#and then one afternoon i was sitting in french class and i wasn't having a very good day

[iamfuckingsorry]

what are you sorry for

I was very sorry for just about everything back when I made this blog in like 2013

[whimsimille]

KEMPS!

Minsung x Fem! reader

Summary: Where Minho uses sex and rough words to forget how shitty his life is. It all works pretty well until he meets two people that can only ruin his game.

alpha x alpha x alpha

Word count: ~ 10000

Warnings: angst with happy ending, ptsd mention, coping mechanisms, sex, smut, +18, toxicity, use of alcohol and drugs, knotting, piv, creampie, roughness, dom and sub undertones, f and m receiving, oral, anal, dp, light bondage, breeding kink mention

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"When will I see you again?"

"There we go again."

Every time, the same scene played out: him tying off the used condom, thumb and forefinger working in sync while his gut churned with familiar self-loathing. His tanned legs slid from between the cheap cotton sheets like a lizard escaping midday heat and his shirt, reeking of cigarettes and bearing the evidence of pink lipstick on its collar, returned to its place along with what remained of his dignity.

"You didn't answer my question," she insisted, sitting up with her breasts exposed to the stale air. Her nose, red-tipped like she was fighting back tears, twitched as she caught his scent beginning to sour. "Why do you always run away like this? Is it because I'm a lower-class omega? Because I work at a convenience store instead of some fancy office?"

He had a headache, the kind that started at the nape where his undercut needed a trim and crawled upward. The kind that made his eyes throb as if someone was performing brain surgery with a rusty hammer. He needed to go home. He needed to go to her. He needed a scalding shower to burn away the shame. He needed to stop fucking thinking.

"Listen carefully because I won't repeat myself," he drawled while adjusting his hair in the mirror. "I'm not interested in seconds. I don't do repeats. I thought I made that crystal fucking clear. Or should I draw you a diagram?"

"But Minho-ssi..." she started, biting her lower lip in a way that probably worked wonders on lesser men.

"Cut the honorifics bullshit, Marina. We just fucked; we're not at a business meeting." He yanked his belt through the loops. "Got any coffee in this shoebox you call an apartment? And aspirin. Definitely need aspirin. My head's fucking killing me, and your omega pheromones aren't helping."

"Kitchen," she responded, finally pulling the sheet up to cover herself as if modesty had suddenly become a priority. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily as her own bitter strawberry pheromones filled the room, mixing with his acidic alpha scent to create something that smelled like regret. "First door on the right. We're out of sugar though. And for the last fucking time, it's Melissa. Not Marina, not Mariana. Me-li-ssa, you entitled knothead."

"Perfect. Sugar's for people who can't handle reality." He fished out the crumpled pack of Marlboros from his back pocket, tapping one against his wrist. "Don't wait up, sweetheart. Or better yet, don't wait at all. Find yourself a nice beta who'll remember your name and buy you flowers or whatever the fuck it is you're looking for."

And he wasn't lying, not even a little. Despite the fact that this omega—Melissa, definitely not Marina or whatever the fuck he'd been calling her—could do things with her tongue that would make a Catholic priest renounce his vows and had a laugh like wind chimes in a summer breeze, Minho simply didn't keep dead weight in his deck. Melissa was nothing but a two of clubs in a hand that needed aces.

It was like a game of Kemps, the same one he played on Sunday afternoons with his friends drunk on soju in Chan's apartment. In the game, four players formed two pairs, each receiving four cards from the French deck. The objective? Get four matching cards before the opponent, discreetly signaling your partner to shout "Kemps!"—a wink, absently scratching your nose. If you were wrong and shouted without your partner having four matching cards? You lost points, just like in real life you lost your sanity. If you missed your partner's signal? More points lost, like the nights of sleep he lost thinking about persistent ex-lovers. It was a game of observation, timing, and strategy.

In the game, as in life, Minho was an expert at this. A pair of toned legs here, full lips there, a cheeky smile elsewhere—he picked up the cards that caught his attention and handed useless ones to the other players. Players like Hyunjin, with his preference for frustrated betas with colored hair, or Felix, who had a thing for alpha literature students who wore thick-framed glasses and quoted Bukowski between one orgasm and another. Minho had been doing this with men and women for years, receiving his cards—their sweaty bodies writhing beneath him, their moans, their phone numbers saved as "NEVER answer"—and discarding those that never made sense with his game. Simple. Quick. Practical. Avoided hysterical screaming at three in the morning, endless crying, ex-lover sex fueled by regret, pathetic relapses fueled by cheap vodka.

But then, on some October night, with the smell of burnt caramel not so characteristic of an alpha and jazz playing softly, there was his jack, the highest card in the deck after the ace. The jack that passed from hand to hand each round like a curse, disrupting the flow of the game until the next round started and the card kept circulating, destroying strategies and ruining plays that seemed perfect on paper. Everyone had to deal with it eventually, but no one wanted to play that card.

That night, as you moved above him with the precision of a hunting feline—hips undulating like waves breaking on the beach, slender fingers tightening around his throat until he saw stars—you had become his jack. The card he held so tightly that the corners were starting to crease, even when he should have discarded it long ago.

Serious relationships and monogamy were never his style. How could he be? His mother taught him that lesson at 8 years old, after swallowing an entire box of Rivotril and writing an apology, not to him, but to her ex. He still remembered the sound her nails made scratching the wooden floor while she convulsed, glazed eyes fixed on the ceiling as he screamed for help. But for you? For you he had tried. Really tried.

"Stay," he whispered, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his fingers traced meaningless patterns on the condensation-slick window. His reflection looked pathetically hopeful. "Just... stay for breakfast this time." A pause. "I make decent scrambled eggs."

You shifted on the bed. "Define 'decent.'"

"Edible enough not to kill you," he replied with a laugh that sounded too raw, too honest. "Maybe even good enough to convince you to come back for seconds."

It turned into months of domestic bliss—or his twisted version of it. Months of biting back territorial growls whenever you walked in carrying traces of other wolves' scents. "Just work," you'd say with that infuriating half-smile, and he'd nod like the lovesick fool he'd become. He ignored Chan's concerned glances over soju shots, Changbin's muttered warnings about alpha-alpha relationships being psychological warfare. Tried playing the reformed playboy even when some omega calling herself @sexygirl22 slid into his DMs with explicit photos and "Remember last week's quickie in the club bathroom?" while you danced barefoot in his kitchen, humming "Somebody to Love" and making condensed milk pudding like some domestic deity.

"This pudding..." His finger traced the edge of the mold, stealing a taste of caramel. The gesture was so childlike, so unguarded, you had to suppress a fond smile. "Tastes exactly like my grandmother's."

"Your grandmother made pudding?" Like a flower in bloom, your legs opened naturally as you leaned over the counter. A few centimeters up, the hem of your shirt—it was actually his, stolen a week ago—rode up, exposing that constellation of freckles on your hip that he loved mapping with his tongue.

"Every Sunday after lunch," he answered, eyes fixed on the exposed bit of skin. "She used to say that sweets made with love tasted different."

It's that in the beginning it was simple: you rode him like you were born for it, scratching his chest and whispering obscenities in his ear that would make even a demon blush. It was about smoking a joint on the balcony at three in the morning, your skilled fingers rolling the joint while he kissed your thighs still trembling from orgasm, waiting for the knot to deflate. "I'm getting addicted," he would murmur against your skin, and you both knew he wasn't talking about the weed. It was about the sacred ritual of watching you dress in the morning: first the black lace panties, then the bra that made your breasts look like works of art, the thigh-high stockings he loved to remove with his teeth, the jeans that hugged your curves like a possessive lover. It was about how you never asked about the scars on his left wrist but kissed them with such reverence that sometimes he found himself crying after you left.

"Why do you do that?" he asked one night, voice thick, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me... like that. Like they're not scars. Like they're not..." he swallowed hard, "ugly."

"Because they're not just scars. They're part of you."

Until it became something different: he stopped you from running out after sex one Sunday morning, pulling you by the waist for another round in the jacuzzi. That's when he discovered you were a teacher at a school in the south zone and taught literature to rebellious teenagers, while he was heir to a chain of five-star hotels spread across Asia. That you loved Seoul with its violence and chaos, the underground bars and narrow streets full of people, while he longed for the peace of Jeju, with its deserted beaches and the smell of tangerines in the air. That you had three rescue cats—Sylvia, Virginia, and Edgar, all named after dead writers—who were your fur children and that, surprisingly, he developed a genuine affection for these creatures, even when Sylvia vomited hairballs on his shoes.

It happened when you stopped being a scheduled fuck and started pulling out, one by one, his fingers from the little bag he always kept next to his heart. You never even said anything, never stopped him from leaving and always left the door ajar, because you hated trapping people and making them feel obligated to stay.

"You can go, if you want," you would always say, wrapped in messy sheets. "You don't have to stay."

And maybe it was exactly that—that frightening freedom, that lack of demands—that made him want to stay. Until he didn't want to anymore.

That's why he bailed.

With your makeup all over the bathroom counter and your underwear discovered beneath the bed like evidence from a crime scene, he couldn't stand you taking up space like a terminal illness. Couldn't stand your caramel perfume and alpha pheromones impregnated in the pillows, your toothbrush next to his, you parading naked through the 300 m² penthouse as if you owned the place. Hated you burying your face in his neck when he woke up screaming at 3:47 in the morning.

"Shh, I'm here," you would murmur, running your fingers through his damp hair, your lips brushing his temple. "It was just a nightmare."

But the real nightmare was the dangerous glimmer of hope he began to see reflected in his own eyes every time he shaved while you played in the bathtub, humming "Here Comes the Sun" by The Beatles.

One day, his hand froze mid-stroke with the razor, watching your reflection dance in the fogged mirror as soap bubbles crowned your head. With the sun creeping through the window and painting your eyelashes gold, Minho's fingers twitched around the razor handle. His phone buzzed in the counter (probably that cute bellboy from the Peninsula Hotel confirming their afternoon rendezvous, or maybe the yoga instructor sending another photo of her impossibly flexible poses). He should check it. Should definitely not be watching you emerge from the water like some fucking deity, all glistening skin and grace.

His thumb hovered over the screen, already pulling up his contacts list. Delete them all. Ask you to be his. Only his. The thought made his stomach turn even as his pulse quickened and he gave up.

At the sound of his loafers, you lifted your head while he perched on the edge of the tub like some lovesick fool, watching droplets trace paths he'd memorized with his tongue.

"Keep staring like that and I might start charging admission," you drawled, reaching for the shampoo.

"You're going to make me deaf with that caterwauling, little alpha," he shot back. "And since when did you become such a Beatles fanatic? Thought you were more of a 'We Will Rock You' kind of bitch."

"First of all," you said, pointing the shampoo bottle at him like a weapon, "the Beatles are fucking transcendent, you philistine. Second," your lips curved into that infuriating smirk that made him want to bite them bloody, "you were the one moaning 'Yesterday' in your sleep last night. Right after you called me 'baby' and tried to spoon me."

"That's bullshit and you know it," he snarled, but his ears burned red at the tips. "I don't fucking cuddle."

"Oh really?" You stretched languorously, water sloshing against the tub sides. Wet toes brushed his thigh, leaving wet prints on his expensive slacks. "Because I distinctly remember you nuzzling my neck and whimpering when I tried to move away. Face it, Min," you purred, and the nickname sent a jolt straight to his groin, "you're going soft on me."

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart," he managed, even as his throat closed around the lie. "I just needed something warm to stick my knot in."

"Mhmm," you hummed, unconvinced. Your foot slid higher up his thigh. "That's why you sent flowers to my work last week? Because you needed somewhere to stick your knot?"

It was like watching an orange tree growing in the middle of his chest: first just a timid sprout, then branches spreading between his ribs, until the roots began to intertwine with his veins and arteries. And when the first white flowers bloomed, perfuming his entire circulatory system with possibilities, he knew he needed to cut it at the root before the fruits ripened and he found himself addicted to the bittersweet taste of your presence.

"Minho! What the actual fuck? It's four in the fucking morning, and you're here smelling like a distillery had an orgy with a perfume store."

"Still looking like a snack, my little alpha. Even with all these..." His hand made a vague gesture at your new appearance, "changes."

You watched as he staggered slightly, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus on a fixed point. Fragmented memories of a yellow taxi and questionable decisions in dark alleys flashed through his mind like a silent film. That you were different—unrecognizable, maybe—was the only thing that was certain. Your hair, now long and sprinkled with platinum highlights, framed your face in a profane halo. The thorny tattoo serpentined down your neck, disappearing beneath the loose collar. Beneath the typical caramel, you had a masculine, woodsy scent that made him sick to his stomach.

"You know what's funnier? I always knew you would do this. Always knew you'd leave me and then show up at my door wanting to stick your knot in some hole. It was just a matter of time, wasn't it, Lee Minho?"

Sylvia, that four-legged traitor who had always preferred him to you, was now rubbing against his ankles while trying to reach her favorite human. You pushed her away with your foot.

"Let's... let's talk properly, love. Smoke a joint, whatever. Like the old days, remember?" His hands were shaking so badly he had to shove them in his jeans pockets. "We always solved everything after..." A laugh escaped his lips. "Fuck, why is it so hard to talk about feelings without being high? Must be... dunno, must be the age, right?" The taste of blood in his mouth intensified. This time, he had bitten his tongue.

You let out a scoff—a sound that seemed to have been torn from the depths of your throat with a rusty hook. "Age?" Your head tilted to the side, and for a moment, Minho saw his mother in that same movement—moments before she swallowed the pills. "You were twenty-fucking-seven when you stood in the middle of Changbin's birthday party, so wasted you couldn't even spell your own name, and announced to everyone that I was, what was it again? Oh right! 'just another desperate hole begging for your premium alpha cock.' All because I had the audacity to ask if we could try being exclusive. Remember that night, Minho? Or did you drink that memory away too?"

As you eventually allowed Sylvia to come closer, he saw the cat rubbing her muzzle against your ankles as though she was aware of the precise location of the pain.

Love should heal, shouldn't it? Should stitch together the parts that were never united, fill the voids that echoed inside the chest like empty rooms from childhood. Minho knew this better than anyone—he had been sexualized his whole life, used and discarded like a broken toy.

"You don't have that right," you continued. "You don't have the right to show up here reeking of whiskey and..." Your hands gestured in the air, searching for words. "And talk about 'old times.'"

Minho swallowed hard, watching how your fingers now trembled against the doorframe—not from nervousness, but from contained rage that made your knuckles turn white.

Until his lungs pleaded for air, he had tried everything to fill the void you left: cigarettes. Strange bodies in his bed that never reached the right places, hands that tried to stitch him back together but always using the wrong thread. Like thieves in the dark, all stealing pieces from each other, but never finding what they were really looking for.

"Just let me in, yeah?"

A sob escaped his throat before he could contain it, words tangling in his mouth. Sylvia was now sitting between the two of you, her tail moving in a hypnotic rhythm.

You had been the only one to see through the cracks, the only one who didn't try to fix him like he was a puzzle to be solved. The only one who understood that sometimes a cat's rough tongue on the heels could mean more than a thousand empty words of comfort.

But he wouldn't, couldn't show you how much he loved you. Sex and dirty words were safer territory, familiar ground where he could pretend this was just another meaningless encounter.

"Do you still have that purple vibrator?" The words slurred out as his alcohol-heavy tongue caught on his canines. "You could use it on me today, yeah? Make me beg like I used to?"

Like a desperate merchant hawking counterfeit goods in some back alley, it was pitiful how he still attempted to use sex as currency. As if his body, marked with the fingerprints and teeth marks of countless strangers, was the only thing of value he had left to barter with. As if you still wanted that particular damaged merchandise. You had long since learned that his empty promises and fleeting affections were not worth the price.

"I guess old habits die hard, huh? Still the same horny kitten as always, Minho-yah."

At the sound of that old endearment, Minho's narrow hips jerked forward involuntarily, his lean body betraying him like a puppet with tangled strings. A bead of sweat traced the sharp line of his jaw as the lavender scent of his arousal began to saturate the air, mixing with the sour notes of whiskey and desperation.

"Just... just one more time," he begged. "I promise I'll disappear after. I swear on my mother's grave..." A sob ripped from his throat, more wolf than man. "I just need to feel you one more time. Need to remember what it felt like when someone actually gave a fuck about me."

It was almost poetic, you thought. The way Lee Minho could transform desire into pathology, how his lust manifested in muscle spasms and empty promises whispered through teeth that probably cost more than your yearly salary. His eyes, usually a warm chocolate brown, had taken on a reddish tinge that reminded you of blood diluted in water.

"Get out of here, Minho." You clutched Sylvia closer, her warm body and steady purring acting as a shield against the tsunami of alpha pheromones he was trying to drown you in. Her claws pricked your skin through your thin shirt. "Before I call the police."

"You'd never. You care too much; that's always been your problem."

"Try me." Your fingers found your phone in your pocket. "The last bus passes in ten minutes. But I think you'd prefer if I called your private driver. What was his name again? The one who always brought you aspirin and clean clothes after your... episodes?"

Minho's hand flew to the collar of his leather jacket, adjusting it with trembling fingers. "I don't need your fucking pity."

"I know you don't, Minho." You sighed, watching his shoulders hunch forward like a wounded animal. "But I also know you probably left another black credit card in the lost and found of whatever overpriced bar you were drowning in tonight. I bet you left without any cash. Again. Just like that time at The Rose, when you tried to pay for your cab with your Rolex."

"How the fuck..."

"Love, everything okay?" A sleepy voice emerged from the shadows of the apartment, warm and rough like honey mixed with gravel. The powerful scent of freshly ground cinnamon and handcrafted coffee filled your apartment and permeated the door, causing Minho's nostrils to uncontrollably twitch.

"Fucking hell," Minho muttered under his breath, watching as a figure emerged from the shadows.

Dyed an impossible shade of midnight blue that seemed to swallow what little light remained in the hallway, the man's hair stuck up in wild tufts, as if he'd been wrestling with insomnia rather than sleeping. A thin, silvery scar bisected his right eyebrow. Despite his cherubic cheeks and full lips, there was something lethal in the way he held himself, the casual violence of a loaded gun left on safety.

"Who the actual fuck are you supposed to be?" Minho's words slurred together.

The stranger's bare feet made no sound as he crossed the distance between them. Silver rings caught the fluorescent light as his hand found your waist, fingers splaying possessively across your hip.

"Han Jisung," the man's voice was deceptively soft. His tongue flicked out to play with the silver ring in his lower lip, a gesture that drew Minho's attention despite himself. "And you must be the infamous Lee Minho. The one who thinks it's acceptable to harass people at four in the morning because his wolf is feeling lonely."

The air grew thick with competing pheromones, your caramel sweetness, Minho's lavender, and Han's cinnamon colliding and transforming into something acrid and metallic, like blood left to oxidize. Minho's temple throbbed visibly, and he chewed the inside of his cheek until copper flooded his mouth.

"Christ, is this what you're into now?" Minho's eyes raked over Han's form--the scattered tattoos visible beneath his thin tank top, the messy blue hair, the multiple piercings. "Trading in a pure-bred for some street mutt with a DIY paint job?"

Han's scent soured, turning sharp enough to make your eyes water. "Babe," he addressed you without taking his eyes off Minho. "Should I call the cops, or would you like to watch me teach this trust fund pup some manners? Because I'm really curious if he's as tough when he's not marinading in scotch."

"Oh, sweetheart," Minho purred, stepping close enough that his breath ghosted over Han's face. His fingers played with the collar of Han's shirt, twisting the fabric like he was testing its breaking point. "You've got quite the mouth on you. Makes me wonder what other tricks you know." His gaze flicked to you over Han's shoulder, lips curling into something cruel. "Always did have a weakness for strays with attitude problems, didn't you, love? Tell me, does this one beg as prettily as I used to?"

Han didn't back down, but you saw how his fingers contorted—not into fists, but like claws ready to tear apart.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off." Gripping Minho's wrist, Jisung twisted it until he heard the gratifying sound of tendons being stretched to their breaking point.

What happened next made your breath catch in your throat. Minho—proud, arrogant, never-submissive Minho, who once told an alpha CEO to go fuck himself with a golden spoon—let out a sound that was pure, instinctual submission. His head tilted, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat where fading hickeys told stories of nights you didn't want to imagine. 

The gesture was so fundamentally wrong, so against everything you knew about him, that for a moment you thought the expensive whisky had finally corroded something essential inside him. But then his eyes found yours across the space between you—wide, confused, and terrified—and you saw it: his alpha, for only the second time since you'd known him, recognising another as superior. It had been with you the first time. Normally curled in that angry smirk, his lips quivered.

"What the actual fuck..." With surprise, Jisung's eyes grew wide, and the scar through his eyebrow stretched taut. His grip loosened fractionally, more from shock than mercy. "Did you just..."

"Ah," Minho's voice cracked, desperation bleeding through as he fought to regain control. As he attempted to balance himself against the wall, his hands trembled. "So the puppy has fangs after all. Want to show me how to use them properly, Han Jisung-ssi?"

It played out like a slow-motion car crash, stunning in its destruction. Jisung slammed Minho against the wall with enough force to make the cheap prints rattle in their frames. Something dark and broken slipped out of Minho's lips as his forearm pressed against his throat.

"So fucking predictable," Minho rasped around the pressure on his windpipe, his pupils blown so wide the brown was almost swallowed by black. "All you baby alphas..." His fingers found Jisung's bicep, nails, leaving crescent moons in the flesh. "So easy to provoke. So desperate to prove yourselves. Tell me, blueberry, how many others have you pinned like this?"

"I said," Han snarled, pressing harder until Minho's breath came in wheezing gasps, "shut that pretty mouth before I shut it for you. You reek of spoiled lavender and mommy issues, street pup. Did she not hug you enough? Is that why you're here, trying to ruin what isn't yours anymore?"

Following that, there was too much movement to follow—a haze of tattoos and high-end clothing. Suddenly Minho had reversed their positions, pinning Jisung against the wall. Han grunted in surprise at the impact, his teeth clicking together so forcefully that you winced with pity. 

In an attempt to humiliate the wolf who had dared to assert its superiority, Minho's thigh pushed upward between Han's legs and degraded him. Trembling but determined, his fingers tangled themselves into Han's blue strands.

"Who's the street pup now?" Minho tilted his head, letting his lips brush the shell of Jisung's ear. "So docile suddenly. Where's all that protective alpha posturing? Or does it only work when you're trying to impress my leftovers?"

What tore from Jisung's throat wasn't anything you'd heard before—not in your years of teaching children, not in nature documentaries about wolves, not even in your darkest nightmares. Kind of sound that made your bone marrow freeze and your hindbrain scream danger. At a frequency that made your teeth hurt, the cheap metal numbers on your door vibrated. A picture frame crashed to the floor.

Your own alpha stirred beneath your skin like a serpent uncoiling, recognising the precipice of violence you were all balanced on. 

Sylvia pressed herself against your arms. Her tail lashed the air like a whip, pupils blown so wide the green was just a thin ring. You knew, with the bone-deep certainty of prey watching predators circle, that this wouldn't end with just bruised egos and wounded pride. The territory—you, this hallway, perhaps even this entire narrative—had already been marked with invisible blood.

"That's enough! Both of you, stop this-"

But the words died in your throat as Jisung moved. One moment he was pinned against the wall; the next he was pure kinetic energy unleashed. His body curved like a question mark before springing forward, teeth finding the vulnerable juncture where Minho's neck met.

The sound that followed would haunt your dreams for months: wet, obscene, like overripe fruit being crushed under combat boots. Blood, startlingly bright against Minho's shirt, bloomed like a macabre watercolor.

—-----------

As soon as Minho stepped out of the rehabilitation center, his fingers began the routine dance of coffee, lighter, and cigarette. His eyes, still heavy from group therapy, focused on the cracks in the concrete while he tried to juggle the cheap coffee cup and red Marlboro. A curse that reverberated throughout the alley was evoked by the hot liquid that trickled down his hand.

"Fuck's sake, I can't even do this right," he muttered, licking the coffee that dripped between his fingers.

It was a total and utter catastrophe for him. First, Seungmin had shown up at his apartment at 6 AM with some green tea mixed with ginger and honey that looked more like rat poison. "For detoxing," he'd said, pushing the steaming cup into his hands. Then, Bang Chan practically broke down his door, dragging him out of bed while yelling something about "corporate responsibility" and how the shareholders were concerned about his erratic behavior. As if he didn't know the hotel franchise was crumbling under his fingers since you left him.

To top it all off? Jisung was the embodiment of his headache. An irritatingly attractive alpha who had the gift of making his blood boil—and not necessarily in a good way.

Since the incident that led them to the police station (and subsequently to the emergency room, where Minho needed five stitches in his neck and had to pray the bite hadn't been right on his scent gland, linking Jisung to him in a way that gave him chills just thinking about it), the judge had sentenced them to five months of group therapy. Two hours per week sitting in a circle with other "violence-prone individuals," as Dr. Park—a beta who always smelled like old socks—liked to call them.

And now, to make matters worse, whenever he had the chance, Jisung liked to rub his scent gland against yours right in the middle of the room, masking your natural scent. It was as if he wanted Minho to witness firsthand how you had moved on—the way he adjusted his motorcycle helmet every night after the session, his fingers lingering on your nape; how he whispered stupid jokes in your ear that made you laugh in that way that used to be reserved just for Minho; how he made sure to leave visible marks on your neck, transforming everything that once screamed "Minho" into cinnamon and a blue-haired alpha.

"Hey, princess, still haven't learned how to drink coffee without making a mess? Or do you need me to teach you how adults do it?"

Eyelids fluttering, Minho closed his eyes. After four months in this therapeutic hell, his fingers, now bitten down to raw flesh, involuntarily contracted, imprinting his palms with tiny crescents.

"Jisung, I thought we'd agreed to keep our distance outside of sessions. Or is your memory as short as your self-control?"

"Yeah, but then I saw you here alone," Jisung approached. The smell of cinnamon and coffee invaded Minho's personal space like an unwanted heat wave. "And I thought: 'What a waste.' All this drama, all this tension... for what?"

Carelessly, Minho propped one foot on a crushed trash can and leaned against the filthy alley wall. The cigarette hung loose between his chapped lips, smoke dancing in lazy spirals around his face.

"Go fuck yourself, Han."

"Your ex 'little alpha' is doing that quite well," Jisung responded, running his tongue over the piercing in his lower lip provocatively. "Thanks for asking."

Minho clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The taste of cheap coffee still burned his tongue when he raised his eyes to face Jisung. There was something there, hidden in the shadows of those puppy eyes, that almost made Minho choke on the smoke—something hungry, dangerous, electric. Jisung seemed to be planning something behind those long eyelashes, and Minho recognized the familiar crossroads: run or face it.

He should run, of course. Especially after Han had made his alpha behave like a submissive puppy with a simple touch to the wrist. But Minho never had a sense of self-preservation, and if he was going to die today—if Jisung decided to finish what he started that night, now that you weren't here to stop him—well, maybe it would be an appropriate end to all this mess.

"What do you want?"

Old combat boots scuffing the concrete, Han stepped forward. Gently, he reached for the cigarette trapped between Minho's lips. The touch was brief, but it sent electric shocks down his spine, as if someone had connected his nerves to a car battery. Han's eyes, dark as spilled coffee, never left Minho's as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers before crushing it under his sole.

"Sleep with us," Han said simply. "One night."

Time seemed to freeze. Minho felt his toes curl inside his shoes, as if searching for something to grip onto. Like a bird in a cage, his heart pounded against his ribs, and his tongue felt too heavy for his mouth.

"What the fuck?" The laugh that escaped his throat sounded hysterical even to his own ears. "After all that shit at the police station? After the stitches?" Unconsciously, his fingers brushed the scar on his neck.

Han shrugged. "You think I don't notice?" He moved closer. "How your eyes follow her during sessions? And how you stare at me when you think I'm not paying attention? How your pheromones change when I'm around?"

Minho knew your story with Jisung—it was impossible not to know. In the corridors of the rehabilitation center, the whispers reverberated like poisonous snakes. How you, the beloved suburban teacher, had started frequenting Han's studio to cover old scars. How the tattoo sessions turned into confessions, then into coffees shared in paper cups, then into stolen kisses against walls covered in faded flash tattoos. How Han had restored each broken piece of you—not with empty words or grandiose promises, but with small gestures: americanos left in paper cups with your name always intentionally misspelled, colorful post-its hidden with silly cat drawings, nights spent simply holding you while the world collapsed around you. How he spoke of you with a kind of reverent love that made Minho want to vomit—because he only knew how to express affection through bruises and cutting words.

But if Han loves you so much, why is he here offering you up like a piece of meat?

"You're sick."

Han tilted his head. "Maybe. But so are you. And her..." He paused, letting the word hang in the air like smoke. "She wants us. Both of us."

"Spare me this bullshit," Minho spat the words. "You talk like she's your property. Like you can just throw me into your bed like a new toy and expect me to..."

"Don't be naive," Jisung interrupted, taking another step forward. Tattooed fingers found Minho's chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "She has more free will than both of us combined. And knows exactly what she wants." His thumb traced Minho's lower lip, collecting a drop of blood where he had bitten too hard before bringing the same finger to his mouth. Minho almost moaned at the sight. "Just like I know exactly what you need. What all three of us need."

"You don't know shit about what I need."

"No?" Han teased, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Then why are you trembling?" His fingers moved up to Minho's nape, playing with the short strands there. "Why is your heart beating so fast I can feel it from here?"

"Tell me then," Minho challenged. "What does someone as fucked up as you think I need?"

"Mutual destruction," Jisung murmured against his ear. The cold piercing made Minho's earlobe twitch. "The kind that burns everything to the ground and rebuilds something better from the ashes. The kind that only three equally broken people can create."

A sound escaped Minho's throat. His hands found Jisung's chest. He didn't know if he wanted to push or pull, if he wanted to punch that irritating smile or taste it.

"You're poison," Minho whispered, his nails digging into Jisung's chest through the thin shirt. "The kind that kills slowly."

"And you," Han smiled against his skin, "are too thirsty to care about the antidote."

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

Your diaphragm fluttered like a moth stuck to your ribs as you let out a deep breath. Main focus? Not choking on the saliva accumulated behind the gag.

There you were, tied and exposed like an avant-garde artwork on Minho's carpet. With the city lights watching your debauchery like voyeuristic stars, the floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of Seoul's horizon.

A muscle in your left thigh spasmodically contracted, making the rope sink deeper into your flesh. It was a map of knots—legs folded and bound in a way that made you think of the origami cranes Minho used to fold when he was nervous. The hemp rope bit at two precise points: just above the ankles, where the bone slightly protruded, and at the top of the thighs, where the flesh was softest.

The metal spreader bar kept your legs open. Your pussy was exposed to the cold air of the penthouse and to the hungry gazes of both men.

From this height, you could almost convince yourself that the entire city was watching. Your wrists were bound with soft leather cuffs (Minho's contribution, always valuing luxury when it came to his house and sex toys), connected to the bar in a way that made your shoulders project backward, presenting your chest.

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

It all started on one of those nights when the air conditioning failed intermittently, making an irritating noise that competed with the sounds of the city outside. A casual observation escaped your lips while you watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, alcohol uninhibiting your tongue and bringing up memories of Minho in therapy sessions—the way he would shrink in his chair, fingers drumming nervously against his knee, eyes jumping between you and Jisung like an anxious pendulum.

That specific night, you were sprawled on the Italian leather couch that Jisung so hated ("Who the hell spends so much money on furniture that sticks to your skin in summer?"), one leg hanging off the edge while the other rested on the back of the couch. The ice in your whiskey glass had long since melted, diluting the amber liquid into something more palatable.

Sitting on the Persian rug, Jisung's restless fingers were causing the strategically placed tears in his black jeans to further fray. The smell of caramel and cinnamon mixed with the residual aroma of cigarettes he had smoked earlier on the balcony.

"Jesus," you murmured, running your tongue over your dry lips. "Do you remember how he trembled? Standing there against the wall, with your hands on his neck..." Your voice failed for a moment. "Like a damn kitten lost in the rain. God, in all these years, I never saw Minho crawl back to anyone like that. Not once. I always... always gave him space to run when he needed it." A bitter laugh escaped your throat. "Never thought that after a whole year he'd still believe the door would be open, you know? That he'd still find..." You gestured vaguely with your free hand, searching for the right words. "...warm milk waiting."

Jisung tilted his head to the side, and he had that glint behind his eyes—that same look you saw when he was about to do a particularly painful tattoo on someone. "A kitten? What an... interesting choice of words, love."

You propped yourself up on your elbows so quickly that your head spun, alcohol and adrenaline making your heart stumble. Every vertebra in your spine screamed in unison as warning signals crackled through it. Shit. Shit. Shit."Ji, fuck, that's not what I—"

"Is that what you used to call him?" He interrupted while crawling towards you like a predator. "When he was between those thighs of yours?"

When Jisung's fingers found your ankle, your throat became parched. Just enough to remind you that he could, but not enough to cause pain, his thumb pressed the pulse point there.

"I bet it was." His other hand slid up to grab your knee, spreading your legs, "I bet you whispered 'kitten' when he had his tongue buried in that pussy of yours. That you told him what a good boy he was while he tasted you like you were the last drop of water in hell."

Since then, after each group therapy session, Jisung would extract your confessions like venom from a wound. Methodically deconstructed your sanity while fucking you against any available surface—the bathroom wall, the car's backseat, the kitchen table where you were supposedly meant to dine like normal people. He fed that part of you that you tried to keep locked away, the bitter and vindictive part that yearned to see Minho undone by both your hands. The words poured from your mouth unfiltered—how Minho's arrogant alpha became docile under your touch, the way his spine arched when you squeezed his throat ("Harder, please, harder"), how he begged for more when you fucked him with that ridiculously large purple dildo hidden in the second drawer of the dresser. How he moaned your name when you forced him to cum for the third time in a row, his muscular thighs trembling.

"Tell me more. How did he sound? How did he squirm? I want every dirty detail."

You swallowed hard. "He... he trembled. His whole body shook when he was too close. And he bit his lips until they bled, trying to hold back his moans. Sometimes... he cried."

"And when you tied him up?" Jisung played with the elastic of your panties, making small circles that made you squirm. "Did he fight against the ropes?"

"No," you answered, your voice breaking into a moan when he suddenly sank two fingers inside you. His thumb found your clit, making your thighs shake involuntarily. "He... God, Ji... he stayed completely still." Your nails dug into the leather couch when he curled his fingers inside you, easily finding that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Fascinating," Jisung laughed, the low sound reverberating against your skin while he felt you getting even wetter around his fingers. "The great alpha Minho, reduced to a submissive and desperate kitten. I can almost see him now, tied up and begging." His fingers sped up their rhythm, making you arch your back. "Do you think he'd do the same for me?"

"Ji..." You arched against him, your fingers burying in his dark hair, pulling slightly. "Please!"

His smile was pure sin against your skin. "Please what, love? Use your words."

Out of your mouth came the thoughts in a torrent of desperation. "Can we... Can we fuck him? It's just sex! One night!" Your voice trembled, betraying the desperation you tried to hide under a facade of casualness. "Just... just once. Please! I need to feel him again. I need to see you destroying him too."

"Shh..." His fingers continued their merciless assault inside you while his other hand rose to squeeze your neck lightly. "It's okay, baby. I thought you'd never ask. We'll make our kitten meow so pretty for us."

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

Minho didn't bother with his belt, fingers trembling slightly as he unzipped his trousers. He reached in, fabric rustling against skin as he freed himself from the confines of his designer boxers.

"You remember how she's good with her mouth, right?" Jisung's voice was honey-thick with anticipation as he sprawled on the sofa, legs spread wide, one hand absently tracing patterns on the armrest.

"God, yes." Minho's throat bobbed as he swallowed, kneeling beside your head. His fingertips ghosted over your temple, barely touching. "She doesn't just do it—she worships. Makes you feel like you're her whole fucking world." The muscles in his thighs twitched as he shifted closer. "You have no idea how I missed seeing such a pretty alpha like this."

"Show him then, darling.” Jisung commanded. "Show him what that mouth can do."

Minho's hand trembled slightly as he reached for the gag. The buckle clinked softly as he worked it loose, his breath catching when your lips parted automatically.

Honestly, Minho wasn't in the right headspace to think. After a terrible day at the hotels, he was thinking about how he would cherish every moment of this one night ever since he got home and was counting down the minutes until you and Jisung arrived. This last relapse. This final chance to have the duke in his hands before handing him over to Jisung definitively.

Due to the ball gag, your lips were red and swollen and glistening with saliva.

"There's that pretty little mouth," Minho breathed, tossing the gag aside. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, spreading the wetness there. "Fuck, I missed this view."

He still kept some photos of you on your knees in front of him, lips stretched around his cock. Most were carefully cropped, faceless and anonymous—they could be anyone's lips, anyone's throat. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the reality of you here, now, looking up at him with those eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of his. He slipped his thumb between your parted lips, a soft groan escaping when you immediately began to suck, your tongue swirling around the digit the way you knew drove him mad.

"Open that pretty little mouth for me," Minho purred.

Without thinking, you opened your mouth and offered a silent sacrifice. As Minho pulled his thumb away, the velvet-steel heat of his cock replaced the metallic tang of the freshly removed gag, leaving your taste buds free of its lingering effect. A single drop of precum pearled at the tip, and your tongue darted out to catch it, earning a sharp intake of breath from above.

Minho was longer than memory served, thick enough that your jaw already ached. The familiar weight of him filled your mouth inch by devastating inch, while his hand cradled your cheek with deceptive tenderness. Your eyes watered as he paused halfway, not from discomfort but from the overwhelming sensation of having him here again, real and solid and trembling ever so slightly.

A groan tore free from his throat as his head fell back.

"Fuck..."

Jisung laughed from where he sat, drinking his whiskey. "Yeah, well, wait until you feel her tight cunt again."

The crude words sent a bolt of electricity straight to your core, making you clench helplessly around nothing but want.

When Minho drew back, his cock dragged against your tongue in a slow withdrawal that had your toes curling against the carpet. He thrust forward with the same measure, but you could see the tension coiling in his thighs, the way his abdominal muscles jumped beneath smooth skin. His gaze raked down your body like physical touch, lingering on the slick folds. The sight alone made his cock twitch against your tongue.

He couldn't remember any of the times when he was the one who dominated—it was always you who reduced him to incoherent pleas against the silk sheets. It was always you who destroyed and rebuilt him as you wished, piece by piece, moan by moan, until nothing remained but a broken alpha begging for more. It was always you who made his wolf—the same one that growled at anyone who dared challenge him in the hotel corridors—wag its tail and lower its ears, submissive as a newborn pup. But now, with the ropes biting into your wrists and Jisung commanding your every breath, he couldn't deny that this was more exciting than any fantasy his feverish brain could have conjured during the long nights without you.

As his hips started to move more purposefully and each thrust struck deeper than the last, his fingers became more taut in your hair. The wet sounds of your throat working around him filled the room, punctuated by his increasingly ragged breathing. Your nose brushed against the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel with each forward motion, inhaling the musky scent of arousal and expensive cologne that was uniquely Minho.

"Look at how well she takes it," Jisung observed. The ice in his glass clinked as he took another sip. "Such a good little cocksucker. Always knew exactly how to make you fall apart, didn't she?"

Minho's response was lost in a choked moan as you hollowed your cheeks, tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive underside of his cock.

Words slipped out between clenched teeth as he cursed in Korean due to the slight constriction that caused him to hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, I can't—" His voice cracked as you swallowed deliberately around him again. "She's still so-nghh... So fucking good."

Just before heat filled your mouth, you felt him pulse against your tongue. With a broken sound that could have been your name, he came with fingers that squirmed in your hair, gripping you almost painfully. Oversensitive and quivering, you forced him through it, draining every last drop from his dick until he had to back off.

"Jesus Christ," he staggered back a little and panted. Between your lips and his softening cock, a thin strand of cum-infused saliva stretched before shattering. "I forgot how fucking good you are at that."

Jisung's low chuckle made Minho’s vertebrae tingle in anticipation. "Oh, we're just getting started, aren't we, kitten?" Approaching from behind Minho, his footsteps reverberated on the hardwood floor. "Now scoot."

Minho obliged with the grace of a chastised cat, crawling a few paces away on hands and knees, his designer slacks dragging slightly against the floor. Only then, through the post-orgasmic haze that clouded his vision like morning mist, did he notice Han had undressed. Perhaps he'd blacked out for a moment and lost track of time.

"You doing okay, baby?”

As Jisung pushed deeper than Minho had ventured, you nodded enthusiastically around his cock, your eyes watering. Hissing through gritted teeth, your throat tightened around him. Minho watched in awe as the music sent chills down his spine.

"Fuck yes, look at her take it." Jisung's voice was rough with pleasure as he gripped your hair tighter, the slight pain making your cunt clench. "Such a good little slut for us, aren't you?"

Minho couldn't tear his eyes away from where Jisung's cock disappeared between your swollen lips. A drop of your arousal slid down your inner thigh, and his own spent cock twitched with curiosity. Your hips moved restlessly, searching for friction that wasn't there, and the diamond plug caught the light.

Unable to resist any longer, Minho crawled between your spread legs. Your scent hit him like a physical force—familiar yet somehow more intoxicating than he remembered. His tongue darted out to catch that glistening drop of wetness, tracing it back to its source.

Both men shuddered at the moan you uttered around Jisung's dick. Jisung looked back over his shoulder, pupils blown wide with lust as he watched Minho worship your dripping cunt. That wasn't the damn plan, but you were making such beautiful sounds that it made him reconsider.

"Well, well," Jisung purred, rolling his hips forward until you gagged slightly. "Looks like someone's eager to taste what's mine." His free hand reached back to tangle in Minho's hair, forcing his face closer to your heat. "Go ahead then, kitten. Show me how badly you've missed this pussy."

Minho needed no further encouragement. His tongue delved deep, gathering your wetness like a man dying of thirst. Above him, Jisung's thrusts grew more erratic as your moans vibrated around his length.

"That's it," Jisung groaned, his grip tightening painfully in both your hair and Minho's. "Make her cum on your tongue while I fuck that pretty throat raw."

You clenched again as you gagged. The sight made both men groan in unison.

While two fingers twisted inside you, locating that secret place that caused lightning to dance behind your eyelids, his expert mouth plunged deeper. Legs shaking as they clamped around his head, your spine arched off the floor like a bow being drawn. The tendons in your neck strained against skin as you fought for breath around Jisung's length.

Minho's free hand traced idle patterns on your hip, thumb pressing into the hollow there as if to anchor you to earth. He remembered how you used to fight this—how your alpha pride would make you bite your lip bloody rather than surrender. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were lost in a haze of sensation, caught between Jisung stretching your throat and Minho's wicked tongue.

"I missed those little sounds you make," Minho whispered against your inner thigh while his fingers never stopped their relentless assault inside you. "Remember how you used to fight it? All that alpha pride... But look at you now, dripping all over my chin like the prettiest little slut."

Your only response was a desperate whimper around Jisung the vibrations making him curse and grip your hair tighter. Minho's palm spread across your lower belly, feeling the muscles there coiling tight as a spring. He could read the signs in your body like a familiar book - the flutter of your walls around his fingers, the way your toes curled against the carpet, the endless slick that coated his chin and neck.

It should be impossible, actually. You were an alpha, technically more prepared to lubricate less than omegas and less sensitive, but that was never an obstacle for Lee Minho. He had a talent and he was going to rub it in the blue one's face.

"There we go," he purred, voice rough with want as his fingers found that perfect rhythm. His tongue flicked rapidly against your clit. "Show Jisung what he's been missing. Show him how pretty you look when you fall apart for us. Bet he's never seen an alpha gush like this before."

Unstoppable and overwhelming, the pressure increased like a tsunami. As Minho's tongue pounded viciously against you and his fingers struck that spot with devastating accuracy, your thighs trembled uncontrollably. Above you, Jisung's grip tightened in your hair as he felt your throat contracting around him, your gag reflex working overtime.

"Holy shit," Jisung groaned, watching transfixed as Minho buried his face deeper between your thighs, his nose grinding against your button while his tongue worked magic. "Is she actually going to—?"

“Yeah. Just watch, blue.”

Your muffled scream cut him off as the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the saliva on your chin as you came hard around Minho's fingers. He moaned against your pussy, the vibrations prolonging your pleasure as you gushed over his hand and face. You thrashing beneath him, totally undone and beautiful in your surrender, made his own cock harden once more. He didn't stop, though, working you through each aftershock until you were sobbing around Jisung's length, your whole body trembling.

"Such a good girl," Minho praised, his tongue darting out to catch another drop of your arousal from his bottom lip. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he swallowed, savoring your taste like a man starved. "Always so fucking perfect for us. Still tastes like honey and sin."

"You okay, baby?" Han's voice was velvet-soft as he ran a loving hand down the center of your chest, fingers trailing fire under your tied arms and over the plane of your stomach. "You never let me see you like this before."

"Never saw her absolutely drenched like this before, did you?" Minho wiped his chin with the back of his hand, though his face remained gloriously debauched. A drop of your arousal caught the light as it rolled down the column of his throat, disappearing beneath his collar. "Takes someone who knows exactly what buttons to push."

“Funny how you think you know her better after abandoning her for two fucking years, kitten."

Minho's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, catching the light like a cat's in the darkness.

"I may have left." A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth. "But at least I knew how to make her fall apart properly when I was here. Every." His tongue clicked against his teeth. "Single." Another click. "Time." His head tilted to one side, challenging. "Can you say the same, blue boy?"

Han’s scent turned sharp enough to burn, filling the room like smoke. "Continue running your mouth like that," his fingers traced patterns on your hip, but his eyes were fixed on Minho's throat. "And I'll show you exactly how I can reduce your precious wolf to a whimpering mutt while I spank that pretty ass of yours until it matches your fucking pride."

Your throat burned deliciously as you swallowed, tasting the remnants of both men on your tongue. Both of them turned back to you as you shifted, the ropes biting into your wrists. "For fuck's sake," you managed to rasp. "Shut up, both of you. Less alpha posturing, more fucking. I didn't get on my knees and let you both use my throat just to watch you measure dicks like teenagers."

"Uhm... Sorry, baby." Jisung's chuckle reverberated through his chest. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, thumb pressing against your swollen bottom lip. "Since it's this dumb alpha's special day," he shot Minho a look that made the older alpha blush, "I'll let him decide if he wants his knot in your tight little ass or that pretty cunt. Okay?"

With eyes darting between your dripping core and the jeweled plug that winked teasingly between your cheeks, Minho's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"I want..." his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one knee to the other. "Both." His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to touch Jisung but not daring. "Please, I need both."

One sharp look from Jisung—just a slight narrowing—and a disapproving click of his tongue was all it took. It was like watching a proud statue fall apart—the change happened instantly. Minho's shoulders curved inward, the proud line of his spine melting into something more pliant. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Almost apparent, the aroma of cinnamon, lavender, and caramel wrapped itself around Minho like silk strands.

"Cunt," he finally whispered. "Please... I choose her pussy. Want to feel her squeeze around my knot like she used to."

A slow smile spread across Jisung's face. "Good kitten," he purred. His fingers tangled in Minho's dark hair, tugging just hard enough to sting. "Pussy it is. What do you say now?”

“T-Thank you.”

“There you go.”

Jisung's hands were surprisingly gentle as he worked at the knots, each brush of his fingers against your sensitized skin making you shiver. With a whisper, the rope slipped away and gathered on the ground like discarded snake skin.

"Up you go, pretty thing," Jisung whispered as he assisted you in standing up, his palm extending over the small of your back.

Your legs trembled like a newborn fawn's, muscles still quivering from the aftershocks. The room swayed and tilted like a ship in a storm, reality blurring at the edges until Jisung's bruising grip on your hip became your only anchor to consciousness.

Leather greeted your heated skin with a shock of cold that drew a hiss from between your teeth. Jisung's knee pressed insistently between your thighs, spreading you wide enough that the muscles burned. Behind you, Minho's breath hitched in his throat—a sound caught between a whimper and a growl that made your inner walls clench with need. The jeweled plug shifted inside you as Jisung toyed with it.

"Such a greedy little thing," Jisung worked the plug in torturous circles. "Look at how she's clenching around it, Minho-yah. Both holes just begging to be stuffed full, aren't they?" The metal caught the dim light as he finally eased it free, your body fluttering helplessly around the sudden emptiness.

Cool liquid dripped between your cheeks in a meandering trail that made you arch and whine. Jisung's fingers followed, spreading it with the patience of a man who knew exactly how to drive you mad. His knuckles brushed against your entrance with each pass, a teasing promise that had your thighs trembling.

"Here." The single word carried enough command to make both you and Minho shiver.

You heard rather than saw Minho scramble to take the offered bottle, his desperate pants filling the room like a prayer.

"Such a good boy for me," Jisung praised, and you could feel the way Minho's entire being seemed to light up at the words, his scent sweetening with pleasure. "Now get that pretty cock ready. Our girl's been so patient, hasn't she? Look how she's dripping for us both."

With a roughness that sent thrills down your spine—because this was still Han Jisung, still your beautiful, commanding alpha—he manhandled you onto the couch. Your back hit his chest with enough force to drive the air from your lungs, his heartbeat a rapid drum against your shoulder blades. Slick and burning hot, he nudged at your entrance with an insistence that bordered on desperation.

"Gonna split you open so pretty," he growled against the shell of your ear, teeth catching the lobe hard enough to sting as he lined up. "Show our little kitty exactly how an alpha takes care of what's his."

A broken sound escaped your throat as he breached you, the stretch bordering on too much. Sweat gathered at your temples, rolling down to pool in the hollow of your throat where your pulse fluttered.

"Holy fuck," Minho whimpered, his fingers twitching against his thigh as he watched you take Jisung to the root.

As Jisung tipped the last of the whiskey to your lips, the amber liquid burned a trail down your throat, and the crystal tumbler clinked against your teeth. "Gorgeous, isn't she?" His hips rolled experimentally, the new angle making your vision blur at the edges. "But we're not done yet, are we, kitten? Show me just how badly you want to wreck her."

Minho's hands shook as they settled on your thighs, fingertips leaving crescent-shaped marks as he spread you impossibly wider. Already slippery and swollen from his previous attention, the head of his dick pressed against your folds, a string of precum binding him to your heated flesh.

"Please," your voice cracked around the word as your fingers dipped between your legs, spreading yourself. "Need you both. Need to be filled completely." You crooked your fingers, showing him exactly where you wanted him, clenching around nothing. "Show me you haven't forgotten how to make me scream, Min."

What was left of his control was destroyed by the use of his nickname.

As if he had run for miles, Minho's chest heaved as his breath came in tattered pants that muddled the air between you. In an attempt to resist the urge to simply pop a knot in midair, the muscles in his forearms tensed up.

"Such a needy little thing.”

Behind you, Jisung's hands slid up your ribcage, leaving trails of fire in their wake before cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked. "Stop teasing her. Unless you want me to take over completely and show you how it's done."

The threat in his voice made Minho's hips snap forward, the head of his cock finally breaching you. The stretch was exquisite—too much and not enough all at once, burning and perfect. Your walls fluttered around both men as they filled you completely, the dual sensation making your toes curl against the leather.

"Fuck," Minho choked out, his forehead dropping to rest against your sternum. "So tight. So perfect. Can feel you both. Can feel how well you take us."

Your fingers found their way into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as you felt him tremble. The touch made him shudder violently, his hips stuttering forward another inch as a broken moan escaped his throat. "Move, kitty," you commanded softly, tugging at his hair just the way you remembered he liked.

Minho's eyes devoured every inch of you with an almost feverish intensity, pupils blown wide as his hips snapped forward with urgency.

"Please," he rasped, voice cracking like autumn leaves underfoot. "Need to—shit, need to mark you. Make you mine again." His canines lengthened visibly, pressing against his bottom lip until tiny droplets of blood welled up. His inner wolf screamed for possession as it thrashed against its chains—you ought to be writhing beneath him in his bedroom, your scent blending with the remnants that, two years later, still clung obstinately to his sheets, taking his knot until the memory of any other touch vanished.

"Such pretty begging," Jisung purred, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand snaked around to grip Minho's throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make the older alpha's breath hitch. "But you forgot something important, didn't you?"

No kissing, no claiming.

The movement caught Minho's attention, drawing his gaze up to where Jisung watched them both with predatory focus. Something molten pooled in Minho's stomach as the younger alpha's lips twisted into that devastating half-smile.

Slowly, Jisung brought the crystal tumbler to his own lips, throat working as he swallowed. A single drop of amber liquid escaped, meandering down the sharp line of his jaw. Minho's tongue darted out unconsciously to wet his lips.

The realization hit him like lightning—Han Jisung, with his ocean-deep hair, lip piercing and cruel kindness, would slot perfectly into the empty spaces in his bedroom too.

What the fuck? No, this shouldn't be happening! The metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth as he bit his lip hard enough to hurt, ignoring how your eyes opened to stare at him when you smelled it.

Fuck! He already has a jack in his hands; he doesn't need another one! The thought burned like acid in his throat. Minho needs to think about other omegas and whores—the girl from Midnight Club with purple hair and tongue piercings, the bartender from Red Light with tribal tattoos running down his tanned neck, the cat-eyed dancer from Velvet Underground. He needs to fuck women and men until the scent of cinnamon and caramel is replaced by sweat and cheap sex, until every memory of you is buried under a pile of nameless bodies, until he erases you from the system, erases Jisung and that damn smile.

He needed to fuck.

"Open that pretty mouth for me, kitten," Jisung commanded, pressing the cool rim of the glass to Minho's lips. His other hand remained firm around the older alpha's throat.

Whiskey flooded Minho's mouth, burning sweetly as it mixed with your lingering taste on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the dual sensation of your walls clenching around him and Jisung's possessive grip on his throat. The familiar pressure began building at the base of his cock, his knot threatening to swell—breed mate claim mine mine mine.

"Eyes on me," Jisung growled, his fingers tightening until crimson starbursts exploded behind Minho's eyelids. "Show me what a good boy you can be. Match my rhythm—yeah, just like that." His thumb ghosted over Minho's bottom lip, collecting the bitter cocktail of whiskey and copper.

The muscles in Minho's throat worked convulsively beneath Jisung's grip, his pulse a frantic drumbeat against calloused fingers. Sweat-stained skin caused his shoulder blades to shift beneath his curved spine as he struggled to keep up with Jisung's vicious pace.

"I'm sorry, sorry, baby." Minho choked out, his rhythm growing erratic as his knot began to swell, balls hitting your rim with all his might. "Please, Alpha, I can't—need to—"

"Not yet." Jisung's voice was sin incarnate, dark honey and broken glass. His fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles that had your vision blurring at the edges. "Our girl cums first. Show her what those pretty fingers can do and then you are allowed."

When you felt the stretch of both cocks filling you completely, Jisung's teeth at your throat, and Minho's deft fingers joining Jisung's at your clit, the world shrank to pure sensation. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed through your system. You could feel yourself clenching rhythmically around them both, drawing them deeper as your body demanded to be bred.

"Holy fuck," Minho choked out, his hips stuttering as your walls milked his cock. "Can't—alpha, please—"

Jisung's growl vibrated through your back, possessive and commanding. "Cum for us, kitten. Breed her nice and deep."

As Minho emptied himself inside of you with a broken cry, the command in Jisung's voice caused his entire body to tremble, his knot to fully swell. You could feel him pulsing, filling you alongside Jisung's still-hard length. Your oversensitive walls fluttered around them both, and the sensation was almost too much, almost painful.

"Such a good boy," Jisung praised, his voice rough as gravel as his hips snapped up harder. His fingers twisted in Minho's hair, yanking his head back to expose the column of his throat. "Look at how well you take my commands, how perfectly you fill our alpha."

Minho whimpered, high and desperate, as Jisung's teeth scraped over his scent gland. His hips jerked helplessly, locked inside you by his knot as aftershocks of pleasure wracked his frame.

"Please," you gasped, writhing between them as Jisung's pace grew brutal. "Too much! I can't! Stop!"

Jisung's laugh was dark honey against your skin. "Yes, you can. One more for us, pretty thing. Show our kitty how good we make you feel."

His fingers found your clit again while Minho latched onto your breast. The dual sensation of his tongue laving over your nipple and Jisung's cock dragging against your g-spot had you almost screaming.

Minho's teeth grazed your nipple as he moaned around the sensitive flesh, his own oversensitivity evident in the way his thighs trembled. You could feel his knot pulsing inside you with each thrust of Jisung's hips, stretching you impossibly wider.

"That's it," Jisung growled, his rhythm growing erratic as his own knot began to swell. "Take it all, every fucking drop."

As pleasure verged on pain, your second orgasm struck like lightning, causing tears to fall down your cheeks. Jisung followed with a snarl, his knot locking inside you alongside Minho's as he marked you from the inside out.

For a moment, Minho allowed himself to collapse against your chest, his forehead pressed against your sternum as his breath came in ragged gasps. The steady thrum of your heartbeat beneath his ear was a siren song, beckoning him towards dangerous waters where dreams of permanence lurked like sharks beneath still waters.

"Fuck," he whispered, the word barely audible as his fingers traced meaningless patterns across your ribs. His tongue darted out to taste the salt of your skin, cataloging the way Jisung's and his scent had mixed with your natural sweetness to create something entirely new.

Behind you, Jisung's fingers carded through Minho's sweat-dampened hair, the gentle touch at odds with the possessive grip he maintained on your hip. "Stay still for me, both of you," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. "Let me take care of you while we're tied."

Minho's eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he fought back the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to memorize this moment—the weight of you both, the way Jisung's fingers felt against his scalp, the lingering taste of whiskey and blood on his tongue. Wanted to bottle it up and keep it safe, hidden away with all the other pieces of himself he couldn't bear to examine too closely.

But he couldn't. Wouldn't. The rules were clear—no staying, no claiming, no letting himself believe this could be anything more than what it was. Even as his body betrayed him, cock still pulsing inside you as his knot kept you locked together, his mind was already calculating the fastest way to get you out of his house. Already planning his escape.

"Your heart's racing," you observed softly, fingers trailing down his spine in a touch so gentle it made him want to scream. Or sob. Or both.

Minho said nothing, but his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise.

It was like a game of Kemps, Minho thought hazily, watching the way moonlight painted silver stripes across your skin through his half-closed Venetian blinds. Just like those drunken Sunday afternoons in Chan's apartment. But now he had two jacks in his hand. Two cards that could ruin everything he'd built, destroy the fortress around his heart.

He could already imagine it—lazy Sunday mornings with the scent of condensed milk pudding filling his apartment, the sweet aroma mingling with fresh coffee and Jisung's scent. Jisung's steady hands marking his skin with permanent promises in black ink while vinyl records crackled in the background. You in the bathtub singing "Here Comes The Sun" off-key, bubbles clinging to your shoulders while Jisung lounged behind you reading his worn copy of Murakami, occasionally glancing up from the pages to watch him shave. Movie nights with takeout containers scattered across his coffee table, your head in his lap and Jisung's fingers absently playing with both your hair. The three of you tangled together in his Egyptian cotton sheets, no need for rushed goodbyes or careful distance, just the steady rhythm of shared breaths and intertwined heartbeats.

The domesticity of these visions felt like a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing second. Like his mother's pearls scattered across the bathroom floor, like the bitter taste of failure that had lived on his tongue since that day. The thought terrified him more than any business deal or angry investor ever could.

"When will I see you again?"

For the first time, he was the one that asked this question. His fingers trembled as he considered keeping his jacks instead of discarding them, letting them destroy his perfect game.

After all, sometimes the best strategy was letting your walls crumble, brick by carefully constructed brick, until nothing remained but the raw, beating heart beneath.

Kemps!

[bungeo-ppangie]

17:03 // studying

ღ pairing. nonidol!student!riki x student!gn!reader

ღ contents. romance, fluff again, angst

ღ synopsis. in which you can't help but stress out when you don't understand an architectural theory for a test

﹒⪩⪨﹒scene below cut

you ran your fingers through your hair, letting your hand rest on top of your head for a moment. sighing in frustration, you slammed the textbook closed, walking out of your bedroom. you found riki sitting on the couch, playing games.

grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, you decided to return to studying- stalling wasn't going to make you understand the stupid architectural theory of post-structuralism. why the fuck did you choose to major in architecture again?

you ruffled your boyfriend's hair as you passed by him, still gaming on his phone. feeling the soft strands of his hair made you feel ever so slightly better, even though it also tempted you to want to just curl up in his lap and sleep. he looked up at you as he felt your touch, brow creasing in worry as he saw your irritated face.

"yn?" he said to your receding figure as you headed back to the room to study the louvre's design plan. you barely heard him over your turmoiling thoughts, wishing you could restart life and choose to not study architecture at seoul university. in the midst of your annoyed thought-monologue, you didn't even notice riki closing his phone in the middle of a ranking round, normally so important to him that he wouldn't so much as bat an eye if he was called during the game.

you plopped onto your seat again, opening the textbook and staring at the undecipherable gibberish of french architectural theories of building design in the late 17th century. after a good 10 minutes of translating the text back and forth, you had finally used up all of your remaining brain cells, and still had no idea what you were doing.

you felt hot tears threatening to slide down your cheeks, closing your eyes and tilting your head up in a desperate attempt to stop yourself from crying. all you wanted was to rest for a moment, to let yourself breathe instead of feeling your chest tight with tears, your mind clogged with bits and pieces of information you just couldn't piece together. you felt like you were falling apart from the inside, and found yourself wishing, yet again, that you were just having a lazy afternoon, cuddling with riki.

luckily for you, he was standing right in your doorway, watching you struggle for the past few minutes. all he wanted to do was kiss you and tell you that everything was alright, that you didn't need to push yourself so hard. but he knew that if he came at the wrong time, you would just close yourself off from him and make your situation even worse. however, watching you so near tears finally ruined his resolve. he hurried to your side, bending down to lift you out of your seat and into his lap as he sat onto the bed.

"shhh..." he murmured to you, whispering encouragement and comforting words into your ears as you cried into his shoulder, dampening his shirt. in his panic to make you feel better, he even switched to japanese, making you smile a bit at his effort.

"nihongo dekimasen, riki" you said, employing one of the phrases your boyfriend had painstakingly taught you. you were sure you butchered the pronunciation, but it was evidently understandable enough, because you earned a giggle from him.

"but yn-ie, are you okay? is architecture too much pressure? see i told you to do engineering, this isn't good for your health! digestive problems or some shit- i swear i can find it on naver if you give me a moment," he said, switching back to a serious tone. "you can ask me for help if you ever need it, you know."

you laughed, seeing riki so caring and worried for you when he usually teased you for bad grades. not that you didn't like this- you definitely loved him like this- but it was so out of the ordinary that you couldn't hold in a giggle.

"riki-ah, you're only passing your classes because the teacher obviously has a crush on you- she curved your grade up 25 points last test." you pointed out as revenge for being teased for your rare bad grades.

"hey, what has my rizziness got to do with this? i can do well if i really want to, you know." he replied, pouting because of your disbelief at his self-acclaimed amazing studying habits. that is, gaming until 30 minutes before the test, then kissing up to the teacher until the test for a higher curve.

you rolled your eyes at him, but ended up accepting his offer of help. surprisingly, he proved himself to actually be pretty decent at studying, getting the hang of the theory almost immediately and tried teaching it to you("so like fish bread, you have to savor the overall taste and notice the details at the same time- you know, the undertones of red bean, the ridges of the shaped bread...") key word: tried.

however, even though you almost didn't notice the gradual process, having riki around you as you studied released almost all of the stress and pressure from before. instead, you laughed along with him at his weird and completely unrelated comparisons, trying to explain everything you didn't fully understand to you.

what did i do in my past life to ever deserve him, you thought to yourself, smiling at the cheerful boy who would try anything to make you happy.

[pbandjesse]

I did not feel amazing today. I think I just pushed myself to hard. Between the party last night and my class today. I am not having the best time. But it wasn't a totally terrible day. Honestly it was mostly great. Even if I felt bad.

We got home last night and I showered and got cozy and was able to sleep pretty easy. I appreciate James letting me keep the fans going because I find it so hard to fall back asleep if the room is silent.

It also cooled off overnight. I woke up at 4 to use the bathroom and it was pretty chilly! It was nice.

James left for work. I don't really remember it. But when I woke up at 9 I saw the alert on my phone that they had gotten to work safely and that's all I needed to know.

I would take my time getting ready. I was not doing things in my normal order and that is always hard on me because then I get confused. But I got cleaned up and brushed my teeth and put on a sweatshirt. I wouldn't get actually dressed for a bit. Instead I brushed my teeth and walked around the apartment. And then changed our sheets. Made the bed very cozy with our fuzzy bedding. Tried to make it really nice.

Which I desperately wanted to crawl into but I wanted to accomplish some stuff. I went and had some cereal which gave me some energy. And I would have a soda and really want able to cost through the rest of the day.

Well at least through my class. For the next couple hours I would work on laying out the scrap blanket. I vacuumed the fluffies I got everywhere. I had some emails to answer. Including a message from Auni showing me that the bear she bought from me has already gone on a bunch of adventures with her son's and I was so happy it was so sweet.

I vacuumed the frog tank. But at 11 I was absolutely exhausted. I actually considered sleeping for an hour but I feared I would be even more groggy so I had another soda and tried to hold it together.

I decided to leave early and go get french fries. Which are stupid expensive now. Someone explain to me why it got $5.10 for fries and a single ranch dressing?? Absolutely insane.

And like they were fine. I went through the drive through. And then parked by awah. I ate them and they were fine. Could have eleven crispier. But it's fine.

I felt s little better. I have a little baby pathetic cough. But a few times this afternoon I felt breathless and had to sit down. So that's fun. I was going through it.

I got myself set up and was not thrilled with the project assigned. It was just. To boring? Trace some cardboard ravens, color in those ravens. Boring. So I decided to jazz it up and we made backgrounds and collaged the birds on that. And it worked so well!

Once people started coming I could tell this was the correct choice. Everyone seemed to really have fun. It was fun.

Zoe came first, then Mary Ellen and Naomi. And soon we had a second volunteer, Phia. Who was great. I just had her sit with some specific students and she ended up being really great. She even spoke Mandarin! So that was really cool.

I did have a few weird moments though. At one point I was walking over to give someone paper and I got a terrible pain in my stomach. To the point where I was crouched on the ground holding my knees. Which made everyone very concerned. Then towards the end of the class I got a crazy buzz in my ear that made me pause and hold my hands over my ears and I am sure I was making everyone freaked out. But when I wasn't in the fritz, I tried to be 100% on and everyone was taken care of. And it was good. For the most part things were good.

At the end of the class Andrew and his dad came to say goodbye because I won't be there next week and they won't for the final week. I invited them to see about coming to my classes with creative alliance. I hope they do!

We cleaned up and got eveything ready to go. I showed Naomi how to turn on the alarm because she'll be doing it next week. I accidentally took the totebag with me and didn't notice until we were up the hill so I gave it to her so she could return it next week. Oops. Not a huge deal.

I went home and was pretty exhausted. I drove through the neighborhood to see the leaves all changed. It was a really pretty fall day. I was happy to be going home. My weekend starts Sunday at 3pm.

I got home and would change back into cozy shirt. Not that I wasn't already wearing something cozy. But still. I sorted the laundry to be helpful to James. And got in bed.

I thought about sleeping. I did not sleep. I did read for a bit which was really nice. And very soon James was home.

I was feeling really bad at this point though. Just exhausted and eveything hurt. I wasn't in a great place. James tried to make me feel better. And eventually let me be alone to read. And they would do laundry and then make spaghetti. Which did make me feel a little better.

I took a long bath and used oils and washed my hair and that felt good. I had a hot towel over my face and it helped my congestion in my chest. And while I still don't feel amazing I do feel a little better.

James tried to make me a thickened got chocolate. I normally don't love hot drinks. And I still didn't love the taste, but the inside warmth was nice.

Now we are just doing a bit of parallel play. They are working on their computer while I am working on my phone. Sweetp is here and being mostly cuddly and only attacking me a little.

I am looking forward to sleep. I am going to go hug my husband now. Goodnight everyone. I hope you have a good day tomorrow!!

[casspurrjoybell-25]

Cold as Ice - Chapter 37 - Part 2

*Warning - Adult Content*

Wren Ridley

To: Raven Ridley [Would you be able to lend me a place to sleep this weekend?] From: Wren Ridley

To: Wren Ridley [??? I could but why?] From: Raven Ridley

To: Raven Ridley [I would like to get away from school for the weekend but would rather not go home.] From: Wren Ridley

To: Wren Ridley [Okay, sure.] From: Raven Ridley

The thing with Raven was that I knew she wouldn't ask many questions, not now anyway.

It could be a different story once I actually saw her but she was my best, and only, option at that point.

On Friday afternoon, I packed my things for the weekend and headed out before James even got back from class.

Or wherever he was.

I tended not to keep tabs on him.

Raven lived relatively close to our parents.

Her apartment was only across town but the independence of living on her own kept her from seeing them for weeks at a time.

I knew it pained our mother but Raven was always fiercely independent. I drove to the apartment in silence.

I knew I wouldn't be able to focus on a book at the moment and the radio bored me.

By the time I got to the apartment, it was just after four.

Raven had a class until four forty-five, so I waited in my car until she got home.

She got home at about five, parking right next to me.

She had a look on her face as she glanced at me through the car windows and I knew that meant she and I were going to have a talk.

I'd rather it be with her than with anyone else.

"You missed me so much even though you just saw me last weekend, that's it right?" she asked when we both got out of our cars.

We each grabbed our bags and met behind my car.

"Of course it is," I told her.

"You are my favorite sibling after all."

Raven snorted and lightly shoved me.

"Bullshit."

I followed Raven up to her apartment on the second floor.

She let us into the apartment, telling me that the others weren't home yet.

One of the roommates was apparently going to be out for the weekend at her boyfriend's.

Raven's apartment was a decent size.

The door opened up into the small kitchen and dining area.

The living room was in the center of the apartment with the bathroom behind it surrounded by the three bedrooms.

Raven and the other girl each got their own rooms.

The other two girls were dating so they shared, according to Raven's explanation as we settled in.

"You can sleep out here on the futon," Raven said, showing me the living room.

"It's comfy."

They had a futon off to the side of the room and a small couch in front of the TV.

"Do you wanna order out for dinner?" she asked, sitting down on the couch and pulling out her phone.

"I think we could both use some comfort food."

"Doesn't matter to me," I told her, setting my bag down beside the futon then sitting next to her on the couch.

"I think we should get those juicy, delicious, greasy burgers from that pizza place down the street from Mom and Dad's," she said.

"I'm really craving one of those and the fries."

"Sure. Whatever you want."

I wasn't really expecting Raven to want to hang out with me while I was here, figuring she had her own friends and plans for a Friday night.

I knew she was just trying to get me comfortable so she could start questioning me.

It made me rethink if this was a good idea or not, staying at her place for the weekend.

Raven ordered the food and scrolled through the many streaming services she and her roommates had (they didn't have cable).

We made small talk and when the food arrived, she went out to get it.

It wasn't until we were both settled into the couch, a few bites into our meals, that she started questioning me.

"So what's going on?" she asked before taking a bite of an oversized french fry.

"Not a lot. Getting ready for finals," I replied.

She shot me an irritated look, knowing I was only pretending to misunderstand her question.

"You know what I mean," she said, staring intently at me.

"You've literally never asked to come stay with me, so you don't want to be at school and you don't want to be at home. What gives?"

"Need a change of scenery. Cramming for finals really takes a lot out of me," I said.

"And I figured we could spend some time together."

Raven clearly didn't believe a word coming out of my mouth.

She was always so suspicious of everything.

She stared at me with narrowed eyes for a moment before taking a bite out of her burger.

"Robin told me you and Fox got into it last weekend," Raven started.

"I knew Fox was pissed at you so I knew something probably happened afterwards. I know you don't like fighting with him anymore."

I shrugged.

"It's no big deal."

She narrowed her eyes again.

"You guys are fighting about Landon?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

She already knew the answer the that, she just wanted me to admit it.

Hearing his name from her locked up my jaw. I couldn't speak, couldn't eat.

I wasn't prepared to talk to her about this.

I wanted to forget about him this weekend, to forget about everything and hope that I could clear my mind enough to function when I went back to school on Monday.

"Wren," Raven called out, waving her hand in front of my face.

"Wren."

"Hmm?"

"You literally just spaced out for like a full minute," she said.

She had her food off to the side and she turned on the couch to fully face me.

"Look, I know you love me but that's not why you're here, so let's talk, okay?"

"I... um... I..."

"I'll be honest with you," Raven started after I trailed off.

"Fox texted me earlier, after you asked me to stay over and told me you were coming home for the weekend and he wanted me to check on you. Something about your friends messaging him all worried about you?"

My breathing started getting heavier, my eyes stinging.

I just wanted to forget all this and go back to normal.

All I needed was to go back to normal and everything was getting in my way.

I put the heels of my hands into my eyes and let out a pained sound.

I couldn't handle the sudden influx of emotions, the sadness, the frustration.

Raven moved closer to me, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Wren, breathe sweetie," she said.

I was breathing, I was breathing really hard, basically hyperventilating.

This had never happened to me before.

I had never been this overwhelmed with emotions.

"Calm down," she said, running a soothing hand over my back.

"It's okay."

"I don't know what that was," I said in a tired voice after my breathing slowed.

"You keep things bottled up," Raven said.

"So when things finally bubble over, they come out like that."

I nodded, taking in a deep breath.

"The thing with Landon," she started again after a moment.

"Him coming to dinner, Fox being pissed, you wearing his sweatshirt to the game. You two are more than friends, aren't you?"

I laughed, it was a dull sound with no humor.

"Not anymore."

It was no surprise to me that she had figured that out.

My whole family probably had it figured out by now.

I just let myself continue to live in the delusion that my sexuality and my relationship with Landon were still secrets.

"Why is that?" she asked.

"He dumped me."

"Because of Fox?"

"That's part of it, I'm sure," I said with a sigh.

"He has this thing where he thinks he's not good enough for me."

And there was the fact that thought I ruined him.

"And have you done anything to show him that he is good enough for you?" Rave asked, an expectant look on her face.

I glanced over at her and she shook her head.

"You need to be open with people if you expect them to want to be with you," she said.

"If he's dumping you because of Fox that's one thing but if he thinks he's not good enough for you it's because you haven't done enough to convince him otherwise."

"We were never meant to last," I told her.

"I'll get over it."

"Do you want to be with him?"

I sighed.

"Raven..."

"No, seriously, do you want to be with him?" she repeated.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," she said, a serious expression on her face.

"Ideally, we would still be together."

"Then you have to fight for him, Wren," Raven replied.

"Fox will come around once he realizes this is what you want, what's going to make you happy."

"I can't make him want me back, Raven," I said, my voice catching a bit.

"No, you can't," she said with a sad smile.

"But if he broke up with you because he doesn't feel good enough, I would say he probably still wants you. He just doesn't feel deserving of you. You have to tell him that he is."

"He won't hear it," I told her.

She made it sound so simple.

It was only because she didn't know the whole story, didn't know him.

She didn't know the self-hatred he possessed and how deep it went.

She didn't know that I ruined him.

Raven always had a way of getting things out of me like almost no one else could.

She was a lot like her twin in that way.

She looked at me sadly then turned to grab her food.

"Let's eat all this greasy food and watch sappy movies," she said, dropping the conversation.

At least for now.

That I could get behind.

[mitochondriaandbunnies]

I think I've told this story before but it bears repeating.

When I taught 8th grade, I used to run a "classic and noteworthy" film club-- probably still my favorite thing I ever did teaching, even if we never had time to watch a whole movie in one sitting and my principal refused to approve even the tamest PG-13 even though all the club members were 8th graders. (I loved the man in the way you can only love a reliable but terminally stodgy boss; he may have been the kind of guy who thought Roger Rabbit was a sex movie, but the school did completely fall apart after he retired.)

Well. He approved Casablanca, and one Thursday afternoon, with bags of illegal popcorn (microwave popcorn was expressly forbidden as part of school rules; the first rule of film club was 'don't talk about film club's popcorn'), I pulled my shades and set out to teach some teens about Bogie and Bacall.

The members of film club tended to be, from year to year, some of my favorite students from whatever graduating class I was currently teaching; I suspect many of them came less to see 40's movies and more to hang out with me, which I was fine with, because they were happy to talk literary analysis and film technique anyway. This particular group was also extremely sarcastic-- one member suggested, weekly, new movies to run by the principal-- Apocalypse Now, Fellini Satyricon, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, etc. I told him he was free to run those suggestions by the principal himself, but that I liked my job.

They were also a very thoughtful group, and very good at picking up on interesting thematic and cinematographic details.

Immediately I realized this was not the case with Casablanca.

Initially they were all a bit antsy, and I paused and asked if they wanted to continue or if they were bored. One of them-- a professional-level baker who talked like a small adult and had an A+ in English the entire year-- admitted she just really wasn't sure what was going on, and I realized that none of them knew enough about WW2 for the plot to really click. We stopped and talked about the African front and colonial powers fighting over resources in Morocco and elsewhere, what the Vichy French were, etc.

We continued the movie.

About ten minutes later, one of the other students-- a talented artist who had made it her mission from the first day of September to baffle and troll me at every turn-- raised her hand and said "okay, but. Who are all these people?"

I paused again, baffled. I asked for clarification.

None of the children could tell any of the actors apart.

I don't know whether it was a lack of experience with black and white movies or what, but they were all completely Casablanca-face-blind. In fact, they'd all been operating under the assumption that at least three characters were the same man wearing different hats.

I drew pictures on the board-- Rick looks like this, and he owns the cafe and hates nazis but pretends to be neutral, Laszlo looks like this, he's a freedom fighter and Ilsa's new boyfriend, Ilsa looks like this-- and so on. They all expressed immense relief and we continued the movie with no further hiccups outside of some historical questions.

And then the credits rolled, and one student summarized her feelings on the film:

"I'm really surprised they were able to make a gay love story in 1942."

Now, I live my life with Homoeroticism Sensors that are so badly overtuned I see gay romance between trees with reaching branches and lawn chairs that are leaning on one another a little too desperately, but it had not occurred to me that "this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship" would be a interpreted as. Well. A beautiful friendship, wink wink.

I also don't enjoy being fired, so I also didn't want to lend any of the children my Gay Colored Glasses. I asked, neutrally, for clarification.

She explained that it was clear that both Rick and Renault were characters who hadn't found themselves or a purpose, and therefore waffled on their political ideals, but in finding their will to fight back against an oppressive regime, they also found each other. Rick just had to let go of Ilsa to be able to see it.

I informed her that I'd never thought of that interpretation, but that honestly, she'd backed herself up with evidence, so hey.

Another kid: "Wait, is it not supposed to be a gay love story?"

Me: "Um. No. I don't believe that was their intention in 1942, no."

Child who came up with the theory: "Bullshit! Casablanca is a gay love story."

Me: "Language, and also I'm going to need you to print that on a t-shirt for me."

I never did get my t-shirt.

(Twt)

[paktderpakte]

There must be more to life.

16 September 1941

Margarete climbed the steps to her apartment, struggling to balance her heels on the stairs, and the satchel that always seemed far heavier in the evening than the morning. You would think that just sitting at a typewriter all day and typing out notes, schedules, tables, wouldn't wear as much as it did, but her back always ached, and her wrists. Typewritten text swam in front of her eyes in the dim stairwell, and she leaned on the balustrade for the last few steps, then against the wall as she trailed down the hallway to her door. She turned the knob, stumbled inside, and slumped down on the couch.

Maybe Father had been right. There wasn't any glamour in this, living alone in an apartment block during the evening and typing up meeting minutes about steel production during the day, trudging between them on crowded trains and sterile concrete streets. If she moved back home, it'd probably be for the better-- her parents would be thrilled to have her back, she could help run the shop. She knew because Mother's letters always said so.

It was sweet, and sometimes, on nights like this, the idea tempted her. She did look forward more to her brother's letters, even if he made it out that he was having as poor a time as she was, holed up in one of the garrison forts on the French coast. Father would probably say that the grass was always greener for her somewhere else, that she just needed to pick something, and she smiled at the image of him chastising her before reaching back to turn the radio on.

Her brother's last letter was still on the end table as well. She'd gotten it about a week ago, and hadn't written a reply-- maybe writing Kleis would be a good way to unwind. As she pushed her glasses up on her nose, she unfolded the paper to read it again.

Grete I'm pleased to hear you got the typist job. I know Mother and Father were a bit worried about that, but they don't offer classes in it for no reason. And who knows, maybe you can get someone to pick you up as a secretary or start helping them with their actual planning. Pick you up as a wife, I'd say, but I remember how into your Bund work you were before I left. Maybe it'll be somewhere you can put your organizational skills to use. It's lucky for your new employers that they have you, but I wish you were here instead of our staff. Sometimes I think they're way too lax about things-- the French State might be allied with us now, but it's not like every *Frenchman* is. We go out without proper armament one too many times like we're cops or something and someone is liable to get hurt.

Staff says it fosters goodwill to not be carting heavy guns around on routine patrol though, makes people think of us as, yeah, gendarmes. Supposedly the secret police has stuff locked down well enough, and I'm fine so far, so maybe I just wanna play with a soldier's toys. ...besides that, they should really authorize tropical wear for Occitania. I don't care that it's Europe, in the summer like now I feel like I'm going to melt in this stupid wool tunic. At least the girls think it's sharp. Oh, also. We had some leave a little while ago, so me and some buddies took a train over to Marseilles to spend the day, and there was a guy testing out a new kind of color film that wanted a test subject. We told him he could shoot us, if he sent us copies, and he went for it. Really cool stuff-- here's one from my share of the prints. Write soon. Love, Kleis

Margarete studied the photo with a wistful smile. Three men with private's tabs, Kleis and two others, lounged on the patio of some French cafe in the afternoon sun. Like they were really here.

She kicked off her heels and took the letter and photo over to her desk, thinking about her reply-- but maybe he'd already written another letter, she thought. Sometimes he did do that, if she took a while to get back to him, so better to check the mail first.

In the basket was a mailer from the Bund Deutscher Mädel about some fundraiser, their monthly magazine, a bill, a newspaper…

...and a letter from the Wehrmacht. Not a letter from Kleis-- better stationery, like cream; a red wax seal stamped with the Eagle.

Margarete Anna Reuenthal Sister of Gefr. Nikolaus Ernst Reuenthal Andreasstraße 9, Apt. 8 Düsseldorf, Germany

Gefreiter..? Kleis was a private. She took the letter back to the desk, and-- it seemed wrong to simply rip it open like she would with something less official, and something like sacrilege to break the seal-- slit the top with her letter opener to get at the missive inside. It was typewritten, with a signature at the bottom.

Frau Reuenthal: I am sorry to inform you that your brother Nikolaus gave his life in the defense of the peace on 12 September 1940. The exact circumstances are beyond my authority to divulge but please rest assured that those responsible will be brought to justice. Niko was a good soldier. My heart is with you. Hauptmann Gregor Jung Company C commander MB Aigues-Mortes

ᛦ

Kleis's friends were looser lipped in person. There had been an ambush, some partisan cell who still deluded themselves that the Americans or the British would come to the rescue and sweep the Germans out. A grenade trap had blown the front off the truck, and Kleis, gunning from the back with an SMG, had taken a rifle bullet from the hills.

The undertaker had done a good job with his body. You wouldn't have known he was dead, looking at him laid in the box with his new collar tabs. The Gestapo were on the case, a man in a notably nondescript black suit had assured them. Heads would roll in the south of France, and in the secret police. Petain was deeply embarrassed, by all accounts, would cooperate more with the German garrisons in flushing out troublemakers.

Her father seemed far too stoic. When she and her parents had gone to see the body, he hadn't cried, or betrayed hardly any emotion at all, even with Margarete hiding her face in his shoulder and Mother refusing to even look in the casket. "Yes," he'd just said, so quietly she saw his beard move rather than his mouth. "That's my Nikolaus."

She should have realized it would come to an end at some point. At the funeral, he'd stood up, pulled away from Margarete with notes in hand, and strode to the podium to give his eulogy. "My son followed in my footsteps," he started, "quite against my wishes. I fought in the Great War, as many of you did, and forbade him to fight in what many of us believed would be another. But fortunately for him, his war ended quickly. With his help. Thank God."

"…The letter that his commander wrote me and my wife--" he shuffled some papers, produced a letter like the one Margarete had received and nodded to its author in the crowd-- "said that he 'gave- gave his life in defense of the peace'. " The break in his voice was the only forewarning; an instant after quoting the paper, his frame shook, and he gripped the lectern, turning his face down.

After a while, he spoke again, through tears. "I don't mean to insult you, Herr Jung. But isn't that the height of irony? I have to ask where the security police were. Why my son was given occupation duty in a country with whom we signed a peace treaty over a year ago." None of this was part of the speech that Margarete had heard him practicing; a few murmurs passed through the audience, but Herr Reuenthal had nothing more to say. He regained his composure, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his eyes.

"I am sorry. This is difficult for me. My only son." He straightened up, turning away from the congregation to look at Kleis in repose. "God rest his soul."

ᛉ

Rather than go back to Düsseldorf, Margarete went home with her parents, back to the village and to her old bedroom. She ate breakfast with her little sister, walked her to school, said hello to old friends who were teachers or postmen now. Kleis's room sat empty and full of his things, just as it had after he'd left two years ago.

Nobody mentioned it, but it was all they really talked about. Father got more into military matters, studying the chain of command and equipment as if he might find someone to blame; when Anja said one of her school friends' fathers was visiting from his posting in Norway, Mother had to feign enthusiasm. More than once they asked Margarete if she would move home for good and leave that "dreary apartment on the border."

She didn't know herself for a while, but one night over dinner, she heard herself say, "no, I think I'm going to join the SS."

Father stood straight up out of his chair, whether to impose himself on her as he forbade it or simply in astonishment, she wasn't sure; Mother let out something like a sob. And why the SS anyway? Staring at her food, she barreled forward to justify herself, the words coming out unplanned.

"They wouldn't put me on the front-- I'd be doing paperwork-- and Papa, you've wondered whose fault it was? Wasn't it all the red tape and the rules? In the end, wasn't it that Hauptmann's fault?"

"I'm a great organizer. I could make sure nothing like what happened to Kleis ever happens again. People are scared of SS-men. They'd do what I say. And I was so active in the Bund that they'd practically have to let me in."

"I miss the BDM too. Kleis had friends, comrades…I just type notes all day and let boring old businessmen hit on me." Tears started to drip onto her dinner.

"Honey…" Mother finally said something, scooted her chair closer to pull Margarete in for a hug. "You can come home. I knew you'd hate that job. You can be a Bund leader at Anja's school. You don't have to join the military to help people. Sit down, darling," she said to her husband, gesturing for him to relax. "Let's talk about this."

ᛋ

Her parents convinced her. They talked about it, Mother told her there were always openings at the school for secretaries or troop leaders and Anja told her that some of the teachers missed her. Father offered to help her move out of her apartment, which she refused. It wasn't that much stuff, she said.

Margarete took the train back to Düsseldorf, fully intending to pack things up, say goodbye to her landlord, and come home. The radio, the posters of singers, the books, her clothes, all went into boxes. Kleis's letter was still on her desk, and his photo, his last photo. She picked them up to tuck them in her satchel…the color made it seem so real.

Next would be to take apart the furniture-- maybe she could ask a neighbor for help. Or a carpenter would probably be better. She crossed the room to the phone to call someone, flicked through the phonebook to C…past C. H- N- S.

Schutzstaffel, recruitment office. DRake 3019.

She dialed the number.

[mimixis]

The White Knight: Part 0:01

can be found:

They say these are the golden years But I wish I could disappear

Mischa was thirteen when they moved to Japan.

She was against the decision, and it didn't even help that Aunt Chi visited her twice a week. On Mondays for training and on Thursdays for language lessons. Mischa loved her aunt, but if she was going to see her mostly on such occasions, she preferred not to see her at all.

Mischa loved visiting Japan, especially in March during hanami. They arrived in Japan in mid-March; the cherry blossoms were now blooming, but the teenager couldn't enjoy them. She remembered little of Baltimore, so the move didn't affect her in any way. In Italy, she had her life, her friends, and her habits. Japan was too different from the United States and Florence.

The four of them sat on a blanket under a tree and admired the falling petals. It was supposed to be a picnic to celebrate passing school exams. Japanese children didn't have to take it, but she, as an outsider who hadn't yet finished school in Italy, was to be tested to see if she was suitable for this class or if she should be sent to an elementary school that was also in the network of the school system of this private and prestigious institution.

At the beginning of the year, she learned that they were moving to Tokyo in two and a half months, and the moving work began. Her habits were shattered. She was to start the school year in April and end it in March. In Italy, she studied from Monday to Saturday, from morning until one in the afternoon, then went to private extra classes. Here she was to sit in school from morning until three in the afternoon, attend a club—it wasn't compulsory, per se, but was looked down upon by those who didn't—and then go to extracurricular activities.

So far, she has had Mondays off and spent them sleeping and reading about orcas. As she found out, the rhythm of the days would remain the same; only Mondays and tutors would change.

On Mondays, she was to train in self-defense with aunt Chi, and on Wednesdays, she would first learn Japanese with her, then English with papa, and finally French with daddy. On Tuesdays, she was to attend classes that would prepare her for medical school; on Thursdays, she would attend drawing lessons; and on Fridays, a tutor would come with whom she would practice playing the violin. Every other Friday, she would practice piano with papa. On Saturdays, she would study for the coming week and read books assigned by daddy to have discussions with him about them later. Later that day, papa taught her about finances. On Sundays, she would go with her parents to the pool and for long walks with the dog. They also went out to the opera and to dinner at restaurants.

She was expected to do it all, learn on the fly, and attend the club. It couldn't be just any club, either. Her parents and Chiyoh talked about it like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, so Mischa assumed that's what it meant to be a Lecter.

"You've gone quiet, Sha-chan," her aunt said to her in Japanese. Mischa had the feeling that she had been prepared for this moment—the moment of moving to Japan after many years. She felt manipulated. "Don't you like the food prepared by your papa?"

"It tastes good," she replied, and her fingers tightened on the thermal mug. "I was just thinking."

"And what is my pup thinking about?" daddy asked, taking the cup from her hand; he handed her an onigiri.

Mischa bit into the rice. Inside was anko paste. She chewed the food for a while, avoiding answers. She always told them everything, but since January, she has gone quiet. It's hard to talk to someone who doesn't take your thoughts and feelings into account, even if they do it for your benefit.

"About who I will have in class," she lied, then shoved the last bite into her mouth.

"My acquaintance's son will be in class with you. I have arranged with them to come to our house for dinner. You will get to know each other better, and he will tell you about school," papa announced.

Mischa smiled. She hoped they didn't notice how forced that smile was.

♦♦♦♦

Mischa was forced into a pink dress with yellow flowers. It had short, ruffled sleeves and reached her knees. On her feet were matching pink slippers with a bow and flesh-colored tights. She felt like she was going to play pretend today. She was about to put on the costume of a stranger.

She stood next to Daddy in the dining room and waited for Papa to usher the guests into the room. She repeated in her head the phrase she had practiced many times with Chiyoh. She didn't want to embarrass her parents in front of such important guests.

Papa entered the room with a beautifully wrapped box, followed by three figures. A boy who was her age and looked a few inches shorter with dark hair and eyes; a woman, taller than Mischa by just the height of her heels, dressed in a cream-colored dress suit; and a man much shorter than Papa and Daddy, dressed in a smart gray suit.

They greeted each other and introduced themselves with bows. Mischa did the same and said her name, Michelle, as Misheru. The boy approached her, bowed once more, and, still bowing, said.

"It's nothing special, but here is something for you," he said, handing her a bouquet of yellow roses, white lilies, and cherry blossoms.

Mischa also bowed and accepted his gift with both hands. She turned on her heel and followed Papa into the kitchen. She poured water into a crystal vase and put flowers in it. Papa asked her to replace the flowers on the table with those given to her. The girl did so while Papa placed the appetizers by Mr. and Mrs. Chishiya.

Mischa put the former bouquet back on the mantelpiece under the huge painting of Leda and the swan and, with a quick step, went to get the appetizers for Papa and the boy. Papa grabbed the plates that were supposed to be Daddy's and hers.

"Don't worry, fawn," Papa whispered. "Everything will be fine."

Mischa admitted this with pain, but Papa's words lifted her spirits. She straightened up and let a gentle smile adorn her face. They were approaching the dining room, and Mischa could hear Daddy talking to his guest in English. He must have been stressed by his role as an entertainer, or it was the guests who took pity on him.

Mischa sat down in her seat after the appetizer was served and began to eat after Papa put the first bite of meat in his mouth. Mischa wondered what kind of pig had lost its life so that Papa could make this dinner.

They talked first about medicine, then about the hospital where Papa was going to start working—as it turned out, it was the hospital where Chishiya Hiroshi was head of hispital ward and Chishiya Emiko was instrumentalist—until they got onto the subject of moving and the school that Shuntaro and she would start tomorrow.

"Have you thought about what club you'd like to join yet, Misheru-chan?" Emiko asked from above her wine glass. "Shuntaro plans to be part of a chess club."

Mischa played with the napkin in her lap. The appetizer had long since been eaten by them, and they were waiting for the main course. The girl hummed, letting them know she was thinking of an answer.

"I'll probably choose the swimming club," she decided, recalling a brochure with options written out. "I'm starting a lot of extracurricular activities this year, but I want to keep my body in its current condition."

"A very mature decision. Shuntaro thinks that physical education lessons are enough for him," grunted Hiroshi.

"Each person's body has different demands and limits," she replied diplomatically.

She stood up when Papa let her know it was time to go decorate the plates. She applied the cranberry sauce in one smooth motion while Papa placed the potatoes and steak. By the time they reached the fourth plate, Mischa was almost free of the awkward silence that had suddenly formed between them.

"Swimming club, you say?"

"Papa...she started, but didn't know what to say.

Papa also seemed not to know what to do in this situation. So they finished putting the food on the plate in silence. Mischa was just putting the dish in front of Shuntaro when Emiko turned to her.

"Will you tell me that you play the violin and piano wonderfully."

Mischa knew what that sentence meant. It wasn't a simple statement of fact. It was a demand. Mischa was supposed to play, but, oh gracious lady, she had a choice. Mischa smiled courteously.

"Michelle will play for us after dinner when we retire to the drawing room," Papa decided.

This was brand new information for Mischa. They hadn't arranged it beforehand. Mischa had no idea what she would play. And when that moment came, when she grabbed her violin and the adults and Shuntaro sat down, Mischa thought of only one melody.

For the next five minutes, she played the main melody from the movie Howl's Moving Castle.

The guests said goodbye, and the family began to clean up. Mischa wiped the dishes with a dry cloth and put them away on the kitchen island. Papa's lips tightened, and Daddy's brow furrowed. The girl, on the other hand, was satisfied and smiled.

"Did you think about the swimming club for a long time?" Papa finally asked.

"No," she answered truthfully. "I thought that since the club is something mandatory for me and Mondays are already busy, I would sleep longer on Sunday and join you on a walk."

Papa didn't let on that he heard what she said, but Daddy furrowed his brow even more.

The following Sunday, her parents didn't wake her up to go to the pool together.

A month later, she no longer went for walks with them.

After two months of living in Japan, she also didn't attend the opera.

Mischa slept late on Sundays with Lucifer under her elderdown and watched programs about orcas.

She spent time with her parents only during dinners together. This state of affairs continued for a long time.

♥♥♥♥

The first semester of school was over, and the summer break began.

Mischa completed every homework assignment during the first week of the break and prepared notes that would allow her to recall the material before the second semester. Now she had no excuse for why she was still sitting in her room.

It was Monday, and Mischa was lying on the floor in her room and looking out the window. In a few hours, Aunt Chiyoh would come, and she would be in for a couple of hours of training. The woman quickly stopped teaching the girl self-defense and started training her to fight. She said Mischa had potential.

Mischa would rather nap at this time.

What could she do to avoid extra classes? Or at least part of them.

A chat message came to her aid.

GANG ORCA

[MITO]

ya hoe got tickets to the hecking aquarium

[CHIZU]

language, young lady!

[MISHERU]

lol

[MITO]

Main station, 12

[CHIZU]

yes sir!

[MISHERU]

k

Her aunt won't arrive until six in the evening, so Mischa will have five and a half hours. It won't be Kamegawa, and she won't orcs, but she will also be able to have fun with her friends.

She met Chizu on the first day of school. It was hard not to notice her. She had shaved the sides of her head and had ear piercings. She was arguing loudly with a teacher about school rules. Behind her stood an equally short girl with long black hair and bangs. She later learned it was Mito. She was quiet among strangers, but once you gained her trust, you had a friend for life. At least, that's what Chizu said.

When all three of them were in the same class, Mischa came up to greet her and complimented her on her hairstyle. Chizu measured her with a glance, suspecting her of lying. Mischa understood why; she had her hair perfectly styled, her shirt in a skirt, and over that, a sweater vest and jacket. Papa had tied her tie in the morning, so it had no right to be crooked.

Mischa smiled.

"Now I can't afford too much, but when I'm of age, I want to get a tattoo similar to these illustrations," she said, taking her phone out of her bag and showing her drawings.

"Are they yours?" Chizu asked. Mischa nodded. "You will design mine for me."

Mischa smiled, amused. How bold to think that they would be friends for so long!

(Chizu was right. Mischa designed tattoos for her and herself, and together they got them done in London.)

Taking a seat next to Mito, Mischa turned around, feeling a stare at her. On the last desk by the window sat Shuntaro. Or maybe Chishiya? After all, no one else from his family was here, so it was inappropriate to think otherwise about him. She nodded to him, and he responded with the same. Moments later, their teacher entered the classroom.

Mischa thought for a moment about inviting Chishiya to go on an outing with her and the girls, but they had only exchanged a few sentences during the first semester. Mostly to please his parents, the girl thought. That, however, was enough to get the rest of the class and her friends interested. Apparently, Chishiya rarely showed initiative. Mito knew what she was talking about. Throughout her years of education, Chizu had been in class with him.

In addition, his persona frustrated her incredibly. Every midterm, every test, and now in the ranking, she was second, right after him. This had never happened to her before. She was defeated by a boy who didn't seem interested in anything.

She threw the phone on the bed, deciding that they were not close enough to each other to invite him anywhere.

She got up, stretched, and went into her walk-in closet. She had gotten up early in the morning to finish her Japanese notes and had managed to take a shower. Now it was left for her to get dressed, avoid a long conversation with her parents, and get to the train station.

She was going out with the girls, so she could afford to do more than she did when going out with her dads. On the other hand, she couldn't overdo it, or they wouldn't let her go. So she settled for a combination of a white shirt, a black ribbon, and a yellow dungaree dress. Neat, just the way Papa liked it. A little color, just as Daddy liked.

She combed her hair and tied it into a loose braid. She stuck her head out of the door and listened. Papa was in the study. She didn't know where Daddy was. So she had no choice. She knocked on the study door.

"Come in," the voice replied.

Mischa slipped in quietly and closed the door behind her. She stood in front of the desk at which Papa was working and intertwined her hands behind her back. For a moment, she shifted her body weight from heel to toe, from toe to heel, then stood still.

"Mito got tickets to the aquarium and invited Chizu and me."

"When?" he asked, putting down his fountain pen and focusing all his attention on her.

He looked as if he already knew the answer.

"Today, at twelve o'clock," she said, then added quickly. "But I'll be back in time; I wouldn't miss training with Aunt Chiyoh."

"Of course not," he announced. He got up and walked over to her. He looked at her hair, her outfit, and her hand, which was now tightened on the strap of her purse. "Do you still have money? You'll probably want to purchase something for yourself at the gift store and have lunch on the premises. Don't eat too much fast food. You'll spoil your appetite and won't eat dinner." I still have pocket money. And I won't eat much. And I know there's supposed to be fish caught by Papa for dinner tonight."

Papa smiled at the mention of Daddy.

"Exactly," he said, patting her head with his huge hand. Mischa stopped herself from flinching. "Next time, try to make appointments with your friends earlier. Then we can cancel or reschedule classes."

She nodded and disappeared behind the door, wondering when her relationship with Papa became so complicated and when she began to love and fear him at the same time.

♠♠♠♠

Mischa complied with Papa's request and planned her next outing two weeks in advance.

Mito's parents had a beach house and could take five people with them. Three of them were, of course, Mito, Chizu, and Mischa. Less obvious was that the other two were Mito's childhood friend, who went to the parallel class, and Chishiya. Apparently, Takeru was the only person Chishiya was willing to talk to. As eagerly as Chishiya could talk to someone.

The parents were skeptical at first, but after assurances from Mito's mother that the boys would get one bedroom, the girls another, and the married couple's room would be between them, it seemed to reassure them.

They were going there for three days, so Mischa packed the right number of bathing suits, dresses, shorts, and shirts. That is, twice the number of days she was going there.

(Not to mention underwear, which she took three times as many.)

She also packed a kimono that Aunt Chiyoh had bought for her. Mito said that on the second day their parents would take them to a summer festival, and it would be a good opportunity to dress festively.

Her parents drove her to the meeting place. Papa and Daddy were packing her suitcases in the van; they were about to embark on their journey, and Mischa stood by Chishiya. She nudged him on the shoulder. She grinned when he muttered something under his breath that sounded similar to it's way too early for that.

"I didn't expect that the beach might be something that would interest you," she said in passing.

She noticed that their parents were watching them. His with a strange gleam in his eye, hers sadly.

"Because it's not, but I'll get out of the house thanks to it," he said, tucking his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. "Well, and my parents will be happy because we will spend time together."

"Ah," she replied, not knowing how to comment.

She was saved from an awkward silence by Chizu, who threw herself on her back.

"Yo!" she greeted. 'I'm looking forward to the trip! We're going to go swimming, eat barbecue, go to the festival, and outplay you all in every game."

They laughed. Even Chishiya smiled slightly.

It was just as Chizu had predicted. They swam, ate a lot, and went to bed late. They didn't get up until late noon. Mischa stuffed as much unhealthy food into herself as possible.

'Take it easy," guffawed Takeru. "Chips won't run away from you."

"Advice for the future; don't comment on how much or what a woman eats," she said, her mouth full of snacks. "And maybe they won't run away, but tomorrow's dinner I will eat at home, and it will be the most controlled meal you can imagine."

"Seriously? Your fathers control you that much?" Chizu asked.

Mischa nodded her head.

"Papa has calculated what my needs are for everything and sticks to it," she replied, then patted her stomach. "That's why I have such muscles. Diet, swimming, and self-defense training."

"They train you to be a super soldier," laughed Mito. "From today on, I will call you the Winter Soldier."

"Excuse me," Mischa said, feeling outraged. She hit the girl lightly on the shoulder. "I can be something much better. The Black Widow!"

A few hours later, they were ready to go out to the festival. Mischa walked at the back with the quiet Chishija, mentally preparing herself for the crowds. She also wanted to address an issue.

"You know," she began, once they were at the stalls and the rest were busy browsing the trinkets. "We don't have to be friends for me to help you. With your parents."

"What do you mean?"

"They are pushing you to be friends with me, right? So we can just pretend. Sometimes I'll send you something or call you, so you'll have proof that we're in touch. And at social gatherings, we'll be friendly with each other. It seems to me that it's better when both parties pretend and have the benefit of it than when one gets tired and the other has a fake friend.

"It's true; they want me to spend more time with you," he admitted. "Wouldn't you mind such an arrangement?"

"No! After all, I proposed it myself," she giggled. "Well, and as I said, I'd rather be part of the plan than find out in a while that everything was a lie and you don't really like me."

Chishiya mused, then handed her the orca necklace she had been eyeing for a long time.

"It's yours, but someone else has to put it on you," he said, paid the vendor, and joined Takeru.

Mito put it around her neck. Mischa didn't even take it off when she got a diamond orca necklace from her parents when they went to Kamegawa at the end of the vacation. She even preferred the cheaper, ordinary one on a strap. It seemed more sincere.

They sat on a bench, Papa to her left and Daddy to Papa's left. They waited for the show to begin.

"I'm glad we came here, fawn," Papa said, his voice as soft as when she was a child.

She smiled but didn't respond. Her parents were already engrossed in themselves.

The world was sending her mixed signals.

♣♣♣♣

Mischa spoke to Chishiya for the last time that year on December twenty-fifth at a charity event.

The next two years looked similar.

As of April, they were no longer in the same class, and it happened again in their senior year. When they managed to catch each other's glances, they greeted each other politely and went back to their lives. Mischa, however, never took off her necklace; now she uses it as a bracelet, wrapping the cord around her wrist a few times.

Chishiya occasionally looked at it.

They talked to each other a couple of times during those two years, all of which took place at parties their parents took them to.

This state of affairs continued until high school.

Mischa lived up to her end of the bargain. Every time they met in the presence of their parents, she acted as if they were best friends. However, after each of these situations, she felt an unfamiliar sting in her heart.

Maybe she should go to a cardiologist.

Ego crush is so severe God, it's brutal out here (Olivia Rodrigo - brutal)

[imaginationlover101]

Gold Fish & Apple Juice

Stiles Stilinski x reader

Summary: When all of your friends are out of school and only Stiles and Isaac are left. Who knows what crazy antacis the day will go up in.

♡------------------♡-------------------♡-----------------♡

Readers POV:

It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon and I couldn't wait for our day off tomorrow, but unfortunately for us that only meant another day of supernatural disasters.

While I thought today was going to be a great day with my friends I was rather wrong. Scott and Liam ditched school today according to a very important "Supernatural" situation. Then on top of that Allison and Lydia were too busy studying for their French test so I haven't seen them at all either. So go figure today of all days I was stuck with the 2 guys I have secret crushes on and there names happen to be Stiles, and Isaac.

But even when I thought things were getting better, it only got weirder. The whole moring I got the vibe that Stiles and Issac wanted nothing to do with each other so I left it alone.

Anyways back to my story, now here's where the day started to go wrong. Every moring I pick Stiles and Scott up before school, but since Scott wasn't here I asked Isaac if he wanted a ride. But the minute I picked him up, Stiles kept on locking the doors not letting him to come in. Finally he let him in and after 15 minutes of awkward silence between the three of us we finally walked into school.

Now heres when it got even worse. The minute after we got into school Isaac almost slammed Stiles fingers in his locker. After that to get back at him Stiles threw Isaacs Apple in a tree.

Now I was just waiting for Isaac to do something to Stiles, but so far we were in the clear. Until this happened

POV Ends

♡------------------♡-------------------♡-----------------♡

I just couldn't help myself from looking at Stiles playing lacrosse. Even though most of the time he was on the bench he even made sitting down look good. I decided to pay attention back to the cheerleaders since I was the coach and wasnt doing anything.

I decided that I should be a good leader and get back to class until I heard a high pitched scream. I thought it came from one of the girls but go figure it was from Stiles.

"Brooke, can you teach the class for a minute?" I say already jogging towards the field. I saw all of the boys huddled up in a circle. I immediately saw coach first off to the side and went up to him.

"Coach what happened?" "Well Billinski is down because Isaac hit him with a ball on his head and in his his his-" Coach couldnt even get out another word because he couldn't stop laughing and starts pointing to Isaac.

Isaac looks me dead in the eye, looking at me almost scared. I move my way past all the boy and give Issac a "really" look. Coming closer near Stiles he wasnt even facing towards me just was groaning with his face on the floor in pain.

I guess Coach finally decided he had enough and blew the whistle. "BOYS stop looking at Billinski and go and do warm ups on the side." As the boys ran off I started to talk to Stiles.

"Stiles honey it's Y/N" "Oh God Y/NN I'm in pain nnnn!" "Oh god ummm you want me to take you to the nurse?" I say looking at him as he flips over. I push some hair out of his eyes. "But I have-" "Stillinski don't even think about it I was going to bench you anyways, go to the nurse" Coach says blowing his whistle again. "Well that was harsh" I said whispered.

"Can you get up?" I said to Stiles "Yeah I can try." I try and help Stiles off the ground when Isaac comes running from across the field with a question. "Do you need-" "Don't even think about it were fine, right Y/N!" " Yeah we're fine" I say struggling to get Stiles up.

Stiles and I walk until we get to the bleachers where the cheerleaders are. "Can you sit down for a minute I have to tell the girls?"" I guess so" Stiles says wheezing sitting on the bench. Meanwhile I go tell the girls to continue practicing and then I went back to Stiles. "Are you done now, you know I'm offended that you had to talk to them I could have been dying" Stiles says with a raspy voice. I keep coughing dramatic while Stiles and I are trying to make it to the school.

So as Stiles and I are hopping our way to the school, and while I'm silently struggling to keep him up we finally made it to the nurses office. We see Nurse Kelly and she gives us a questionable look knowing that she'd already seen Stiles 5 times before that. "What happened now?" she asking us getting the thermometer out.

Stiles and I sat on the bench trying to catch our breath. "Isaac hit him in the head with a lacrosse ball and I forced him to come to make sure he doesn't have a concussion." I said still out of wheezing. "Why am I not surprised with you two."

Nurse Kelly goes over symptoms Stiles might have and says no to everyone. Kelly then gives us Goldfish and Apple juice to becsuse of the "heat" but were happy knowing it was our favorite snacks. "You both can stay here until the period ends. I'll just be in my office finishing things." She says as she walks into her office.

Stiles and I decided to stay because we both knew there was no way we were going back out. I rested my head on Stiles shoulder and asked him one more question.

"Are you sure you're really ok?" " I'm fine Y/N" he says, looking at me. "You know I'm gonna beat Isaac up after this" I say to Stiles proudly. "Ok sunshine." Stiles says kissing the top of my head.

Even though the day might of had a bad outcome this moment had to be my favorite. So as I sat there eating Goldfish and drinking Apple juice with my best friend, I felt at ease but my crush on my best friend arose even more. I was in deep s***.

[creambunnie]

Crush😳

E'LAST WonHyuk X Y/N , fluff slight angst

Enjoy~

From : Seungyeop ^~^

-goodluck on your quiz today! see you later for dinner~

you smiled at your childhood friend's message and replied him happily. even though Seungyeop was 4 years older than you, you have always felt like he was your bestfriend. in fact, you had more than bestfriend feelings for him.

you were too focused on your phone, you didn't notice the person in front of you and accidentally bumped into his back.

the two of you gasped in shock. you rubbed your forehead and looked up. the boy had turned around to look at you. you quickly bowed and apologised before rushing into the university.

Wonhyuk stayed frozen on his spot even after you went inside. he blinked, trying to process what had just happened. his whole face and neck turned red when he realised that he had just 'interacted' with you.

"Wonjun.... y/n just talked to me!"

Wonhyuk shook his friend's shoulders. Wonjun who was stuffing his cheeks with a butter bun almost choked.

"what? didn't y/n just apologised for bumping into you?". Wonhyuk ignored his remark and continued shaking his shoulders.

"this is a sign! a sign that i should stop crushing on y/n in secret and start trying to get closer!"

Wonjun swallowed his breakfast and gave a thumbs up. "i'll support you!". Wonhyuk ruffled Wonjun's hair excitedly and went to his first class.

you were revising for your morning quiz before class starts when a tall shadow loomed beside you. you looked up and saw a rather goodlooking boy smiling at you. you scooted to the side a bit to give him more space.

"you don't remember me?" the boy suddenly asked in a soft voice. you raised an eyebrow, kind of annoyed that your revision time was interrupted.

"i'm the person you just bumped into earlier."

you bowed your head again. "i'm sorry again, uhh?"

"Wonhyuk!"

"i'm sorry again, Wonhyuk."

you gave him a small sorry smile and turned back to your book. you didn't know a person could be so petty and hold a grudge against you for bumping into him. he wasn't even hurt.

Wonhyuk sat beside you and took out his books. you glanced him from your side-eye. "you take this class too?" you couldn't help but ask.

Wonhyuk smiled and nodded like a cute puppy. "i see, goodluck for the quiz!". Wonhyuk thanked you and started reading his book.

in actual fact, he buried his face inside his book because he didn't want you to see his red face after talking to you. he was extremely happy when you called his name.

he covered his mouth from smiling too widely and tried his best to school his expression and focus on his revision.

after the first class, you had some time before your next one. as usual, you went to the cafeteria to get some early lunch. you bought a hamburger with french fries as the side and sat at an empty table.

you had friends in the university but they either have classes during this timing, or they are just getting ready for their first class in the afternoon.

you took a picture of your meal, wanting to send it to Seungyeop. a familiar looking boy suddenly stopped beside your table.

"can i sit here with you?" Wonhyuk asked as he carried a bowl of hot noodle soup. you were a bit surprised but nodded anyways.

Wonhyuk thanked you and placed his bowl before blowing on his fingers which were almost scalded from the hot bowl.

you put your phone aside and slowly unwrapped your burger as you scanned Wonhyuk's expression. he really looked like a puppy trying to stay calm.

you misunderstood him. you bit your lips and collected your courage to ask him.

"uhmm, are you perhaps still angry at me for bumping into you earlier?".

Wonhyuk who was happily eating his noodles looked up at you. he quickly bit the long noodles so that he wouldn't choke on it.

"hmm? nope. it was just a soft bump, no worries!"

you frowned and searched for any signs of lying but he was indeed being sincere with his words.

"then why are you suddenly... always where i am?"

Wonhyuk blinked at you question and scratched his cheek awkwardly.

"i wanted to be your friend." you were surprised at his reply.

"why?" you saw Wonhyuk's shoulders slumped down sadly. "i.... can't?".

if he was a puppy, his ears would be drooped. his little pout poked your heart.

"of course you can! here we are friends already!". you said and pushed your french fries closer to him.

when Wonhyuk smiled again, you sighed in relief and bit on your burger. you hummed in delight at the savoury taste.

Wonhyuk chuckled when he saw your face.

"you got some sauce here." he said as he passed a napkin to you. you laughed and took the napkin before thanking him.

"this is the right way to eat delicious food!" you said and took another big bite of your burger before wiping the smeared sauce again.

Wonhyuk refrained himself from squealing. he found you really cute. he really has a big big crush on you.

you quickly rushed out of your class, excited to meet Seungyeop for your planned dinner. the restaurant was near your university so you could walk there and reach in about 10 minutes.

when you arrived, Seungyeop was already in front of the restaurant, waiting for you patiently. you smiled at his handsome presence and quickly approached him.

"Seungyeop Oppa!"

Seungyeop looked up at the direction of your voice and flashed a cute smile.

"have you been waiting long?" you asked as the two of you sat on a table by the window.

"nope, i just arrived too. i was actually worried i would be late." Seungyeop replied and passed you the menu.

"order whatever you want, it's my treat!" you raised an eyebrow and chuckled before ordering anyway.

Seungyeop's eye widened when you ordered more than usual.

"you didn't have lunch?".

you pursed your lips and frowned. "i did, didn't i send you the picture of my meal just now?".

"hmm? did you? i don't think i received it.".

you checked your phone and saw that the picture did not send. you finally remembered that you were interrupted by Wonhyuk earlier. you facepalmed mentally.

"i ordered a lot because it looks to me like you have not been eating well."

Seungyeop blinked and rubbed his nape embarrassedly.

"you caught me. i'm just in the middle of a new project, so i don't really have time to eat lunch properly. but don't worry, i still eat. you know the cafe opposite of my workplace? the owner is kind and would always give me extra pastries."

you sighed and shook your head. "i really don't want to nag you, but you should have proper meals to have energy to do your work, right?". Seungyeop was saved when the waiter came with your food.

"let's eat!"

Seungyeop changed the topic and asked about your school life. you told him things were as usual, but you made a new friend. he was glad to know that another extrovert kid adopted the introverted you. you rolled your eyes at his statement and pouted.

"hey, i'm not that little girl who can't speak up anymore, okay. i just don't feel like talking when it's unnecessary."

Seungyeop laughed out loud and stretched his arm to pat your head.

"you are always my little girl!" your face warmed up when he said that but you were a bit upset. he still considered you as a little sister. you hmped and ate your food quietly.

it's been almost 2 weeks since you got closer with Wonhyuk. he started sitting next to you whenever you had the same classes. sometimes his bestfriend, Wonjun, would join too. he was a cute friend. you would always poke his cheek when he spaced out.

Wonhyuk would laugh when Wonjun looked at you in a daze after you poked him and pull him into a bear hug.

"i know, he is just so cute, right?". you nodded at Wonhyuk's words.

Wonjun playfully pushed Wonhyuk's arms and pouted. "hey Hyuk, i'm not only cute, okay?" Wonhyuk chuckled and pinched Wonjun's cheek. Wonjun looked at you, asking for help. but you pinched his other cheek instead. "tofu.."

"ah right, y/n! how did you do for the biweekly quiz? i bombed it.." indeed you almost scored fullmarks. Wonhyuk was amazed and begged you to tutor him.

"please please, i can't fail this module. i don't want to repeat such a dry subject!!"

you had to refrain a laugh at his words. you agreed to help him, you couldn't reject him even if you want to. he had been a good friend to you, so you wanted to help him.

the weekend you planned to tutor Wonhyuk finally came. you didn't really think of what to wear and dressed as usual.

Wonhyuk on the other hand wrecked his closet. he ended up wearing a beige shirt with a pair of white pants. he looked pure and clean, presentable for his first 'date' with you.

Wonhyuk jogged to you when he saw you in front of the place you set. "ah thank you for waiting for me!".

you glanced up at the familiar voice and unconciously took in his whole look. you raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "you look good today, going somewhere after this?"

Wonhyuk's voice got stuck into his throat at your sudden compliment. he felt his ears warm up.

"uhh i uhh i, thank you, i'm just meeting you today". you didnt ask further and went to an empty table.

the both of you ordered some food to accompany your tutoring session. you started with going through the topics that were tested in the previous quiz.

after Wonhyuk understood the questions he did wrong, the two of you revised the newer topics that were going to be tested next together.

"wahh i feel so productive today. and i think i understand better after you explained! you are my life savior, y/n!!"

you chuckled and patted his head lightly, not wanting to ruin is cutely curled hair. "you can always ask me if you have any difficulties!".

Wonhyuk's body turned stiff at the contact. his eyes widened, not blinking even once. he gulped and finally snapped out of his daze when you started packing up your things.

"are you going somewhere else?" Wonhyuk asked sadly. you zipped your bag close and turned to him.

"hmm? nope, i was actually planning to walk around the town for a bit. if you don't have anything after this, do you want to join me? i actually get lost easily hahaha".

Wonhyuk's eyes brightened at your invite and quickly nodded. "i never get lost, you can rely on me!!".

you didn't have anything to buy in mind, you just liked window shopping. you walked side by side with Wonhyuk and had small conversations in between. it was mostly Wonhyuk who asked questions or commented on the things around you. it was very lively hanging out with Wonhyuk like this.

"do you have anything that you like ? i wanna repay you for helping me study."

you chuckled and shook your head. "didn't you pay for the food just now? and i help you not to get something back, it's just me helping my friend out."

Wonhyuk ignored your words as he scanned the area. "ah do you like plushies?". you nodded. Wonhyuk smiled and naturally grabbed your wrist and pulled you to a claw machine.

"which one do you want?". you scanned the plushies and a cute orange fox one caught your attention. "that one!".

Wonhyuk inserted a coin and the background music grew louder, attracting some passer-bys. he stuck his tongue out as he focused on winning you the fox.

he was skillful and lucky, Wonhyuk passed you the fox plushie with only 1 try. "woww you make it look so easy!". Wonhyuk patted his own shoulder and winked playfully. his gaze went behind you for a second before he inserted another coin.

"you are getting one for you too?". Wonhyuk only hummed in response. this time he won a pink rabbit. Wonhyuk then walked past you and squatted in front of a little girl.

apparently the girl had been staring at the plushies since earlier with a sad face. "hey little miss, i won an extra plushie. it's for you." the little girl was maybe about 5 years old. her eyes sparkled as she looked at the plushie.

"can i really have it?" she asked carefully. Wonhyuk nodded and shook the rabbit plushie. "if you are unsure, you can go ask your parents first!"

the little girl thought for a while and went into the convenience store nearby, bringing her dad to the both of you. the girl's dad thanked Wonhyuk and accepted the gift. he wanted his daughter to be happy.

he offered to pay for the plushie but Wonhyuk rejected, saying it was really a gift for the girl. the father and daughter thanked him again before leaving.

"oh! you are really a good older brother huhh!" you teased Wonhyuk and gently carressed the back of his head as if you were consoling a little kid even though he was way taller than you.

Wonhyuk gulped and grabbed your wrist. "please stop.. or else i won't be able to control myself". you blinked in confusion at Wonhyuk's sudden serious expression.

"ah??"

Wonhyuk quickly let your hand go and gave you his usual smile as he sighed in his heart. "nothing, i just didn't want you to ruin my hair". you chuckled.

"ahh i thought you were angry at me for teasing you. i'm sorry. you were just so charming being good with kids." Wonhyuk once again felt his whole body warm up at your words.

*please... i am so weak for your compliments*

you were happily texting Seungyeop when Wonhyuk suddenly ran to you with a huge smile.

"y/n! y/n! i did wayy better for this quiz thanks to you!!" he exclaimed and almost pounced on you like a big puppy. you put your phone aside and clapped your hands as you congratulated him. "i just helped a bit, you were the one who did a very good job!".

Wonhyuk grinned and tapped his chin. "can we go eat together later? to celebrate my improvement!"

you checked your schedule and you had free time. you agreed to Wonhyuk's request and planned to meet each other in front of the school entrance after your last class.

even though the two of you were celebrating Wonhyuk's achievement, you ate alot more than him. you were starving because your class ended late.

you were enjoying your food when you felt Wonhyuk's gaze on you. you looked up in confusion and saw Wonhyuk propping his chin on his palm as he looked at you with a soft smile on his handsome face.

"w--why aren't you eating too?" you stammered as you felt your face grew warm at the affectionate gaze.

Wonhyuk sat up straight and pursed his lips as he thought of his decision.

"i like you, y/n. can i be your boyfriend?".

you blinked. once. twice. you almost choked on your food and coughed loudly. Wonhyuk quickly passed you a glass of water. he sighed in relief when you had calmed down.

"i... i'm sorry Wonhyuk." Wonhyuk bit his lips and gulped down his disappointment.

"is it because i'm too loud? or i'm too tall? or i'm annoying? or because i am a year younger than you?"

before he could continue, you frowned and held a hand up to stop him. "you're younger than me??".

it was Wonhyuk's turn to be confused.

"huh? don't tell me you didn't know i'm a first year?".

you shook your head. "i know you are not a 2nd year, i thought  you were my age and just entered late. you speak so casually to me, so i assumed we were the same age."

Wonhyuk massaged his temples. "i thought you knew my age and was okay with me being casual. let me ask you something, do you remember when was the first time we met each other?".

"when we bumped into each other?".

Wonhyuk sighed. he knew it. you really didn't remember him.

the first time the two of you met each other was during Wonhyuk's university orientation. you were the senior assigned to be his group's facilitator. well he didn't blame you for not remembering him specifically because there were around 10 other juniors too.

Wonhyuk fell for you at first sight. it started as a cute crush, but as he got closer to you, he began having deeper feelings.

you finally remembered about the orientation. the original facilitator was down with fever so your friend begged (dragged) you to be the substitute. you were sure you wouldn't forget such a cute and handsome boy, but again, you liked Seungyeop so you weren't really interested in other boys.

"i'm sorry, Hyuk. it's not because of you. it's just that i already have someone that i like."

Wonhyuk licked his lips and bit them after hearing your reason. he would rather have you reject him because of his shortcomings, that way he could at least change himself. but your heart already had someone else.

"can't you, create a small space for me too?". Wonhyuk asked softly with a sad smile.

you didn't know how to respond so you just kept your head down and poked on your food. Wonhyuk sighed and chuckled.

"alright, i get you. so let's forget what i just said and enjoy our food!".

he was smiling widely but you knew he was hurting. you knew that feeling well. very well. you didn't want to hurt him further so you really acted like nothing happened.

the next few days, Wonhyuk treated you as usual. nothing felt awkward at all. you even wondered if what happened the other day was just a dream you had.

if it was not for Wonhyuk always dragging Wonjun along, you would really think that the confession didn't happen. Wonhyuk would avoid being with you alone. maybe that way, he could hide his pain better.

the three of you were doing your assignments together at the study corner. Wonhyuk almost dozed off and decided to buy some drinks to keep him awake. after asking you and Wonjun your drink choices, he left the two of you together.

"ah cutie Wonjun likes chocolate milk?" you teased and poked his arm. Wonjun's frowned and clapped his hands firmly as if asking students to pay attention.

"y/n, listen. i know i'm cute, but that doesn't mean i like being cute". you looked at him with a sad pout. "sorry for making you annoyed."

Wonjun panicked and quickly waved his hands. "no no, oh gosh no i wasn't annoyed. uhmm ok ok you can call me a cutie!".

you blinked at his reaction and chuckled before nodding your head. *i'm dead if i make y/n feel bad.* Wonjun thought as his gaze turned towards Wonhyuk who already came back from his 'errand'.

Wonhyuk raised an eyebrow when he saw your smile for Wonjun. it was actually a sisterly smile but Wonhyuk had never seen that expression on your face when you were with him, so he felt a bit jealous.

he placed the drinks on the table abit too hard, startling you and Wonjun. he gave a smile that wasn't a smile and chugged on his bottle of cold drink. Wonhyuk calmed his heart down but he had a sudden 'realisation'.

he poked your arm and directed you to come closer to him. you felt your scalp tingle when Wonhyuk leaned close to your ear to whisper. his warm breath against your skin made your whole body warm too.

"y/n, is the person you like Wonjun?". you blinked in confusion. "huh??". Wonhyuk leaned away and sighed in relief. he chuckled at your reaction. "i guess not."

you read the message Seungyeop sent. he wanted to meet up with you at the cafe opposite of his workplace. you've been to his workplace once, but you still had a hard time going there. your lack of sense of direction was really not helping.

you opened the map of your phone and tried to navigate your way there. halfway through, you stopped on your tracks and scratched your head in confusion. you've been walking for almost 20 minutes but you have not reached yet. perhaps you walked the wrong way?

you were thinking of what to do when a hand gently patted your shoulder.

"i uhm saw you being lost, where are you going?" you were instantly relieved when you heard Wonhyuk's soft voice.

"i'm going to X cafe but i don't know if i'm going the right way". Wonhyuk who initially had an earpiece in his ear while the other was dangling against his chest took out both and kept it in his pocket.

"ah you are lucky today! i'm going there too, for my part-time job. and don't worry, you were in the right direction". your eyes brightened at his words.

you walked beside Wonhyuk quietly. he also didn't talk much, he was really just leading you to the cafe. when the two of you arrived, Wonhyuk opened the door for you before following behind.

"oh Seungyeop hyung!" "Seungyeop oppa!"

you and Wonhyuk paused as you looked at each other. "yo--you know Seungyeop oppa?". Wonhyuk grinned and nodded happily.

"Seungyeop hyung is a regular here! whenever he finished work early, he would come here and wait for Yubi noona and walk her home! oh right, Yubi noona, why are you sitting here?"

there was a beautiful petite lady sitting next to Seungyeop. you sat opposite of Seungyeop while Wonhyuk remained standing beside you.

Seungyeop gave a small smile as he reached out for Yubi's hand and interwined their fingers.

"the reason i wanted to meet you today is to introduce you to my girlfriend. we've known each other for almost a year now, and i want you, my little sister, to be the first one to know about our relationship!"

you felt your heart drop to your stomach. you gulped and gulped until your mouth turned dry. huh? what is happening? why is this so.. sudden?

"so, she is the kind cafe owner?" Seungyeop nodded shyly and tightened his grip around Yubi's hand. you slowly nodded and forced a smile.

"ahh congrats on your relationship" you managed to say in a calm tone. Seungyeop and Yubi thanked you.

Wonhyuk was also happy for his boss. "congratulations!! i hope your love last forever! y/n, next time when you meet Seungyeop hyung, you can hang out here!"

you didn't hear a single thing he said. your mind was still blank. Wonhyuk noticed your shaking fists under the table. his eyes widened and looked at your face.

even though you were smiling, the corner of your lips were slightly trembling. Wonhyuk finally understood. he slapped his mouth mentally and thought of a way to help you out.

Wonhyuk acted like he just received a message from someone.

"oh no noona, i don't think i can't work today. my professor just texted, he wants to meet me and y/n for our project now!!".

"now? it's late and the two of you haven't eaten anything yet." Seungyeop frowned slightly in confusion.

Wonhyuk only gave a sorry smile and tapped your shoulders softly. "let's go, y/n!"

you were in a daze when you followed Wonhyuk out.

"they kind of look good together." Yubi whispered at Seungyeop. Seungyeop chuckled and looked at your backs. he was a bit sad if his little sister were to have a boyfriend already.

you walked behind Wonhyuk silently. he didn't ask you any questions and let you sort out your thoughts. after a few minutes, the two of you reached a nearby park. Wonhyuk led you to a bench.

"you rejected me because you like Seungyeop hyung?" he finally asked. you chuckled, mocking yourself.

"i knew it was impossible. he treats me as his little sister. but i had a bit of hope. but that hope is gone." it hurt Wonhyuk seeing you heartbroken like this. he sat beside you and pursed his lips.

"you don't have to hold back your feelings". your heart clenched so hard when he said that. one tear. two tears. tears kept flowing down your cheeks non-stop.

you covered your face with your palms to muffle your sobs. your whole body shook hard. Wonhyuk really wanted to cry when he heard your cries, but if he also cried, then there will be no one to comfort you.

he hesitated before pulling you into his chest. he carressed your back gently. "it's okay. just let it all out." you sniffed and took a deep breath before pulling yourself away slowly.

"i rejected you when you confessed to me. why are you still so kind to me?". Wonhyuk looked at your tear-stained face. the corners of your eyes were red from crying. he smiled and took out his handkerchief before wiping your face.

"i like you." Wonhyuk only said these 3 words.

you took the handkerchief from him and wiped your own face. "i'm sorry for hurting your feelings, Hyuk."

"why don't you be my girlfriend, then?".

you blinked and stared at him. you frowned and shook your head. "i don't want you to be a rebound. you deserve better than me." Wonhyuk carefully reached for your hand and held it tightly.

"you are the best. there is no one better for me. i like you. it's fine if i start as your rebound guy. i can always make you fall for me when we are together".

you sighed and looked up at Wonhyuk.

"will you give me more time?"

Wonhyuk smiled and nodded. "i will always be waiting for you". "thank you"

"wait so, you are guys are together now?"

Wonjun asked Wonhyuk with wide eyes. Wonhyuk hushed his bestfriend and looked around them.

"i said almost!" Wonjun whistled.

"that's just as good as already!".

Wonhyuk slumped in his seat. "do you really think y/n will accept me ?".

Wonjun raised an eyebrow. "why not? you are amazing!"

Wonhyuk chuckled and patted his friend's back. "thanks bro".

Wonjun quickly nudged Wonhyuk to sit up. Wonhyuk was confused but soon understood when he saw you walking towards their table.

"Hyuk, can i speak to you alone?". Wonjun quickly stood up and pulled you to sit on his own seat.

"take your time~" he teased and walked away.

Wonhyuk chuckled at Wonjun before focusing on you. you were still embarrassed at his affectionate gaze and looked away for a second.

you took a deep breath before facing Wonhyuk again. "i think i am ready to uhm try out being in a relationship with you."

Wonhyuk's smile widened at your words. "really?" you nodded shyly as you looked down. "but i'm not sure if things will go smoothly.."

Wonhyuk hummed and shook his head. "it's fine, i'm here. i never get lost so i could always lead you. don't worry". you smiled and thanked him again.

"i will try my best to have the same feelings as you."

Wonhyuk took your hands into his and carressed them with his thumb. "thank you."

.

.

"happy graduation, my love!" Wonhyuk congratulated you and enveloped you into a bear hug. you giggled against his chest and hugged him back.

"yup, you look good together~" Yubi chirped from the side. Seungyeop stood with her with a small pout.

you pulled away from Wonhyuk and accepted flowers from Yubi. "we do, we do!" Wonhyuk replied.

he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from the crowd. "we are going to excuse ourselves for a while, meet us at the entrance!"

you were confused but followed Wonhyuk anyways. he took the two of you to somewhere with lesser people. he took your flowers and set them down before hugging you again.

"i wanted to hold you longer. let's stay like this for a while" he carressed your head lovingly as you wrapped your arms around him.

"i'm going to catch up to you and graduate next year." you chuckled and patted his back.

"Hyuk, thank you for being my pillar these past few years. without you, i'd sure be in a slump all by myself after my first heartbreak. i really really like you so much".

Wonhyuk pulled away to look at your face. he smiled and pecked your forehead.

"i knew i could charm you".

you laughed at his words and rolled your eyes.

"yes, indeed you are very charming".

Wonhyuk chuckled and nuzzled his face against your neck like a puppy.

"i like you very very much too, y/n".

.

.

.

a/n : my first ever E'LAST imagine! i hope yall enjoyed it! (i need elring friends 🥲)

[kazewhara]

What happened today at school was that my teacher had to leave first thing in the morning so we got a substitute teacher because my teacher's kid puked at school so she had to take him home and take care of him and what we did in the morning was quite boring except math it was actually kinda fun and then we did science and in the afternoon we watched a movie but then our math teacher who came to help the sub-turn the movie on, put the movie audio into french so nobody even bothered watching it, and then I went to sleep but my class was so loud they managed to wake me up 4 times, but the bean bag was very comfy so I had no trouble sleeping! But the desk I was sitting at wasn't very comfy so that's why I went to

the bean bags were where everyone else was lol and then we had gym after the movie and it sucked we played dodgeball ball but then the other team was cheating but it's ok since my team won 2 times :D BUT THEN MY TEAM WAS MAD AT THAT SO OUR GYM TEACHERS SAID IF WE'RE GONNA HAVE PROBLEMS WITH DODGEBALL WE WON'T PLAY IT ANYMORE :( also can I be ☹️ anon if there isn't one already?

HOLD ON SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, I'M HERE I'M HERE

oh my god i remember playing dodgeball in middle school ! i hope y'all SMOKED the other team ! NO MERCY !! but why would they be mad ? YOU WON??? eurrkay

why would they put the movie audio in french ... unless its a french class in which case, disregard me, i'm just stupid 🧍🏽

but anyways, i hope you get to play dodgeball again, bc that's really the best sport ever and it is a rite of passage for everyone to get rocked by a dodgeball ☝🏽 i stand by that !

well i'm glad you enjoyed the little nap you took, bub! and yes, that can be your emoji 🥰 welcome to the family :D thank you for telling me about your day bby <3

[anne-white-star]

Exchange student modern au jon pertwee x reader: Studying abroad

Notes: reader is a student from the netherlands she's 20 years old (jon is 24) and goes to england to studdy. She goes to frensham heights school and meets there jon pertwee as her asigned student for the year. It may not all be acurate but please enjoy reading jon lives in rowledge (this is an au and probably not completly acurate)

Words : 2488

Warnings : bullying, cursing

Y/n was working on her degree in (prefred feeld). Her year of studying concidered also of studying one year abroad, she was extremly exited about it

"Do you have everything dear?"

"I think i do don't worry mom everything will be alright"

"Alright just wanted to make sure, here is your ticket for the train"

"Thanks mom" She hugged her " once i arive i'll call alright

"Alright, take care my dear "

"Take care mom" y/n ran to the train while waving "bye!"

"Bye sweetheart!!"

The wissel went off and a few seconds later the train started to move she kept waving at her mom, once she was out sight y/n sat down it was going to be a long ride.

She had to get from the netherlands to belgium to France and then to London england but she had brought some stuff to sketch a bit the ride was about 7 u 47 min.

Y/n drew the landscape around her sketching with difrent kind of colors

Finaly after almost 8 hours the train had finaly arived, packing everything back up y/n grabed all her things and got out

She had to wait for an other train to frensham cause there was the school she had to go to

Once the train had arived to bring her to frensham y/n sat down again it was going to be about an other 2 hours oh wel she thought its better than biking everywhere.

Late that afternoon y/n finaly arived at frensham heights school the princable greated her " Ah you must be y/n y/l/n" he shook her hand

"Yes thats me" she smiled

"I hope the ride went wel here"

"Oh yes it did everything went alright and the trains were on time"

"Good, you will be staying at a room for one night and tomorow you wil go back home with one of the students he has already been informed of your stay"

"Alright great" she picked up her suit case "please show me the way" about 30 minuts later y/n was seteled in the room, she wasn't going to pack out everything also because of tomorow. She grabed her phone and dialed her mothers number

"Hey mom"

"Hey sweetheart have you arived?"

"Yes i got here about 30 minuts ago and im now in my room where i stay for the night"

"Oh for the night? I thought you would stay there for the whole year"

"I do but they informed me that i would stay with a student for the year"

"Do you know who it is?"

"Not yet they will tell me tomorow"

"Alright wel i don't have to worry about you your 20 years old dear"

"I know mom its fine really, Anyway i should be going i have class at 9 tomorow"

"Alright sweetheart sleep wel"

"Night mom" She hang up And placed the phone on the bedsite table "wel Its time to sleep" she grabed her pyjama out her lugage and put it on, then she went under the blankets and went to sleep

*time skip to 8 o'clock next morning*

Y/n got out of bed and started to dress her self breakfast was waiting then she left her room to eat

"Good morning sir"

"Ah good morning y/n did you sleep wel?"

"Oh yes i did "

"Good im glad to hear that, breakfast is waiting for you it might be difrent from what you normaly eat"

"Oh thats alright im not making a big hassle out of it as long as it is bread its fine"

"Alright then once school starts you will be inform who you wil stay with"

"Thank you, see you later sir"

*skip to 9 o'clock*

Everyone had sit down for class and y/n walked in with the teacher

"Good morning everyone we got a new class mate she is an Exchange student from the netherlands please introduce yourself" the teacher stept aside

"Hi im y/n y/l/n and i hope we will have a Nice year with echoter im really looking forward to it"

"Good miss y/l/n do you know yet who you are going to stay with this year?

"not yet im suposed to get the info today"

"Alright the student you wil be paired with is mr pertwee" the teacher pointed at a guy with big grayish blue eyes dark brown wavy hair and he was wearing a school uniform "you can sit right next to him "

"Alright thank you sir" y/n sat next to mr pertwee

"Hi my name is jon its Nice to meet you y/n "

"Like wise"

"Please grab your english books and turn to page 45"

The day went by fast

"Oh now i don't know who im going to stay with this whole year"

"Y/n You are staying with us"

"Oh... we i guese that we should get my stuff then "

"Good idea, please lead the way" jon grined

"Here is everything"

"Three suitcases and a bag i have seen girls who brought more"

"Oh wel that doesn't really mater i only brought things that i would need, and i got my school uniform today"

"Ah i see, we should go i bet my aunt is waiting for us"

"Alright lets go" They grabed everything and went out

Once they arived home they went up the stairs jon opend the door

"This will be your room for the upcoming year"

"Oh its absolutly wonderfull" she looked around on the otherside of the room stood a desk and a big closet

"The bathroom is down the hall first door on the left, i leave you be so that you can settle your stuff"

"Alright thanks jon i'll be down in an hour"

Finaly an hour later y/n was done with packing out and placing everything in the right place , then there was a knok at the door

"Yes?"

"Hey y/n I just came to tell you that dinner is ready "

"Oh thanks jon im coming with you" she stood up and followed him

Y/n sat next to him at the table "jon i have a question, um where are your parents? "

"They devorced and they don't want anything to do with me anymore so i moved in with my aunt"

"Im so sorry jon i din't know"

"Its fine y/n don't worry" he smiled softly

"Hello everybody!" Came a voice from the front door

"Hi bill, y/n This is bill my cousin"

"Nice to meet you" she shook his hand

"Like whise"

After dinner Everyone went to bed early to get a good night of sleep, the next day was going to be a long day

*time skip to four months later because im to lazy *

"What lessons do we have today ?"

"Um english, biolgy, art , music, history and french

" and Tomorow ?"

Mathematics, science, sport and geography

"Alright noted"

Once they arived at school they went to their class room

"You go in jon i need to check something"

"Alright"

"Well wel wel if it isnt the Exchange student" y/n turned around and looked at a girl and there where two more behind her , y/n knew her of course she had been there already for four months

"what do you want erica" (Im sorry if it is your name you can change it if you want)

"Oh don't try to be all smart and stuff you know what i want and don't think you get a chance with jon, he's one of the best looking boys in the school and he will be mine"

"Honestly i don't mind i only stay at his place, in 6 months i'll be going back home"

"Good because he wil never like a whore like you, now bye" she fliped her long blond hair over her shoulder and walked away while her friends followed while snikering

Y/n signed and looked down "he's just a Friend Anyway" she mumbled while walking back to class

Once she was back in class she sat down next to him "what took you so long" he wispered

"Sorry i could't find my book" it was a lie of course, y/n doesn't want to talk about the struggels she's having with erica, and stuppid enough she's in the same class as her so she always has to look at that dumb face

Y/n Her thought were stoped by what the teacher was saying "as we all know we have a ball at the end of the year and because its you guys last year here you get to decided the theme of the party"

Erica raised her hand "Oh what about a party with lots of alcohol" she grined

"No erica alcohol will not be tolareated" said the teacher

"Whats the fun then if there is no alcohol tsjk" she scold

"Sir what about an all decade event everybody can dress up from the 40s thill now, difrent food will be served and all kinds of music will be played"

"Thats a Nice idea miss y/l/n" People around the room agreed with her idea

"Tsk sounds boring" erica said and her friends agreed

Y/n got angry but calmed her self down "wel if you think its boring please come with a better idea im curious to hear it" she said with a smile, erica went quiet and turned away

"Alright then its setteled this will be the theme of our ball it will be held 6 months from now"

*skip to the end of the day*

*sigh* "im glad this day is over" y/n sat down on the coutch

"Me to" there was a pauze between them "you know y/n Im really proud of you how you handeld yourself in class

"Thanks jon"

"Are you ok?"

"Oh yes i am, im just tired" she stood up

"What Are you going to do? "

"I have to call my mom to sent some of my stuff over for the party"

"Alright im going to make dinner"

Y/n went upstairs and called her mom "hi mom"

"Hi sweetheart Hows everything going ?"

"Everything is fine ..... mom i was wondering if you could sent some stuff over here"

"Sure thing what do you need?"

Could you pack my hair curler some of my make up, my black evening dress with glitters, my 1930s evening coat, the silver high heels i bought with the dress a and the ear rings and necklace i got from grandma ?"

"Sure thing i will sent it in a big box anything ells?"

"Oh yes my trolley i have to take my stuff back home as wel so thats the best idea i guese"

"Alright i noted it i will look everything up And sent it to you"

"Thanks mom love you got to go now"

"Love you to sweetheart speek to you later"

"Bye" she hang up And went back downstairs to eat.

About a month later everything had arived that she would need to dress up

*time skip to 4 months and 20 days later*

The bulying got worse and worse, y/n had been atacked, spit on and called names but never had she imagined that jon would go to the dance with erica.

She had done her hair but stoped with everything els it just wasn't worth it she would rather stay here at home, jon already left a bit sad by the news y/n don't want to atend

*knok knok* the door opend "hey y/n?"

"Oh hi bill"

"Whats wrong"

"Jon has gone out with somone wich i din't expect him to go with"

"Who?"

"That stuppid bitch Erica"

"Really with her? Goodness i expected better from him"

"Me to" she sniffed

"Hey don't give up now there is still a chance come on get dressed chop chop"

"Are you sure I mean..."

"Yes 100% sure you are way more pretty than her come on "

"Alright if you say so.... but how am i going to get there?"

"I have a car"

"Alright give me 30 minuts" y/n started to get dressed put on her necklace, ear rings and shoes she then did her make up, she grabed her long coat and walked out.

She opend the door and heared a car horn

"Hey y/n over here" it was bill he sat in a old black vintage car "here is your ride my lady"

"Why thank you kind sir, lets go" she steped in and sat down

Bill started the car up And drove away

"Thank you so mutch for the help i really need that"

"Its nothig everything for a friend, now come on lets go i also have a date"

Everything was nicely decorated and music was playing, people were dressed up in all Difrent kind of dresses and suits, a table stood against the wall where there wer all Difrent kinds of food it looked all So good

"Look there is jon"

"Alright thanks bill" she hugged him and walked to jon who was dancing with erica, people looked at her as she walked acros the dance floor she tapped his shoulder "hey jon"

He turned around " hey y/n I thought you were going to stay home "

"Bill convinced me to go anyway so here i am" the was caught of guard by a cough from behind her

"Im sorry but jon is my date so shove it you whore"

"Excuse me what did you say?"

"You heared me"

"You know what fuck you its a wonder jon would even want to dance with you, do you even know how miserabel you made me feel this past year, you are also 19 years old you really should be more mature" She was caught of guard when erica shoved her " I get it now you are jelouse of me for staying with jon get a grip, come on jon lets dance" she took his hand and walked to a chair and placed her coat on it, then her beautyfull evening gown got revealed

People stared at her "y/n you look absolutly gorgeous"

"Thank you" she blushed

"May i have this dance "

"Of course jon"

Jon leaded y/n to the dance floor and they both started to do the walz

"Y/n i have to tell you something"

"Tell me jon what is it"

"Well i really enjoyed this year with you staying and i wish you could stay longer, but y/n Im really realy in love with you and i wish i had told you ealyer "

"I love you to jon i really do"

"May i give you a kiss?"

"Sure" she smiled softly at him, He leaned in and gave her a kiss

"Perhaps i can stay a little longer but i need to inform my parents first"

"Thats all fine with me"

"Lets hope they don't mind"

"So do i" he said smiling

And both danced the night away

The end

I hope you enjoyed reading 😊

[bee0bee]

New York Pas de Deux part 23

In Mr Edwards' class, we continued to work in pairs so I danced with Mathieu a lot. We got along well. - Legs are tight! - said, Mr Edwards. - Be stable uhm...Mathieu! After the lesson, we went to the Anatomy class together. Alicia, me, Lian and Mathieu, who also joined us. He is from Strasbourg. - It's hard to memorize all this stuff. I believed it was just a one-semester subject. - complained Alicia. - I know. I can't keep it in my head for long. I am happy if I can write the tests correctly. We finished early that day, so we sat down at a nearby cafe. This time I ordered tea instead of coffee. We sat in a circle around a table. I sat next between Lian and Mathieu, and Alicia sat in front of me. - We complained about the anatomy, and now we're sitting here. We should sit at home studying anatomy. - I scolded ourselves. The guys laughed. What I didn't think about at the time was what this would do to Cade. I should have thought he would come to me, but I wasn't sure. So I only noticed him when I came out of the coffee shop. - Sorry guys, but I have to go. Cade is waiting for me. I walked over to him and got into the car. - Who was he? - he asked right away. - Uhm...the girls and...Mathieu. I dance with him in class. He nodded. - Nothing more? - Noo. - I said. - Anyway, I think he's gay. - Gay? That's weird, I saw how he looked at you, I saw how naturally he embraced you. - The chair...he put his arms around the chair. - I corrected him. Trust me, we're just friends. - You are not the friend of a French charmer. You're mine. - Yes, I don't need a French charmer. I have you. - I smiled and kissed him.- We could do something together tonight. - I suggested forgetting this nonsense with him. - Hm...Okay. - he nodded. He threw me out in front of my apartment. At home, I started to get ready for the night. He said that he'll come for me at 08:00PM. As I didn't know where will we go, I put on my favourite casual outfit and tied my hair up. - I think when it comes to makeup, emphasize your mouth. - said Alicia when I asked for his opinion on the phone. - Everything else is perfect. - she smiled. Cade came for me. - You look cool. - he smiled and kissed me when I sat next to him. We had been driving for quite some time, on our way out of the city. - Where are we going? Are you kidnapping me? Will you kill me? - I asked a little alarmed. - No, I would never hurt you. You'll like where we're going. Trust me. - he said so I waited. He finally stopped in the middle of nowhere. He got out of the car. - Come on! Look at the sky! I followed him. The view was really wonderful. I sat on the hood of the car and looked at the stars. It was impressive. - I wanted to be alone with you. - he said. - Because...I wasn't fair to...you this afternoon. But I just...wanted you to know...that that's who I am. I mean...okay, I admit...I'm a jealous type. I enjoy being with you and... I'm afraid that someone will steal my beautiful ballerina. I shook my head. - I love you. - he said and I kissed him while pulling him even closer.

I was surprised by myself when I took control and pulled off his shirt, making the situation more heated. - Oh...how impatient you are! I like it. - he said smiling and pulling me out of my denim jacket to kiss my neck. - I love...you. - he whispered. - I love...you too. - I said while kissing him again. He suddenly lifted me from the hood and put me in the car. - I don't want anyone to see us. - he said and grabbed my shirt to pull it down from me, which was followed by my shorts.

[quelsentiment]

by popular demand 😬

Niall is wondering if he should text Liam. The last time they've seen each other was weird, to say the least. He’s still feeling awkward about it, and their last text conversations have been a little strained. But he is dying to know how Liam is settling in Paris, so he writes :

“Hey, how are you??? Eaten any good croissants yet ? Please tell me you went to say hi to Simone and Jean-Paul already!”

There, sent. Niall sighs. Liam will only be gone for three months, but he knows he's going to miss this fucker. And, honestly, that's quite a turn of events.

They met a couple of years before, during their first year at uni. Back then, they were both studying French and were in the same conversation class. Theoretically, the class involved four undergrads and one TA trying to have meaningful conversations in French and help each other with their grammar and accent. In reality, it was Mr. Liam Know-it-all Payne interrupting everyone and rambling for one hour over how he was brought up in a bilingual household, how cool his latest trip to Paris was, and how Camus' The Stranger was the most subversive book in the world. If there was one thing that Niall couldn't despise more, it was people who thought liking The Stranger made them original and edgy. On that day, Niall rolled his eyes and interrupted Liam by saying :

“The Stranger is not that subversive. It's actually pretty overrated.”

Everyone turned to look at him and seemed surprised that someone else had dared contradict the guy. Liam, however, didn't seem to have heard him and was still going on and on about Camus' genius. But for once, Niall didn't give up, and continued :

“If you want to read something truly subversive, you should read Simone de Beauvoir's Mémoires d'une Jeune fille rangée. It's raw, honest, and more revolutionary than anything Camus ever wrote. Plus, you know, it's not your average white guy's perspective for a change.”

Somehow, Liam finally stopped talking and was staring at him with round eyes. Then the TA cleared his throat and said that the class was over.

Their first proper conversation, however, occured a week later. The two other students were absent, and they found themselves alone in the small classroom, waiting for the TA. Liam was sitting at the center of the room like the conceited jerk he was, while Niall was in his usual spot by the wall, pretending to be busy on his phone. After a while, Liam, apparently unable to stay quiet even for a few minutes, asked :

“So, where's your girlfriend today?”

“If you mean Sofia, she's not my girlfriend, and I think she's sick.”

After a beat and unable to resist, Niall added: “Where's your girlfriend then ?”

“If you mean Tess, she's not my girlfriend anymore. And I think she didn't want to see my face today.”

Niall almost snickered, but stopped himself in time. He wasn't a cruel guy, after all. Instead, he nodded, and looked back at his phone. But ten seconds later, Liam said :

“You don't like me very much, do you?”

Niall was a bit startled. Not looking up, he replied :

“What makes you say that?”

“You hardly ever look at me. You seem tense whenever I speak. So I'd say you're either annoyed with me, or secretly attracted to me.”

Raising his eyebrows and looking up straight at Liam's eyes, Niall said:

“I feel like you think that a lot of people are secretly attracted to you.”

Smiling, Liam asked :

“Are you, though?”

So then, Niall made of big show of looking up and down Liam before saying:

“Not one bit.”

“Good, we can be friends then. Come on, let's get out of here and go to the pub, drinks are on me!”

He stood up and started gathering his things, but Niall, still sitting, objected :

“What about me not liking you very much?”

“It's only the beginning, darling. I'll make you change your mind in no time.”

And he wasn't wrong. That day, they spent all afternoon at the campus pub, skipping their other classes and drinking beer after beer. Sure, Liam was an attention-seeker who seemed to flirt with every human being who crossed his path, but he was also a lot of fun. He seemed to have taken a liking to Niall, and learning that he loved literature, he asked him a lot of questions about his favourite authors and genres, before admitting that he had started reading Beauvoir's Mémoires and was loving it. And that's what made the difference for Niall, actually. No one had ever cared about his literary opinions before, except perhaps his half-brother Harry. From that day on, his annoyance with Liam became mixed with a certain fondness, and he soon realized that Liam's habit of showing off was just a way to hide his lack of self-confidence, and that the lad was actually a good listener once you got to know him. Over the months, they grew closer, from waving at each other in the hallway and occasionally having drinks together to going to undergrad parties, playing video-games with Harry, and studying all night in Liam's tiny residence room.

The first time Harry met Liam was at the flat he was sharing with Niall. Liam had come over to help Niall with his French grammar homework, a subject he was passionate about while Niall was struggling with it. They were sitting at the dinner table while Harry was on the couch and seemingly writing an email to Zayn, his long distance boyfriend, but pretty conspicuously eavesdropping on them. When Liam left, he said :

“I see what you mean, he's a bit annoying. Like, the know-it-all type. I think he has a thing for you, though.”

Flushed, Niall answered :

“Nah, I think you're imagining things. I'm not interested in him like that, anyway.”

And, thankfully, Harry dropped the subject. The thing was, Niall was always embarassed whenever someone talked to him about dating and romance and all that stuff. He had never dated anyone in his life and had never felt the need to, but he knew most people didn't believe him when he said that. Actually, the first time he and Liam had hung out together, Liam had asked him if he was seeing anyone.

“No, I'm not dating,” Niall had responded.

“As in, not right now?”

“As in, I'm not really interested in dating, if that makes sense?”

“Oh okay. Well, that's probably smart of you actually. I recently read a study about how people who start dating in their mid-to-late twenties actually form much stronger relationships. So yeah, I guess it's good to take your time.”

Niall had smiled but deep down he felt like it was not really a question of time. Relationships just didn't seem to be for him, but saying it out loud was scary and somehow final, so he had let it slide and Liam hadn't mentioned the subject since. That was, until a few days ago, the day before he left for his internship in Paris.

.