’s positive that if he’d bothered to pay any attention at all in the gallery of Frou Frou di Fifi or whoever, he’d be able to see influences from the trip in Bill’s sketchbook.

But he didn’t. He spent the whole time glued to Stan, because Stan is terrified of paintings (which is understandable, Eddie thinks), and Eddie felt bad that he was forced to come on this field trip. Usually, Bill would be the one to partner up with Stan and like, be supportive or whatever, but Eddie and Stan both knew that the lure of a real art museum was going to be too tempting for him, and Stan’s best bet for company would wind up being Eddie. Stan was miserable the whole time anyway, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. It’d be like if Eddie had to go spend the day in a lab staring at Petri dishes full of diseases and then write a two-page essay about how much he loved it. Like, fuck that shit. He suppresses a shudder at the thought.

So he stuck with Stan, inching along the far wall away from the artwork, and avoided Richie, who mostly told jokes over Ben’s A History Of Everything In the Art Museum lecture and spoke at Bill, who uh-huhed him in the middle of sentences so many times that Eddie thinks even Richie might’ve eventually caught on that he wasn’t listening. Avoiding Richie, especially for Eddie, is usually very difficult for a multitude of reasons, the chief of which being that Eddie is in what essentially amounts to a relationship with Richie. Today, it was surprisingly and suspiciously easy.

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to be around Richie—he does, actually always, to an alarming and almost disgusting degree—it’s just that Richie is super inappropriate and keeps Eddie in a constant state of worry about what he’s going to do next. Sometimes, for example, he acts like he’s going to start macking on Eddie in public which...they haven’t really discussed it out loud before, but Eddie thinks they have a mutual understanding about not doing shit like that because Richie has never followed through on it. He’s not exactly embarrassed about the...relationship or whatever, at least not very—Eddie figures he has no more reason to be embarrassed of Richie than Richie does to be embarrassed of him—but he knows and he prays to God that Richie understands that obvious PDA would be just as bad as painting a target on his forehead. A big rainbow target.

Eddie files into a window seat on the bus so that he won’t get carsick and hopes Stan will fill in next to him so he doesn’t end up having to sit with someone mean.

Eddie gets picked on enough already, for plenty of reasons. People had been calling him gay for years before he realized he actually is, in fact, gay. Like, the gay was totally always there, tapping him on the shoulder occasionally like hey, uh, It’s Raining Men is a pretty great song, you should listen to it on a loop for six months... and Eddie was just ignoring it until the whole Richie situation sort of forced him to turn around and look it in the eye. And once he did it was like my guy, listen. Dudes. Dicks. Richie. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Eddie sometimes wonders if other people were actually able see it before he could. Were they just calling him gay because people do that, or because they knew? Like maybe he’s been walking around leaving a trail of glitter behind him without realizing it?

There’s no way of knowing for sure without asking someone, and since Eddie hasn’t technically ever said the word gay out loud yet… Presumably, Richie is aware that he is—even if that understanding is based on nothing but the fact that their lips are touching more often than not when they’re alone together—but Eddie hasn’t managed to work up the balls to even talk to him about the implications of being gay. Let alone the implications of being gay in Derry. Jesus, Eddie doesn’t even want to have that discussion mentally with himself, much less verbally with another person.

As soon as he spots Eddie, Richie weasels his way past Stan to cram in next to him. Stan rolls his eyes and gets pulled along into another row. Well, fuck.

Luckily, the museum is about a half hour drive from school, so Richie only has thirty minutes left to work his magic on upholding the streak of shitty field trips. The bus driver turns on the engine and Eddie realizes that he’s picked one of the wheel seats, which will ensure that his legs are numb from the wheel vibrations by the time they reach school. Awesome. Richie drops his backpack in between himself and Eddie, which is only notable because he uses its cover to grab Eddie’s hand where no one can see it. At the very, very least, Richie still remembers that subtlety is the name of the game here.

Not that Eddie really thinks the other Losers will care. That time in the sewers...everything they’ve been through together...Eddie doubts there’s anything he could be or do that would make them hate him. He could kill someone and they’d all just be like yeah I bet he deserved it and you need any help burying the body? He’s aware that he has the best friends on the face of the earth and that once he gets around to telling everyone about him and about them he’s probably going to feel a lot better. Hell, they might even already have guessed. He doesn’t know why he’s putting it off. He keeps telling himself next sleepover, next weekend, tomorrow at lunch and then backing out. It just feels so...daunting. Like—

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks Eddie, in a completely normal tone of voice. Which is to say loud. Richie’s normal tone of voice is very loud.

Jesus Christ.

“You wanna say that a little louder?” Eddie hisses at him.

“SO, WHAT DO YOU THI—”

Eddie clamps his hand over Richie’s mouth and gives him his most murderous glare. Richie just shakes his head and stares at Eddie with his best puppy eyes. Yeah, those eyes that Eddie used to be able to match with a dead-eyed stare and now they just make him feel all melty and gooey and shit because Richie really does have the longest, darkest, most beautiful eyelashes and his eyes are soft and—

Richie uses the momentary hesitation to lick Eddie’s palm. Eddie automatically draws his hand back in disgust.

“BLOWJOBS,” Richie shouts the second his voice is no longer muffled in Eddie’s hand. Eddie elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs and almost remembers to stop holding hands with him under the backpack. Almost.

No one even turns around. From the front of the bus, Mrs. Eisner calls back a vague “that’s enough, Richard,” but that’s the only response he gets.

“See?” Richie says, turning back to Eddie. Eddie wipes his wet hand viciously on the front of Richie’s shirt. “No one’s listening. Say whatever the fuck you want. I like you like you. You’re hot. I wanna suck your dick. See?”

He spares a single thought for Richie saying you’re hot. Did...did he mean that? Was he just saying that shit because he was trying to demonstrate that no one was listening? Like, does Richie really think Eddie is hot?

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks again, in exactly the same tone of voice he used the first time, which makes Eddie feel like if he’d just given a real answer way back five minutes ago, in a simpler time before he knew Richie thought school buses were an appropriate setting for sex conversations, then it would’ve been easier.

Also, Richie doesn’t seem likely to drop this topic anytime soon, and when he gets like this Eddie has found that the best course of action is to just grit his teeth and plow through the conversation until Richie is satisfied with his answer, after which they are typically able to move on with their lives. The last time this happened was a Power Rangers versus Ninja Turtles debate that lasted for forty five minutes. Hopefully they can breeze through this one before they get back to school, because Eddie doesn’t relish the idea of Richie passing him terribly drawn notes with diagrams of dicks and tongues during math.

So that’s what makes him decide to take a second and actually consider the question. Blowjobs and sucking dick are things Richie talks about regularly—not with any real seriousness, of course—but Eddie’s never given the idea too much thought because honestly? Gross.

He’s gotten almost all the way past the ickiness of kissing on the mouth and like, in the face-area—mostly by just refusing to think about germ transfer rates and mononucleosis—because Richie has made that worth his while. It took a couple months for him to really get the hang of it, but now they’ve got that shit down; Richie knows how to kiss Eddie’s neck to make him go jelly-legged, and Eddie can get Richie all red-faced and panting just by sucking on his ears the right way, and once they get going, kissing on the mouth is the furthest thing from icky. Eddie sometimes feels like there are moments where he will internally combust if he can’t kiss Richie.

So it’s not that Eddie doesn’t think a blowjob would feel good. The opposite, actually. Just...it feels like asking for some kind of nasty disease.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head and staring out the window as they pull onto the main road leading to the highway, “I don’t think I can like...do that. Dick in the mouth. Nuh-uh. Nope.”

“No I mean me give you one,” Richie presses. “I’m not afraid of your germs.”

Eddie bristles a little at that because it implies that Eddie is afraid of Richie’s germs which...okay, maybe he kind of is, but Richie didn’t have to say it. He knows that’s not really what Richie meant though—it’s not a jab at Eddie—he’s actually trying to be reassuring. Trust Richie to accidentally backhanded compliment his way into sex. What a fucking catch. And now he’s looking at Eddie with this earnest smugness, like he knows he’s going to convince him to let him do it and he’s stoked. But why does he even want to? Like, what’s in it for him?

Does he really think Eddie is that hot?

“Did you mean it?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself.

“Totally,” Richie says, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze under the backpack. “I’d take a faceful of your jizz over splashing around in graywater any day.”

Ew, what the fuck?!

“No,” says Eddie. “What is wrong with you? I don’t mean—I meant when you said I was…” Eddie drops his voice to a whisper, “... hot. Do you really think I’m hot?”

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Richie says. “Don’t you think I am?”

Eddie’s first instinct is to say no, dipshit, because “hot” is a word reserved for like...like Ethan Hawke or River Phoenix. Not people like Richie, who has been at peak teenage awkwardness for what feels like a decade at this point and looks to be in real danger of staying that way forever. He has terrible taste in clothes and the glasses and the crazy hair and as a package he’s just...so overwhelming, and that’s not hot. Not even a little. It’s—

“I’m just messing with you,” Richie says cheerfully, knocking his knifepoint-sharp elbow into Eddie’s arm. “Everyone knows you’re the beauty and I’m the brains.”

“God, I hope not. We’re really fucked if you’re the brains,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Richie snorts and squeezes Eddie’s hand in such a way that it makes a fart noise and Eddie yanks it out from under the backpack. He folds his arms across his chest and Richie spends the rest of the journey home trying to coax him back into holding hands. By the time they get back to school, Eddie is red with both embarrassment and suppressed laughter, and he thinks about how this kind of thing happens so often that he’ll probably never blush again without thinking of Richie.

As is customary on school nights, Eddie goes straight home after his last class. He’s not allowed to have friends over or go to the arcade unless it’s a weekend, which he used to think was because his mom wanted him to have plenty of time for his homework but now feels more like one of her arbitrary, controlling restrictions because she doesn’t seem to actually care all that much about his grades. It feels like it’s more about just...having him home while she watches The Young and The Restless by herself in the living room. Why exactly Eddie’s presence in the house improves this activity, he doesn’t entirely understand.

Richie took to sneaking in during the night years ago, which always makes being alone for the afternoon slightly more bearable. He’ll get on his bike after last period and turn to Eddie and say I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom, which is actually a polite offer for company in disguise. Eddie will either say if you really have to or I’ll make sure to put the lock on the door then and Richie has never not respected the answer.

Today he said it and Eddie told him to get lost because they’ve got an essay due tomorrow on the impact of our trip to the art museum and Eddie had had a feeling that writing it was going to require some premium-grade bullshitting. He’d been right, too; he didn’t get done with it until ten. But it’s not like that’s really what ate up his entire evening, because then he’d debated internally with himself for half an hour before caving and rewatching Footloose. By the time he’d brushed his teeth, put on pajamas (his warmest ones—reindeer-printed and made of fleece—because it’s chilly and it’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway), and gotten into bed, it was after midnight. So now he’s still wide awake and feeling kind of like he wishes he’d invited Richie over after all, despite the fact that he really should already be asleep.

It used to be that whenever Eddie said yes, Richie would come straight over after the sun went down. Eddie could always tell if they’d all gone swimming without him because Richie’s hair would be damp and he’d smell like quarry water and the grass at the top of the cliff, and he’d flop onto Eddie’s bed and get those smells all over his sheets. Those nights, Eddie would always go to sleep wondering if Richie was just wearing wet briefs under his shorts or going commando. He was never sure which idea he liked less.

Since this summer though, I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom has taken on a connotation that sets off a shivery, churning feeling in Eddie’s gut. Sometimes Richie will lean over and whisper it in his ear—sometimes he leaves off the last part too. I’ll stop by your room, he breathes out, warm air hitting Eddie’s neck, and Eddie bites his lips and goes all hot because it means that that night, sometime around eleven or midnight or so, he’ll hear a dun dun dun dadadundun tapping at his window. Eddie is still not sure if that’s a reference to Under Pressure or Ice Ice Baby and he honestly thinks he doesn’t want to know.

He’ll wedge a towel under his bedroom door to soundproof it as much as he can. Then he’ll lift the latch on the window and open it as far as it will go. Richie just barely fits now. A couple of years ago it was nothing for him to hop through, now he has to fold his long legs every which way and his skinny arms flail around and his big feet get caught on the other side of the sill and sometimes he whacks his giant head on the wall as he tumbles through. It’s never a quiet process, unfortunately; there’s always some swearing involved, and Eddie lives in fear of the day Richie looks at him from the other side of the wall, moonlight shining off his glasses, and says “well, fuckity fuck, I’m stuck.”

That’s a problem for Future Eddie to deal with though, because once Richie’s in, well. Once he’s in the room, those skinny arms are immediately wrapped around Eddie’s waist and the long legs bump into Eddie’s as Richie backs them toward the bed. And then they get there and...god.

Eddie turns over onto his side and fiddles with the sleeve of his pajama top, thinking about how if Richie were here, the shirt would be gone before the backs of his knees even hit the mattress. Richie is always the first to start taking clothes off—he does it like he’s starving for him—like touching Eddie is what he lives for and he can’t hold off another second. It’s...feeling like that, like someone wants him so bad...it’s kind of wonderful and powerful and scary.

Every time they do it ends basically the same—they take everything off and then they touch each other until they can’t anymore and their fingers are gooey and sticky and then Eddie has to shove Richie out of bed or he’ll fall asleep right there—naked and on top of Eddie for Eddie’s mom to find them the next morning. It hasn’t happened yet, thank God, but it’s a closer call every time because it’s getting harder and harder to kick Richie out after.

In fact, Eddie has taken to spending a worrying amount of time just sort of lying there and stroking Richie’s naked back or smoothing his hair over his head. After is always kind of awkward for Eddie, because he can’t think of anything to say that isn’t incredibly embarrassing, and silence feels weird too. So far he’s managed a that was good twice, which he was super proud of both times even though he also wanted to roll over and hide as soon as the words left his mouth.

Richie does not appear to suffer from the same affliction, because he always starts talking again pretty much as soon as he catches his breath, and Eddie is usually too tired to complain about whatever stupid shit he says. Richie’s pillow talk typically includes such topics as: an enthusiastic play-by-play of what they just did (during which Eddie always just mumbles please stop every few seconds), complete with commentary, which is as complimentary as it is mortifying; a detailed tactical gamplan of what they should do in the event of a zombie outbreak; who Richie would cast if they made a movie about the X-Men and for some reason wanted his opinion; and a ranking of his favorite types of candy based on the logistics of building an edible house. As long as he keeps blabbering, Eddie can privately enjoy that sick-happy feeling in his chest and put off kicking him out. If he’s being honest, Eddie just wants to hold him super tight and close and stay there until he can watch the sunrise illuminate the faded freckles on Richie’s nose.

Eddie snuggles deep down in the covers and thinks about his favorite parts—between when Richie squeezes into and out of his window—and lets himself relish in the fluttery, fidgety excitement that comes with the memory of Richie, shirtless and pale and glowing faintly red in the light from the numbers on Eddie’s alarm clock. The way his mouth looks after they’ve been kissing, soft and full and open, how his wild hair splays across Eddie’s neck when he bends down to breathe warm air onto Eddie’s nipples. His hands unzipping Eddie’s pants, rubbing him over the front of his underwear like he can’t even wait the two seconds it’ll take to pull them off. The way his back looks as he arches into Eddie’s fingers, the way his head falls forward when he gasps and the way he moans like Eddie’s mom isn’t literally two rooms over oh my god, Richie, shhh. The way he exhales sometimes, like he’s so turned on he doesn’t know how else to express it but with those shuddery breaths that almost sound like the ghost of laughter. Eddie’s whole body goes warm at the memory because it’s the hottest thing he—

And then it’s like Eddie’s brain douses him in ice water because it is. It’s hot. It’s hot as fuck and Eddie remembers that Richie asked him on the bus a few hours ago if he thought Richie was hot and he did not give him an unequivocal yes. And that’s obviously bullshit because Eddie was totally getting ready to start jerking off just now thinking about how fucking hot Richie is when he’s naked and they’re in bed together. Eddie had somehow been under the impression that hot is this kind of ethereal concept that only applies to celebrities or strangers, when hot has literally been sucking face with him for months. He is officially the biggest dumbass ever. Eddie wonders if there’s any other obvious shit staring him down that he hasn’t picked up on yet.

And suddenly Eddie cannot stand the idea that Richie might be sitting at home thinking Eddie doesn’t find him hot. It’s Thursday...well, technically it’s Friday but it still counts as Thursday night and there’s no way Richie isn’t planning on coming over for some sweet handjob action tomorrow night, but this can’t wait until tomorrow. And he can’t call, his mom will want to know why he’s using the phone at this hour and it’s possible that someone other than Richie might answer and then Eddie will have to come up with some reason besides I’m sorry to bother you at this hour Mrs. Tozier, but it’s an absolute emergency because I have to tell Richie right now that he’s hot and thinking about him naked gives me a boner.

Yeah, not likely. This situation calls for desperate measures, like an entirely unprecedented course of action. Eddie puts on his sneakers, throws on a sweater, and walks to his window.

If Richie can still get in, it’ll be nothing for Eddie to get out. He’ll just close the window most of the way from the outside, but not so much that he won’t be able to get back in. His mom might come in (unlikely, Eddie can hear her snoring) and find him gone and completely blow a gasket, but that’s a big might and the fact that he needs to see Richie right the fuck now is a definitely, so. Down he hops, quiet as can be.

It’s early December and fucking cold. Cold as fuck. Eddie hops back and forth from one foot to the other while he untangles his bike from where the garden hose fell on it and tries not to think too hard about how the frigid wind in his face is going to feel when he gets going.

The less that can be said about the seven minute bike ride to Richie’s house, the better. The word frostbite comes to mind more than once, as well as death by exposure. Eddie thinks it’ll be unfortunate but understandable if his dick decides never to make an appearance again; he’s pretty sure it has retreated up into his body for good. He can’t feel his hands but manages to peel his fingers off the handlebars nonetheless, leaning his bike up against the side of Richie’s house without bothering to hide it because, according to Richie, Richie’s parents are heavy sleepers. Eddie wouldn’t normally just take Richie at his word on something like that, but he figures they would’ve had to have caught their own son sneaking out at least once out of the hundreds of times he’s done it if it wasn’t true. Eddie walks around the back and looks through the curtains of Richie’s room.

Richie, wearing the same pajama bottoms and old tee shirt he usually shows up at Eddie’s in, is so deeply involved in Sonic that Eddie wonders if he won’t hear him rapping on the window, but he does it anyway. Dun dun dun dadadundun.

It’s Under Pressure, Eddie whispers to no one in particular. Richie doesn’t hear that or the knocking.

Dun dun dun dadadundun. Eddie knocks again, a little louder.

This time, Richie turns around. He does one better, actually: he does a double take and his jaw drops wide open, hair flopping into his face. He looks utterly stupid by any account and yet the first thought that pops into Eddie’s head is beautiful.

Richie drops the controller onto the floor to live amongst the general covering of junk that populates his bedroom before loping over to the window and opening it.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, staring out at Eddie like he can’t believe he’s here, which is kind of annoying because like...Eddie has a bike too. Just because it’s always Richie who appears at Eddie’s house in the middle of the night doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t capable of reciprocating every once in awhile. It’s just that it’s obviously nicer to get it on in Eddie’s room than in the garbage heap Richie inhabits.

Richie reaches out a hand to help Eddie clamber inside. He must have the heat cranked up full blast because Eddie starts regaining feeling in his extremities right away when Richie shuts the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just needed to—” Eddie starts, then clamps his mouth shut.

In that moment he realizes that he’s just shown up at Richie’s house at one in the morning on a school night without warning, wearing fleece reindeer pajamas, sneakers without socks and a sweater, and he has literally no idea what he wants to say other than I just needed to tell you you were hot. Right now, apparently.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Richie demands, in what might sound like a normal tone of voice to an outsider, but Eddie instinctively recognizes it as being seconds away from abject panic.

Eddie looks up into his eyes and god damn, how has he never managed to see how insecure Richie really is? Of all the millions of things Eddie could be here for… He could’ve had a fight with his mom. Winston from the Sweet Valley High books that Eddie definitely doesn’t read could’ve been killed off. Eddie could just be horny. He could have a homework question—well, probably not that one because going to Richie for homework help would be worse than just not turning in the assignment and taking a zero—but a breakup? Like, that’s what he jumps to? A breakup? Really?

“God, no,” Eddie says, and then the next words come out of his mouth with absolutely no leave to do so from his brain. “Why the fuck would I do that? I love you.”

Richie sits down hard on his bed and just...stares. And Eddie a little bit wants to freak out because I love you sounds like a really big deal but like...is it? Is saying it that big of a deal? Feeling it is, maybe, but if Eddie’s being honest with himself, he’s been feeling it for like forever. He might not have always been willing to admit that, but if you take a dump in a toilet and call it a flower, it’s still shit. Saying it doesn’t change that.

“Actually I just wanted to tell you you’re hot,” he continues, fidgeting with the zipper on his sweater and still standing awkwardly by the window. That part comes out easier, probably because he just dropped a live one with I love you and nothing else he has to say could possibly be as enormous as that. “Cause on the bus, like I didn’t. But you totally are. Hot. You’re...hot. Like super hot, like…” Eddie gestures vaguely up and down with one hand, “all of you. Your hair and your back and shit—I mean, your...yeah. So I just wanted to tell you. Bye.”

And because every single word after you’re hot has increased his discomfort exponentially, Eddie feels like this is as good a time as any to make his exit. Actually, about fifteen seconds ago might’ve been better, but it’s certainly only going to get worse if he just stands there doing nothing, so he turns toward the window and prepares to bail. This apparently snaps Richie out of it because he gets up, still staring.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Richie asks.

“‘Why the fuck am I here, where the fuck am I going,’” Eddie repeats, one leg already out the window. It is so fucking cold outside and like, this whole thing was such a bad idea, Eddie wishes he could go back in time fifteen minutes just to smack himself in the face and tell himself to stay in bed. “Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home. It’s a school night.”

“Uh, no way,” Richie says, striding toward him. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist. “You don’t get to say something like that and then just like fuck off. Nah, come back in here and let me blow you.”

Let him what now?! It takes a second for Eddie to make the connection—like why Richie is bringing that up—but then his mind presses rewind on the part from the bus when Richie said Eddie was hot and...right. The conversation was originally about blowjobs. Why do they always seem to have these important discussions about feelings in conjunction with sex stuff? At this rate, Eddie’s never going to have a cute story about their relationship that’s fit for mixed company. Like he’s gonna tell the others at a sleepover, so then I said “I love you, Richie,” and he was like, “that’s sick dude, lemme suck your dick.”

He’s about to say no because ew, but...it’s Richie. And Richie is looking at him with his big brown eyes and Eddie knows that Richie would be a hundred percent cool with it if Eddie truly didn’t want to, and if Eddie says not gonna happen, Richie will probably never bring it up again. But he can also hear the excitement in Richie’s voice, and it seems...crazy, like it’s crazy that Richie really wants to blow him that much.

“I didn’t say that shit because I wanted a blowjob,” Eddie tells him.

“I know,” Richie says.

“I don’t think I can really stay,” Eddie says, although he also pulls his leg back in the room and allows Richie to shut the window again. “It’s a school night.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s a school night,” says Richie, in what he clearly thinks is a California Surfer Dude voice, but it’s new to his repertoire and still sounds more like he’s having a mild stroke than anything else. He grins and gets straight to work pushing Eddie’s sweater off his shoulders. “Think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow. I’m gonna get hard just looking at those bags under your eyes.”

“What the fuck?” Eddie whispers back to him. He shrugs his cardigan back on. “You say the weirdest shit Richie, I swear to God. Is think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow supposed to be like, dirty talk? Because uh, that’s not sexy. I—”

“But you love me,” Richie interrupts, “so everything I do is sexy.” He yanks his own shirt over his head and smiles down at Eddie.

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” Eddie says, placing both hands on Richie’s bony chest and trying not to focus too much on how good his skin feels because he is not going to get distracted by the lure of impending nakedness.

“Yeah it is,” says Richie immediately, sliding a hand up under Eddie’s pajama top. “We’re in love, so everything is like automatically a million times more sexy.”

“Oh really? What so...so, my...like when I had to shove Tylenol down your throat when you had a 102 fever last month? You find that sexy?”

“Hell yes,” Richie replies immediately, “you can play doctor with me anytime, baby.”

“Don’t you dare start calling me ‘baby,’” Eddie warns him.

“Try and stop me,” Richie laughs, and he pulls Eddie in closer with his hand on the small of his back. Fuuuck, no way is Richie going to let that go. Eddie hates the nicknames, but he knows it’s a losing battle because Eddie Spaghetti eventually got replaced with Eds and he can already imagine baby gaining ground on Eds. In fact, Eddie would bet his whole allowance that baby is going to eventually turn into babe. He can see babe sticking long-term. He’s just gonna have to get used to the idea.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie sighs, resting his forehead on Richie’s shoulder.

“Dude, I’m trying,” Richie says, grinning his shit-eatingest.

Eddie starts to giggle and has to put the brakes on it because he’s not getting sucked in. He’s not. He came here with a mission and he accomplished it. Just because it’s kind of making him die a little inside to leave right now doesn’t mean he can’t suck it up and do it anyway.

“I have to go,” Eddie says again. He stands on his toes and kisses Richie a little harder than usual, and hopes that Richie understands he’d much rather stay here. Someday, Eddie wants to tell him...someday they’ll finish high school. It feels like a million years from now, but then he knows he’s going to blink and he’ll be holding a graduation cap and a college acceptance letter. And Richie will be there too, holding...well, Eddie’s hand, at the very least. He really would get good grades if he applied himself, like all his teachers say, but Eddie doesn’t love him any less for his 2.7 GPA.

“Tomorrow,” Richie says. Eddie’s not sure if it’s a promise or a question. But either way, the answer is yes. If Richie wants to do what they usually do or… whatever else. Eddie’s down for it. One great thing about Richie—one of many, Eddie thinks—is how he doesn’t really try to force Eddie to stay. It’s kind of like when he goes to high five Stan and Stan gives him that please die now look, and Richie just immediately cuts his losses and moves on. He’s like that a lot. Eddie sometimes wishes he could just let shit go the way Richie does.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. “Definitely.” He can’t quite bring himself to say how much he’s looking forward to it—so much, so so much—but he thinks Richie can tell anyway. They lock eyes and there it goes, that melty feeling, like the first sip of hot chocolate after playing out in the snow. That’s what should’ve tipped Eddie off that he’s—that they’re—in love. It’s love or fever delirium. Either way, he’s such a goner.

Eddie steps away from Richie and turns toward the window. Once they finish school they’ll leave Derry and only be forced to come back for like, Christmas or whatever. They’ll get a dorm or maybe an apartment together—some cheap place in a horrible neighborhood, probably—and Eddie will eventually have to break it to his mom that Richie’s a lot more to him than a roommate, but it’ll all be so worth it because—

Eddie steps on the uneaten crust of a forgotten PB&J on his way to the window. This is it, the future he has chosen for himself. No one goes from being the kind of person who tosses sandwiches on the floor to a liveable human being in the span of a few years. Someday, it’ll be their room and Eddie will be getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stepping in peanut butter, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. He picked this idiot—this somehow super hot idiot—he went and fell in love with all that hair and those dark eyes. He fell in love with Richie’s knobby knuckles and his bitten cuticles too. And his strange, infuriating, perplexing mind. Richie never lets anything be boring. Eddie can look forward to an entire lifetime of being, at the very least, kept on his toes. If not literally, to avoid stepping in discarded food.

“You know,” Eddie says, swinging his leg out of the window and back into the icy wind, “I hope you plan on getting a good job, because I’m going to be stuck cleaning up after you as a career.”

Eddie only realizes when he’s halfway home that he just essentially admitted out loud to Richie that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, which in hindsight makes Richie sound like a really smooth motherfucker for saying, “Nah, I was already planning on hiring us a housekeeper,” without missing a beat.

Eddie slams on his brakes and there, in the middle of the street in the freezing pitch-black night, he comes to his third Big Realization of today. This, Richie and him, it’s the real deal. The things he’s been thinking about—an apartment, a shared bed, a shared life—are not daydreams. They’re plans. Shared plans.

Eddie’s so rarely sure of anything—like how he used to think there was no such thing as supernatural, shape-shifting killer clowns—but he's always sure of Richie. He’s sure of how he feels about Richie, and of how Richie feels about him. Even the fact that he’s out alone so late and not panicking can be attributed to Richie. Eddie used to be afraid of being by himself and the dark, but Richie gives him courage just by existing within a ten-minute biking radius.

Someday isn’t soon enough, but living with Richie is going to have to wait. He can’t believe he’s excited about the idea of Spaghetti-O’s every night and yelling at Richie for leaving the heater on and brushing crumbs off his sheets before bed but, God help him, those things can’t come soon enough. Just a couple more years, Eddie tells himself.

Tomorrow isn’t soon enough, either. His teeth are chattering, mostly because he’s actively freezing to death but also from the almost tangible ache in his chest that started when he walked around to collect his bike from the side of Richie’s house and left Richie watching him from the window. It’s what Eddie usually does when Richie leaves his house and God, Eddie’s not sure how Richie manages to do it twice a week. It almost made Eddie want to cry. He still feels like he might cry. If he goes home and gets into his bed alone right now, he will undoubtedly cry.

It’s a fucking school night, but Eddie is rapidly losing his ability to care. He sits there on his bike in the middle of the road for a second before…

“Fuck it.” He shakes his head, smiles out into the darkness, and swings his handlebars back in the direction of Richie’s house.

#it (2017)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my fics #the greater fool

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wanderinguterus1 · 3 years

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Economy Class

“Deserve is a bullshit term. None of us deserves anything. We get what we get.” -Brit Bennett

I once read an article in which a researcher detailed a human behavioral study conducted on airplanes - particularly, among economy class passengers. On some planes, economy class passengers have to pass through the first class area before getting to their (inferior) seats. The study found that on these planes, negative behaviors increased. For example, arguing with flight attendants and fighting with other passengers - all significantly higher in economy class if first class seats were present. The researcher landed on this theory: seeing first class patrons - with their roomy seats, individual arm rests, and ample leg room - made economy class passengers like they were being treated unfairly. In other words, when people are forced to witness drastic inequality, their mindset shifts in a negative direction.

Teaching in a private school, I am often reminded of that article. A few days ago, after third period, I made my way around the classroom, sanitizing the students’ desks. In the beginning of the year, I delegated this job to students, but over time, I realized doing it myself was easier than overseeing reckless 14-year-olds with sanitizer bottles, fearing they would spray a friend in the face or drop the sanitizer on someone’s computer. The label on the bottle warned: “Attention: Can Cause Blindness.” I decided not to take my chances with teenage boys.

I had an hour until my next class arrived, so I sat down at my computer and began flipping through quizzes and recording grades. The soft tapping of the keyboard drastically contrasted with the sounds of hyper ninth graders who had filled the room a few minutes ago. I was enjoying the silence when a former student came by to visit.

“Hi Ariel!”

“Hi Ms. Long.”

Since I had taught her as an 8th grader, I remembered her as a tiny, overly nervous 13- year-old. Now a senior, Ariel moved with confidence, sitting in the desk to my right and straightening the quizzes I had graded and discarded haphazardly.

“Are these To Kill a Mockingbird quizzes?” she asked, looking over the students’ answers.

“Yes.”

“I hated that book.”

I shook my head and sighed. Pulling my mask down to take a quick sip of coffee, I resisted the urge to rebuke her for her bad taste.

“My sister got into Yale,” she announced.

“That’s awesome,” I responded tentatively. Ariel, an average student, had a genius sister. I wondered how Ariel felt about her sister’s acceptance into the Ivy league, although it couldn’t have been too unexpected. Caitlin had been winning academic awards since she was in middle school and had spent the previous summer shadowing a world-renowned journalist.

“Yeah, and I got a full ride to FSU.”

“Wow! I’m so proud of you! I bet your parents are so happy!”

“Yeah, but since it’s not really fair that they don’t have to pay for my college, and Caitlin’s tuition is like 40 thousand a year, they are going to give me the equivalent of that in cash every year to make it even.”

I stared at her, wondering if I had actually heard her correctly. And wishing someone had taught her to “read the room.” Did she just imply the injustice of a full ride? And admit that her parents would be giving her, an 18-year old, forty thousand dollars in cash? To make things FAIR?

Obliviously, she continued, “I’ll probably be able to buy a house as soon as I graduate college.”

Suddenly, I had a realization: being a teacher in a private school was like sitting in the first row of economy class with the first class section in clear view. Every day. For eternity.

I’m not jealous because I want a bigger house or a nicer car or a boat; I just want a baby. One baby. Forty-something thousand dollars stands in the way of my husband and I adopting or trying IVF, but here sits an 18 year-old who will be gifted that amount of money each year for the next four years of her life. She would be able to buy four babies by the time she's 21.

I think of money in terms of babies now. For example, I heard that a Pokemon card sold on eBay yesterday for 500,000 dollars. Instead of dollars, I imagined that Japanese cartoon character being traded for twelve and a half babies.

Don't get me wrong; I understand that compared to so many, I lead a privileged life. I come from a two-parent, middle class home, and I’ve never known what it’s like to suffer from racial discrimination. If I lived in a less developed country, I would be comparing myself to very different types of people: women who sit outside for hours every day, rain or shine, selling vegetables for next to nothing; taxi drivers who work seven days a week, twelve hours a day, just to be able to feed their families. These people don't spend time writing autobiographical essays about how flawed the system is. Even though I understand these truths, I can't help but feel, at times, that I've been shafted.

Two years ago, I lay naked save for the papery hospital gown, in a cold pre-operation room. Hooked up to an IV, I waited on my doctor to arrive and remove the twelve fibroid tumors he had found during my ultrasound. Luis stood by the bed, holding my hand and telling me about the infamous Star Wars holiday special of 1978 in an effort to distract me.

“It actually had Wookie porn in it. Wookie porn. What were they thinking? Chewbacca’s father just groans for like ten minutes straight. It's known as one of the worst films to ever air on television.”

The surgery, an abdominal myomectomy, consisted of cutting open the abdomen in order to remove the tumors. After a year of trying to have a baby and failing, this was our first expensive problem-solving attempt.

On the other side of the curtain, a nurse greeted her patient. “Good morning! What are we having today?”

The voice of a man replied, “It’s a girl.”

“How exciting, is it your first?”

“No,” his female counterpart answered with a chuckle.

I tried to focus on Luis’s Star Wars story, but I kept thinking about the happy couple, leaving later that day with their brand new baby girl all wrapped up in her soft, pink blanket, smelling like cookies after they’ve been dipped in milk. I would leave with nothing but a cleaner uterus and a fat hospital bill.

Moments later, a surgeon arrived, nodded his head to us and continued to the other side of the curtain. I heard him ask, “Ok, so C-section and tubal ligation today, right?”

I almost laughed out loud. So my body was about to be cut open to make it a welcoming home for a fetus while my roommate’s doctor would be rearranging her organs to do the opposite.

I hear the sounds of a table wheeling around and the clanking of instruments. “Do you have a name picked out?”

“Yes, her name is going to be Seven.”

“That’s unique.”

“Well, she’s number seven. I have had six kids in ten years. So yeah, I'm ready to get the tubes tied.”

I looked at Luis indignantly. Seven children in ten years!? I'd been diligently tracking my temperature in order to perfectly time our “lovemaking,” doing headstands after sex, and eating vegan cheese, and this girl is popping out babies every other year. How can two women’s bodies be so utterly different? Luis widened his eyes as if to say, “Well? Do you really want seven children?”

My husband had a way of reframing any depressing situation. When we visited friends who lived in houses much nicer and more expensive than ours, he said things like, “I didn't really like their shower head,” or “I wouldn’t want to live that far away from the city.” Whereas I was seriously considering asking my hospital roommate if she wanted someone to take Seven off her hands, he was probably just thanking the universe that he wasn’t going home this afternoon to a house full of seven kids. On a plane, he would probably find a way to prefer his tiny, middle seat in the back row near the bathrooms to the luxurious first class experience. “Economy people are more friendly than rich people,” he might say.

Before the surgery, I had asked the doctor multiple times how long I would be in recovery, but he would only respond with, “Everyone is different.”

Well, in my mind that translated to two or three days of bedrest, because I rarely use more than three sick days in a school year. Unfortunately, my superior immune system had nothing to do with post-surgery pain, and for seven days afterwards, I was confined to the couch, unable to stand up straight or move more than a few feet without stopping, and in serious pain when my abs contracted. Any time I sneezed, coughed, or tried to flip myself over, it felt like someone was using a straight razor to open my stomach as if it were an Amazon box.

After an entire week of lying on the couch and taking opioids every five hours, I went back to work, still a bit hunched over and rather pale. And on the eighth day, I had to go back to the doctor for a post-op appointment so the bandage could be removed and the healing process be judged.

The bandage - about six inches wide five inches thick, had been placed right on my underwear line. I had already tried to remove it a little myself, just out of curiosity, but I didn’t get very far because it felt like it had been super-glued to the most sensitive area of my body. No one had warned me to shave completely before surgery.

In the car on the way to the appointment, I worried about the removal process and, not wanting to experience more pain, asked Luis, “The doctor probably has something to put on this to make it come off easily, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding doubtful. This should have been a signal to me. Luis, being a man, knows how men think. He knew, but didn’t want to break it to me, that there was no way a doctor has ever concerned himself with how painful a bandage removal process would be.

Choosing to be naively optimistic, I decided to trust in the kindness of medical professionals; surely they wouldn’t put me through more pain after so recently having had my abdomen cut open. However, once I was lying on the examination table, naked from the waist down, feet up in the stirrups, doubts started to creep in. As the now familiar ultrasound wand moved around inside my body, Dr. Edwards crowed on about how clear and devoid of fibroids my uterus looked.

Ok, surgery was successful, fibroids are gone, good job, thank you, now please get this thing out of me. When the ultrasound finally ended, he asked, “Do you want to remove the bandage or do you want me to?”

I hesitated, because that question implied that there was no procedure involved... that any random Joe off the street could just stroll in with normal people hands and just rip off this thing with no training whatsoever. My wheels were turning... So... you aren’t going to like, put some kind of magic lotion on me first?

Unfortunately, magic lotion only existed in my fantasies. In reality, surgery proved just a portion of the pain I would endure before it was actually over.

I began to remove the bandage, deciding I would rather be my own executioner. I picked the top part until my fingernails could get underneath, and started to tug. The skin rose as I pulled- it had been eight days since its placement and the glue didn't seem to have weakened at all. How was that possible? If humans are smart enough to design SuperBandage, aren’t we also advanced enough to create anti-adhesive?

When I got to the lower half of the bandage, which was on top of hair, things went downhill quickly. Removing it felt like getting a bikini wax - which I’ve only tried once and chickened out halfway through.

Eventually, I conceded. I couldn’t willingly put myself through the torture. “Can I just do it later, at home? In the bathtub?” I pleaded.

The doctor gave me a puzzled look, as if he didn’t understand the question. “I need to see if your scar is healing.”

“I’ll send you a picture. I swear.”

He chuckled, but I wasn’t kidding. I have never hated anyone more than I hated him in that moment. I bet he had never endured a bikini wax. He probably winced when his wife plucked his eyebrows. I made a mental note to give him a horrible Yelp review.

I refused to continue, so Dr. Edwards took over: he pulled and the nurse pushed the skin down as he went across - yes, pushing right below my stitches. I have never felt such excruciating pain in my entire life; it was like being stabbed with a hundred tiny needles on a part of my body that was only meant to be touched with loving hands. At one point, I instinctively grabbed the doctor’s arm, forcing him to stop. Staring at the bandage, which was only halfway removed, I cursed all men, including Luis. Why didn’t anyone tell me to shave? Why didn’t they give me anesthesia for this?

When the torture finally ended, Dr. Edwards looked at me with amusement in his eyes, and asked, “You ok?” as if I had been overly dramatic. I decided that I would never, ever, forgive him. Public Service Announcement for Women: Shave before any abdominal surgeries. And never settle for a male doctor if a female one is available.

I often wondered why I was putting myself though so much pain to bring a new life into the world. Was the desire to have children an evolutionary curse? Growing up, I never questioned whether or not it would happen because that’s what women are meant to do, right? What is a woman if not a mother? At least that’s what all the women I knew growing up led me to believe. Receiving the hospital bill in the mail a few weeks later prompted me to further question this desire. If I hadn’t cared about being a mother, Luis and I could have used the surgery money to take a trip to our dream destination - South Africa - flying first class.

Sometimes, when I’m lying naked from the waist down with my feet in stirrups, I think about my early 30s, when eggs and fertile windows were blissfully far from my mind. Unfettered by thoughts of motherhood, I concerned myself with traveling as much as possible.

Reading Walden had convinced me that staring at a computer screen all day was no way to live. Thoreau had inspired me to work with my hands, to get outside, to “suck the marrow” out of life. So after six years of teaching, I quit my job and departed alone on a plane to New Zealand. Although I had never even set foot on a farm before, I planned to volunteer on various organic farms as a way to connect with the natural world. The research I had conducted for this adventure amounted to about one hour’s worth of googling.

Since I had lived in a country where I didn’t speak nor read the language for three years, I craved traveling without a language barrier. My inferior sense of direction often weakened my resolve for adventure, so I needed a place where, at the very least, I could read the street signs. My first stop was a dairy farm in Opotiki. I pronounced this as if the last two syllables were “tea- key” as in tiki bar. The bus driver couldn’t understand me; he said he had never heard of such a place.

After some discussion and help from the internet, he dropped me off at the bus stop in “Ah-PO-Tah-key,” where a 20-something-year-old French guy named Clement stood smoking a cigarette. He had been sent by the dairy farmer to pick me up and seemed bored by the task.

Getting off of the bus, I must have looked a bit like Elle Woods showing up for her first day at Harvard. I wore skinny jeans, pink Uggs, and a tie-dyed sweatshirt. Clement had on overalls smeared with a brown substance, work boots, and a look that said, “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”

“Hi!” I exclaimed, eager to make a companion after a long solo flight and bus ride.

Clement lifted his chin in greeting and pointed to an old, faded black Honda Civic.

I stuffed my backpack into the trunk, and headed for the passenger seat, after an awkward moment with Clement in which I realized that the right side of the car was actually the driver’s side.

Undeterred by Clement’s apathy towards me, I asked, “How has it been, working on the farm?”

“Lot of cow sheet,” he responded, in a thick French accent.

He then reached for the radio and turned the music up to a decibel that prevented me from responding. Maybe my expectations for companionship had been a bit high.

The drive to the farm consisted of Clement driving about 20 miles over the speed limit on tiny, winding dirt roads, and me closing my eyes and holding tightly to the sides of my seat with both hands. At some point, I felt the urge to vomit, but I just laid my head back and practiced yoga breathing. Clement did not seem to notice.

By some miracle, we arrived at the farm without incident, where I met John, an older man who owned a little red house on seven acres. He explained that Clement and I would be sharing the spare room, meant for volunteers, and he showed me where my overalls and work boots rested.

“Be ready to go at four a.m. I’ll have yogurt and granola ready for breakfast,” he said, handing me an empty water canteen. “Tonight, before you go to sleep, you need to fill this with boiling water and put it under your blankets. It's going to get cold in your room.”

Cold didn’t adequately describe the sleeping quarters. Until it was time for bed, Clement, John and I had been lounging in the cozy, carpeted living room near the fireplace. However, around nine pm, when we moved to the back bedrooms, the wood floors felt like ice on my bare feet. I retrieved a sweatshirt, a scarf, a pair of gloves, and two pairs of socks from my suitcase and put them all on. The temperature must have been around forty degrees, because I could actually see my breath in the darkness. Sleeping proved difficult; every hour, I put on another piece of clothing from my suitcase, eventually looking like the pigeon lady in Home Alone. The canteen was only big enough to heat up one body part and remained warm for just half the night. Throughout all of my tossing, turning, and the unzipping and zipping of my backpack, Clement slept peacefully in normal pajamas. At four a.m., when the rooster started crowing, I wanted to weep. I yearned for my warm Tel Aviv apartment, central heating, and my teaching job, which suddenly felt like a white collar position.

I snuggled deeper into my bed, hoping to enjoy the blankets for a few more minutes, until I saw Clement pop out of bed and don his overalls. Refusing to be the weakling that he probably expected me to be, I followed his lead.

“Did you bring a hat?” John asked, when I entered the kitchen.

“No. Why?” I asked, thinking if I had a hat, I probably would have worn it to bed last night.

“Some of the cows have lice and you could catch it.”

I eagerly accepted the hat John proffered.

Clement and I ate our yogurt in silence - not surprising for him, but I was just too cold and tired to care.

John led us to the barn after breakfast, where we would be milking the cows. When I walked through the doors, my hand instinctively covered my nose: the smell - similar to a Port- O-Potty at the end of a crowded, weekend-long music festival - attacked me. John and Clement, unaffected by the stench, chuckled at my reaction.

“Better than the smell of cars in the city,” John said, smiling.

I wasn’t convinced.

Now it was time to learn how to milk a cow. In my imaginings of this moment, I would sit on a cute step stool, a sweet little cow would trot up to me, and I would gently tug on her teats, squirting milk into a tin bucket below. I would repeat this a few times, and a day’s work would be done.

In reality, John owned about 200 cows. The barn housed 50 stalls into which the first herd of cows were guided; each stood so that her butt faced into the shed. John handed me one of many thick, black hoses that hung from the ceiling. At the end of the hose was a steel device with four suction cups; I needed to attach the suction cups to the cow’s teats. The three of us would walk up and down the stalls, eventually connecting the suction cups to all fifty cows, and then John would turn on the machine.

For the first set of cows, this went pretty smoothly; according to John, these were the “old gals” who were used to the process. But when the younger cows were led into the stalls, they seemed less than thrilled. I watched in horror as one of them furiously kicked her hind legs, trying to escape the suction cups. John ran over to her, adeptly tying each of her legs to the stall. What happened next was both horrifying and impressive. I remember learning about how vultures can vomit on demand; it's one of their defenses when threatened. Well, apparently cows have a similar skillset. The moment John finished tying up the second leg, that cow shot projectile diarrhea right onto his chest.

I managed to get through the morning milking - which took two hours total - without trauma. I felt victorious but exhausted; I longed to go inside and take a nap.

“Meet me back out here at noon,” John said, after the barn had been cleaned.

I wondered why we would need to come back to the barn so soon. Clement delighted in informing me that the cows were milked twice a day.

Eventually, Clement, John and I fell into a routine, and for two whole weeks, I milked cows (twice a day) without contracting lice or getting kicked in the face. I even learned some tricks for sleeping in 40 degree temperatures, like taking a scalding hot shower right before bedtime, throwing on clothes as quickly as possible, then running straight to the bed, where I had previously placed the hot water canteen.

When I look back on my New Zealand adventure, I marvel at my resilience. How I just trudged out to the barn in those big rubber work boots at four a.m. and kept talking to Clement even though he only responded in grunts. And even though I’m older now, and slightly less malleable, I’m still managing. Every day I go to school and greet those first class passengers without displaying any “negative behaviors.” (I still welcome Ariel when she comes to visit me.) And I’m going to keep tracking my ovulation and putting away money for adoption, at least for another two or three years. And if we are relegated to fly in economy class on a plane full of first class passengers for the rest of our lives, at least Luis will be there to remind me that first class isn’t all that great anyway.

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