#nc 17

[strayed-quokka]

babydoll || ji changmin || act ii

↳ Changmin isn’t popular nor is he rich, whereas you run on the other end of the spectrum, spoilt and living on your dads credit card. when you’re tasked with kicking him out of the biggest party of your year, you come to realise he’s not all that bad. unfortunately, falling in love with the ji changmin is your one way ticket to social suicide.

↳ pairing: ji changmin x female reader + ex lee juyeon x female reader

!!! this is not a love triangle !!!

~ rating: NC-17 minors please do not interact with this work

↳ genre: enemies to acquaintances to reluctant friends to lovers, slowburn, drama, angst, happy end but it takes a long ass time, rich girl broke ass uni boy

~ warnings: everyone still kinda sucks, juyeon is toxic and a red flag, manipulation, emotional abuse, toxic relationships, family abuse (implied, vaguely shown), bullying, reader is still a pain to deal with, alcohol, drug use, the classism is strong in this one still, implications of an eating disorder, body issues, body modifications (tongue and nipple piercings), changmin is basically a chainsmoker but we love him, minnie teaching ya'll and reader how to roll a cigarette, cocaine is common, so is imported wine, swearing, pet names (little doll, doll, darling, princess), whore and bitch, suicidal ideation, mild violence, first degree burns, taller reader with long hair, is anyone redeemable?

everyone is an adult in their 20s

!!! if I missed anything or I remember something else I will add it !!!

↳ words: 28,173

a/n: this is late. I apologise this shit is long as hell to edit and it broke tumblr and my computer.

I have said this previously but I will be stating this every chapter. There are some specific physical attributes to this reader which I usually avoid doing but for the story itself it was necessary.

Also, please note that the warnings are applicable to the chapter in question, not necessarily the whole story. You can find all the general warnings on the masterlist to babydoll. I also take no responsibility if you take issue with the topics and characters at hand once proceeding as I would hope you have read the warnings beforehand. If there is something I did genuinely miss in the warnings you are more than welcome to tell me though, since there is a lot and some might get overlooked.

let me know if you wanna be on the taglist and please I beg love up on this changmin he's taking all the strength I have and possess.

babydoll playlist || act i

You could go without hearing Changmin’s voice for the rest of your life. It’s not that it was an unattractive tone or that it was harsh, but it was the person behind it that immediately brought you to a halt. There was a very big part of you that almost knew what this was going to be about, and you were set on avoiding it. 

It was the very first time you didn’t stay to catch his attention. You walked away, heading down the stairs to the first floor in an attempt to shake him off. But Changmin was stubborn in his pursuit of you, especially today, and he persisted in running after you until he caught up and stood right in front of you to block your path. 

“Why am I wrapped up in a rumour that you want to fuck me?” 

It’s painfully embarrassing to hear those words from him. You’d expected it, given that in the past few days, the looks you’d received were ones that made you feel cornered, like prey being chased. Chanhee had even asked you, in a tone that sounded so judgemental that for a moment you thought he’d slipped into the opposing side. Juyeon’s side. 

Hyunjae had been worse. You’d deemed him a maybe friend, especially considering how he’d been standing up for you recently, but his tone, like he was amused and laughing at your massive fuck up and that it was somehow funny to him, had made you cold towards him. 

Younghoon was a nightmare. He’d grabbed your long hair by the roots and dragged you into an empty hallway to shame you. You’d embarrassed Juyeon and everyone knew about it. You fucked your ex boyfriend, used him for his money like a whore and then had the audacity to think about someone else.

It’s not like you had wanted to. 

It had been an honest mistake, a thought that fell away from you. 

Your social status had fallen to a new low. To a degree that had even Chanhee wary of speaking to you around others. You didn’t blame him, as you knew if it had been him, you’d likely cast him out much the same. See, that was the thing in both your circles, when it was all wealth and appearance and nothing of substance. Looks mattered, behaviour mattered, how awful you were to keep it perfect didn’t matter at all. 

You missed Chanhee but you didn’t beg for him. He spoke to you when he desired, asked if you were okay, even apologised once when you were alone, but the damage was done. 

Chanhee couldn’t fully understand it either. He knew you so well, he knew you’d never jeopardise yourself to this extent, so how were you possibly so stupid?

You straighten your posture but you’re more nervous than usual, hiding your palms underneath your hoodie as you fiddle with the sleeves. 

Yes, the same hoodie the man before you had returned perfectly new, wearing it like an oversized dress with heels that once again made you just a little taller, and right now, it reassured you. You were above him, both physically and in status, and that still remained true. He would never be better than you. 

“Says who?” 

You’re stoic and nonchalant in your behaviour, even ice cold as you try to keep all your expressions away from his prying eyes, but Changmin only raises his brows and leans against the wall in disbelief because he doesn’t believe it. You’re not sure why he doesn’t, anyone usually would, but he looks at you like you’re see through, like everything is laid out in front of him, like he knows you down to the bone and it makes you extremely uncomfortable to know that he’s analysing you for more than just your body. 

“Half the school is asking me why you moan my fucking name when some asshole fucks you and your concern is who?”

To be perfectly fair, both were of your concern. The fact that so many people approached a social outcast to ask him what the fuck you were doing, what you had done, all because Juyeon ran his mouth, just as much as who specifically had been the one to bring this to Changmin’s attention. 

“Juyeon?”

“No, though I hear he’s been riding out the emotionally torn up victim perfectly,” you almost laugh because you can imagine it so well. Juyeon’s ego had been bruised and he had to run around so that everyone would know about it, but you caught yourself by hiding the slight smile behind your hand. 

It wasn’t funny. 

“I really don’t care, you know? You can fantasise about me all you want. Is that why you kept my hoodie?”

He’d been so close. So close to making you take a step back, if even just for a minute to tell him it was okay. Because the reality, as much as you hated it, was that none of this was really Changmin’s fault, even if you wanted it to be. 

And then he went and ruined it, and it made you snap.

“You think I fucking like Juyeon going around telling people that I said someone else’s name when I fucked him?! Like you so graciously told me to?! 

“I didn’t-”

“Don’t you think I’m humiliated enough?! It’s so fucking embarassing that it had to be you,” and that’s when you break. The cruelty of your words aren’t lost on you, but the emotional torment and humiliation you feel is even worse. You don’t let yourself, but it happens almost on its own when you start to cry, and you never cry. 

Not like this, but the tears fall so freely that you couldn’t catch the droplets between your fingers even if you tried, and Changmin just stands there like an idiot. He stands there and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s amused in watching your vulnerability or because he genuinely feels bad, but either feel equally as bad at this point. 

You run away as a result, and this time it proves successful as Changmin doesn’t seem to be following you, so you keep going. You run all the way to your car and when the door closes you allow yourself to really break, because you feel like your life is ruined. You feel like everything you worked for, and everything that was so unbearably painful to work towards, was for nothing. People looked at you now and saw one thing. You were the one who hurt Juyeon, someone well loved, in a manner that is so utterly humiliating that anyone would say he deserved better. 

Juyeon was never the bad guy, and you just had no idea how to possibly spin it so that he could look to be the one who’d caused you more pain than you’d caused him. For the truth to your relationship had ran deep behind closed doors and you’d never let anyone in on it, and yet you slip up once and he lets the mask fall on who you are. 

At least, who you are in his eyes. 

You were sure now more than ever before that you and Juyeon were over, and it was like experiencing a break up all over again. It hurt, a lot, because there was once a time in which you would’ve said you maybe loved him. And the reality of him at the very least never caring to preserve your dignity and appearances when he knew how hard you worked for it and what you did to attain it, was a brutal reality that you simply did not want to face. 

Weeks go by and you’re sure your life has hit a wall that you’ll never get over. You felt dramatic, sure, but you were certain you could simply cease to exist and it wouldn’t really matter anymore. It wasn’t that you’d made any plans at your life. It was more so a feeling of if you faded away, would it even make a difference? 

You didn’t think it would. You’d let yourself sink to the status that Juyeon had asked for. You crashed, horrifically, falling so depressed that getting to class was a challenge, much less looking presentable. Your endless pairs of heels were replaced with trainers, ones you liked from dior but not nearly as graceful and elegant as what you usually had on, and you practically lived in hoodies that posed as dresses because they were just about long enough. 

You still wore make up, but it was far less intricate than before, and your hair was usually up in a high ponytail because you just wanted it out of your face, and you wanted to hide the fact that you barely had the energy to brush through it. 

Everything was tiring. Having everyone stare at you, treat you so far beneath yourself for something that had been no one's business was an awful, terrifyingly isolating feeling. You’d never been more aware of your appearance ever before as you were now, and yet you’d also never been as unenthused to fix it in your life. What was the point when the looks were the same. You were judged, beneath them. 

You’d sunk to Changmin’s status, and for the first time you wondered how he could do it. How was he able to brush almost anything off, to seem so unbothered, when he was being torn apart from all directions. You’d done it to him, but you’d seen others do it far worse, and yet he acted just the same. It was something you wished you knew how to mirror, for maybe then it would at least earn you some respect back where he couldn’t, because he lacked the privilege you had. 

Chanhee had brought you a coffee in the morning, your absolute favourite order and therefore you knew how expensive it was. A mix of extra shots of coffee and syrup, but it was refreshing and made you smile as he kissed the top of your head. You appreciated it more than he probably knew, because Chanhee hadn’t been around you much in recent weeks. Ever since it happened, you wouldn’t call it distance, but more missed chances to cross each other and neither of you made an effort to fix it. 

Normally, Chanhee loved to pry. He wanted all the dirt and tea he could get out of you, but it’s like he knew to not cross this line, and the end result was distance. It was ironic, really, because you could’ve really used someone to talk to. For someone to ask with a non judgemental tone what the actual fuck had happened. 

Even if in truth you didn’t fully know either where the hell you had gone wrong. 

Changmin had tried to talk to you one more time but you’d turned him away. It’s like he’d chosen the worst moment, exactly when Hyunjae and Juyeon turned the hallway towards you both, and if you had even considered staying for a bit to hear what he had to say, it all went out the window as they showed up. You turned so fast to run that the three of them would likely fail to catch you. 

Juyeon had somehow managed to spread more rumours, because the kicked little kitten had seen you with the very man you’d thought of. It felt ridiculous, even pathetic, the way he was dragging it, and yet the way you knew to stand up for yourself was entirely lost on you. You forgot to speak, forgot how to be firmly yourself with your thoughts to tell them all to go to hell. You forgot how to exist in yourself.

You went home that day and saw Changmin’s dark hoodie laying on the edge of your bed where you’d left it in the morning, and you decided you’d had enough. You weren’t a weak person, and you were letting yourself be walked over and dragged with the name of someone you didn’t even like. Why the hell would you stand for it, like he was worth more than you? 

It was five in the morning when you got ready for your lecture three hours away. You dragged yourself into your shower, your little cat watching you with peculiar eyes because you were never up this early. She knew that, so she found it rather odd and just sat there perched curiously on the counter where all your makeup was messily strewn about for someone else to clean. 

Changmin might’ve forgotten about the hoodie entirely, accepting defeat and transferring ownership, but you wanted to cut any and all strings with him. You wanted to have no part of you be intertwined with him, no association or ties that meant you even knew each other. 

And you would do it looking absolutely stunning. 

Your dress sits so tight it threatens to hurt you, but it forms around your body well and the length is just enough to be acceptable if you tape it to your thigh before it rises above your ass. Not class appropriate, but its never bothered you before. 

You decide to wear one of your three red bottom heels, the highest ones you own, the colour black to go with the same coloured dress, paired with your silver jewellery. The ridiculous hoodie in your hand ruins the entire aesthetic, but at least you’d be rid of it soon. 

When your driver drops you off at school, you make the not so unusual albeit stupid decision to cut a line of cocaine on a small piece of decorated glass that you keep in the car to break and distribute the powder into lines, because you’re tired as hell and have to withstand a lot of stares today. That, and you would willingly go looking for Changmin, his piece of clothing hidden away, folded neatly and delicately in a discarded designer shopping bag from one of your many expensive trips on your exes dime. 

Maybe you needed a cigarette. A bottle of wine wouldn’t hurt either.

“You look very nice today,” it was a careful voice, Hyunjae, but you frowned when you turned to look at him. He was alone, well dressed with a cologne you couldn’t recognise, rare in your case, but nice. It wasn’t overbearing, and it mirrored the man in front of you quite well. 

“Since when do you take the time to give me a compliment?”

“I just think you look nice,” he sounds honest and sincere, which in truth you do believe he means. You don’t think he’s carelessly choosing to say words to make you feel better, but it still doesn’t sit well with you, so you smile at him gently and touch his shoulder to squeeze it and ask for his attention.

“Well don’t, Jae,” he lets you leave, and you’re determined more than anything to find the man you wish to blame everything on. There’s a bounce to your step, wide awake now as the drug infiltrates your bloodstream, and you’re almost a little excited to get it all over with. 

You’re even more excited at the prospect of dragging Juyeon down beneath you, but that was for later.

You’d just about given up on finding Changmin when after your final class, the library proved successful in your search. However, it also proved to be a mistake. You’re not sure what the reason is, but seeing Changmin makes you stop. You hit that familiar wall, except now it's a dam and it’s threatening to break. And if it breaks, so do you. 

You’re emotionally charged in a way you don’t want to be, simply because you see him standing there, reaching for a book dressed in a simple t-shirt with his glasses perched over his nose that looks almost crafted from the side at which you're standing. It hits you suddenly, that you find Changmin to be physically beautiful. Even when he isn’t well dressed, there is a simplicity to him that is welcoming, and it makes you want to turn away. 

He notices you, probably because a shadow loomed to his side and he was notified of your presence because you simply stood there. He’s carrying three books, and you wonder what they are, but then he moves towards you with a confused stare that has you thinking you couldn’t do this. 

“Is there something on my face?”

His voice breaks you free from your mind in which you are a prisoner, or at least feel like one with your overwhelming thoughts that you simply never wish to have. Everything seems so easy for him, talking to you seems simple, and you’re wondering why you can’t formulate words to return it when it shouldn’t require any effort at all. 

“I have your hoodie,” you keep your voice low just in case, but he hears it and seems to curiously perk up at the prospect of getting his clothes back. 

“Oh? I figured you were keeping that,” honestly, so did you. You’d really wanted to, because it was still insanely comfortable to you. You loved it, in truth, for the way it wrapped around you felt soft, like you were nestled up in something that wouldn’t hurt your skin and never sat too tight just to form your body a certain way. 

“I don’t want anything that ties me to you,” you wonder if it stings, when you insult him like this, but he makes no face that tells you it does. He’s perfect at hiding how he feels, and you nearly wish to ask him how he does it. How does he remain so okay, when things so cruel and hurtful are thrown his way? 

You wish to emulate it, even in this moment, but you can’t. 

It’s the one part of him you wished you could learn to take for yourself.

“Are you okay?” 

Those three words hit you like a knife straight through your chest, reverberating deep in your bones as your entire resolve breaks. Your walls fall apart yet again and he’s the one to do it, because in truth you aren’t and he’s the only one to even ask the questions in weeks apart from Chanhee. People you consider your friends, or would consider anything at this point that Changmin isn’t, haven’t even asked, and yet he stands before you and doesn’t even seem to stumble over the words to pose the question. 

And it makes you cry. 

It’s absolutely humiliating to cry like this and the mascara burns your eyes in an instant, and yet every effort to stop forsakes you because it all makes it worse. Changmin stands there so awkwardly, like he might have ways to comfort someone but no ways of knowing how to comfort you, and you’re fairly certain he wishes to turn away because he finds it uncomfortable to simply stand here with you, in a corner, far from others yet not far enough that no one could see if they didn’t go to look

“I… listen… I really didn’t mean to make you cry,” you can tell he doesn’t like it. Maybe because it’s you or he’s uneasy by it in general, but it fills you up with even more embarrassment as you try to will your body to walk away. Yet you’ve turned to stone, accepting your humiliation because how much lower could you go before his eyes? You’ve broken entirely and he’s witnessed almost every second of your demise as you became nothing of value to absolutely everyone around you. You really were like a whore.

“Can you just t-take it?” 

Forcing the bag into his fingers doesn’t work, and you note for the first time the silver rings he wears. You’re surprised you missed it before, or maybe he wasn’t always wearing them, but they’re intricate in their simplicity and you wish to have a closer look, though you wouldn’t be the one to ask. 

“Listen… I know you have some pathetically unjustified hatred towards me-” you scoff, only to prove his point that has him rolling his dark brown eyes because he’s exasperated that you simply can’t let him finish, “I also find you incredibly fucking annoying and a raging bitch-”

“Hey!” 

You want to hit him, yet you’re not going to disagree with him. You know how to hurt people well, how to manipulate a situation and how to come out on top above everyone else and so it earned you occasionally negative titles that were sometimes deserved. 

Nevertheless you weren’t quite sure what he was getting at. 

“Do you want to get some ice cream?”

Whatever it was, it hadn’t been that. You hadn’t expected to be asked to go anywhere with him, and yet here you both were, in a position of vulnerability for him and one even more for you. You were conflicted and uncertain in what you’re answer should be, because even if your first thought was to say no and reject him, it wasn’t what you truly wanted. 

“What?”

“Ice cream makes anything better. Don’t you think?” 

Well, no, you didn’t think so, for it added weight where you didn’t need it, and yet you didn’t want to turn him away. You were upset, evidently, and he was trying to do something to bring a smile to your lips and you hated that it felt like it was working. It shouldn’t be working, and yet you were heavily considering it. 

“Fine, but I don’t need us to leave together.”

“I have another class, anyway,” but the way he spoke made you wonder if he’d been willing to skip it, if you’d immediately said yes to something you’d never thought you’d hear him ask. He almost seemed bitter but you weren’t quite able to feel bad. 

But you wouldn’t mind ice cream, if you were honest.

“I can meet you there,” Changmin seems surprised, perking up in a way that is strangely endearing yet you refuse a smile, waiting for him to tell you where to go. 

“It's just a ten minute walk from here. Amorino, I think.”

You’d heard of it, but in truth you’d never been, but it was meant to be good for the little it cost, so maybe it was worth a try. 

“Fine. I’ll be there,” you’d get some of your assignments done, maybe, but first you’d need to spend the next hour in front of a mirror so that you didn’t look like an absolute mess, even when you felt like one. Changmin looked like he wanted to say something else, but he bit his tongue and walked away from you with your hands still firmly latched around the strap of your shopping bag. You wondered if he’d intentionally left it in your grasp, if there was a reason he was no longer so hellbent on getting it back, but you weren’t going to dwell on it. 

And you were not keeping it any longer either. If anything, you’d blame your willingness and brief vulnerability to say yes on the fact that you simply just wanted to be rid of him, and that included the item you were holding. 

You almost wished the rain had put him off from walking through the glass doors that led inside a sickly sweet smelling cafe, slightly cool because of the various ice cream needing the lower temperature. Sadly, it hadn’t, and Changmin walked in just a little over an hour after you had taken a seat in a corner far inside the shop, hoping that if anyone you knew would walk past, they wouldn’t recognise you. When he spots you, he seems almost as apprehensive as you to approach, brushing through his matted down wet strands of dark hair to move them away from his forehead. 

“I’m surprised you’re here,” it seems true. Like he hadn’t expected you to really show up and in truth it seemed like the most reasonable assumption to make, because you really had no idea either. 

“Me too,” he smiles at you and it makes you uncomfortable, for the shift in the way he treated you seemed disingenuous, yet nothing about it told you that his kindness in looking at you wasn’t real. It’s like you’d genuinely managed to amuse him with little to no effort, after the countless times in which you were a pain in his ass. 

“Do you know which flavour you’d like?”

“I… honestly can’t decide,” it all sounded heavenly. You couldn’t remember when you’d last indulged in a sweet treat like this, even if it hadn’t been intentional to go so long without. It just never came to be for a very long time and suddenly you were overwhelmed with flavours that you wanted to try. You could’ve eaten half the menu, and yet you barely desired one in terms of calories.

“I think you can choose up to three for one cone,” three seemed absurd. It seemed excessive and yet the temptation to try three was so overbearing that you wanted to give in.

“Are you having three?”

“Probably,” you nod, falling silent because you really don’t know how to talk to him normally. Changmin was a stranger to you, and you fully realise it when you sit across from him and realise that you don’t know him at all. You don’t know who he is, how he thinks, aside from what he tells you, and the only other thing you know is what he looks like, and that he often adjusts his glasses as if they sit just a little too big. 

“I can order for us both,” he offers, breaking you out of your trance to once again be reminded of how strange this is. You don’t like Changmin, yet sitting with him like this is simple. It’s weird, but it’s easier than expected. It’s very awkward, but it’s simple. 

“You don’t have to order for me.”

“It was an offer, not a demand,” you roll your eyes, though his kindness isn’t lost on you and you’re once again sat here wondering what you’re really doing, and wondering why Changmin’s shift in personality was so sudden but genuine. 

“Stracciatella, dulce de leche and coffee.”

“I can tell you’re rich,” you wonder if it’s an insult, but if it is he’s smiling and that almost makes it worse. You know how to do it best, smile through something you didn’t mean, or something that was an insult but you wanted the other person to maybe have hope that it wasn’t meant that way. Or maybe he was joking, and the slight tease just went way over your head. 

“What’re you think?” 

“Vanilla, lemon and amarena,” you nod, as if to just tell him you were listening but have nothing to say. 

“But I’m the rich one,” it’s your way of figuring out if he was teasing too, by doing so back and seeing what his reaction will be. Changmin seems amused and you relax in knowing that he wasn’t mocking you. 

“What’s wrong with those flavours?”

“Nothing,” you draw out, staring back at the menu to decide on a coffee, “I’ll get a drink.”

Changmin seems to hesitate just briefly and realisation dawns on you. You’ve always looked down on him for having less money, for not affording things, but it didn’t cross your mind that he might not even be able to afford this. The issue then became that you had no idea how to delicately approach it. 

“I’ll pay for it,” you tell him, but there’s surprise on his face and a hint of frustration, and you wonder if you read it all wrong. 

“I’m not in poverty, you do know that, right?”

Honestly, you didn’t. It might’ve been embarrassing to admit but you weren’t quite sure at what point someone was considered within poverty because very often, your parents had shown you that even the most common ordinary people lacked money and therefore weren’t content in life. You had no real way of measuring what was really considered little. Hell, you barely knew what your family had in regards to wealth, because you rarely looked at the money you spent. You knew you always had it, so you spent it, without having to think about it. 

In your mind, anyone that had to consider their spending was poor. 

Sat here now with Changmin was probably the first moment in which you briefly think that might’ve been wrong. That maybe he was cautious with money but not without it. If he was without it, he would likely not be as inviting to sit with and dressed the way he was, even if you’d never buy clothes like the ones he wore. 

“I’d still like to pay,” you offer, and you’re not really sure why. You’re here to give him this stupid bag that’s been weighing down on your mind all day as you chased after him, and maybe you’re also hoping to buy his silence on the fact that you cried before him and have done so twice now. 

“I invited you here,” he was right. Usually, at least how you were raised, the one inviting the other is the one to pay unless otherwise agreed, which had never been the case for you before, yet it was now. 

“And I’m telling you to let me pay.”

“You’re really demanding you know?”

You knew. It’s how you got what you wanted, to make demands rather than ask questions. Changmin seems displeased but he doesn’t argue with you, shrugging his jacket off to drape it over the chair before he gets up and waits. 

“What?” 

“You’re not coming with?”

“Just take my card. Three, five, seven, two,” you hold it out to him between your long manicured nails and he looks at you like you’re insane. It’s another reminder of how different you two are, of how giving him access to sums he’s never even seen or hoped to dream of meant absolutely nothing to you, because it really didn’t.

“Thanks?”

Changmin walks away, but it’s only brief before he’s turned back around to approach you, “which coffee did you want?”

“A latte macchiato,” he nods, leaving you alone with your thoughts again as you watch his back. The weather has since gotten worse, but it’s quite cosy from here, to simply watch the rain fall, the droplets chasing after one another from top to bottom, only to repeat over and over again in different patterns. The heating was on too, and it was quite comfortable to simply sit here. 

The girl at the counter smiles at Changmin in a way that makes you want to turn away, not because someone flirting with him bothers you, but because you can’t believe how ridiculous she’s being in doing so. He’s here with you, and she’s practically begging for it. 

Whatever she says, he seems polite but distant enough for her to straighten her posture and adjust her smile to a more professional one, and so you take that as a rejection on his part. You’re not sure why you find that so satisfying, that she didn’t get her way, but you’re happy about it regardless as he’s handed two ice cream cones that seem far more intricate than you’d expected. 

It’s only when he comes closer that you realise that the ice cream has been layered together to form the shape of multiple rose petals and ultimately a flower, three separately assorted colours that make up the flavours you asked for, “they’re still making the coffees.”

“Thanks,” you take the ice cream from him carefully, admiring its shape and look. It’s beautiful, really, and it does put a gentle smile on your face as you manage a little laugh in amusement, “it’s pretty.”

You wonder if Changmin knew how they put the ice cream together. If maybe he suggested this place because he figured something as simple as an ice cream shaped like beautiful petals belonging to a rose would cheer you up or make you feel better for the absolute mess that had become your life. For the emotional turmoil you felt as you fell in importance and high regard in others’ eyes. 

You mattered less to almost everyone you knew and it bothered you greatly.

Both of you fall silent, likely because neither of you have anything to say. There’s nothing to talk about, not between the two of you, and there’s no attempt at changing it either. Neither of you want to become friends, and yet here you both sit being friendly. 

How strange the world worked sometimes.

“I’m sorry Juyeon’s such a dick to you,” it takes you by complete surprise to hear him speak, and whilst normally you’d find yourself frustrated to hear him even bring it up again, it’s oddly comforting to hear an opinion you agree with, albeit planned to have kept from Changmin. You want him to believe that things are perfect, that you and Juyeon are perfect, because you hold on to the false belief that maybe it would be. 

“Juyeon’s just… a guy, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you wonder why he says it. If he’s trying to tell you he’s better than Juyeon and if so, why it would matter. You have no interest in him and never would, so there was no need for Changmin to make himself better than the man you somehow spent still loving, despite all his horrifying flaws.

And there were many of them, and yet you still saw it with rose tinted glasses. Whilst aware of it, it mattered less to you. 

“I don’t plan to ever have sex with you if-“

“That wasn’t an invitation,” again, your eyes roll almost instantly. He’s too good at being frustrating, and he sits there with his body leaned forward like he’s engaged in you while he takes a bite of his ice cream. 

A bite.

“You’re insane. Why do you bite it?”

“It’s food?”

“It’s cold.”

“Why would I want to just lick it? I barely get any ice cream and then it melts.”

You watch as he bites into another petal and you push your body up a little to see what flavour it might’ve been. 

“Vanilla,” he answers and you nod, sitting back with your one leg crossed over the other.

“Isn’t vanilla a little plain?”

“Is that a double entendre?”

It’s so easy to give up when the conversation is so static, so forced because you truly have nothing to talk about. What the hell do you both even have in common?

“I have a cat,” Changmin laughs and it’s a little unexpected, his smile so light and his dimples set deep in his cheeks. It’s an inviting smile, warm, and his tone of laughter is unique and suits him. There’s a childlike amusement to his features as he looks down at the table. 

“I also have a cat,” you were curious to see her, or him, but you didn’t really want to ask. Both of you sharing photos of your pets over ice cream and coffee was a little bit too friendly, but you supposed there was now something you had in common, “but I don’t really like cats.”

Nevermind.

“Then why do you have one?”

He thinks, just for a minute as he drinks some of his coffee that had been brought over just a few short minutes before, and you must say now you really want to know why he has a pet he doesn’t even like. 

“I found him on the streets. He was put in a box and it was raining. Wasn’t going to take him first because I didn’t want one. But when I went to call someone in the shop nearby, he’d somehow jumped out of the box and started to follow me. He just wouldn’t leave.”

It was unexpectedly sweet and very much something you would’ve never considered. Of course your cat was store bought, expensive and from a litter from a breeder that had done this for the past decade or two. Getting a cat of the streets, even if unintentionally was so out of your character, but you knew when to admit you found it to be kind of Changmin to have done so. 

“You kept him?”

“I did. He’s very sweet.”

“Chanhee says my cat is a diva.”

“So she takes after you. Figures,” you could hit him, but you bite your tongue and try a new flavour of the ice cream petals. Coffee. Definitely. 

The conversation dies again when it would be so easy to keep it going, but it’s like neither of you have any desire to do so. And yet, you find yourself far more at ease sitting here than you would’ve thought when you first agreed to it. You didn’t feel like you had to make up the silence that you both shared.

He seemed to share the same thoughts, though he didn’t often share eye contact with you. You weren’t sure if he was hesitant to or maybe he just didn’t want to look at you, but previous times you’d met him, he’d always been good at looking you in the eye. It was a little strange that he seemed to look everywhere else but at you now, unless you spoke. 

“You smoke, right?” Painful. These occasional conversations littered into being sat here were just simply weird, but you watch as he grabs a bag of loose tobacco out of his jacket as well as some rolling paper and a filter. 

“Didn’t you smoke straights last time?”

“You remember?”

Fuck. 

“I didn’t forget you offering me one,” he shrugs and you watch as he distributes the tobacco onto the paper carefully between his jewellery adorned fingers. It was distracting and you could curse again for it, because he was doing it all effortlessly with one hand. 

“You want one now?” 

“I can do it…” he seems to hesitate though ultimately pushes the bag of tobacco over to your end of the table, and you fiddle with the cone of your ice cream between your one hand whilst figuring out how to do this with the other. Actually, how the fuck had Changmin done this? 

“How did you-”

“Put it on the table first. You can roll with one hand,” he was definitely more confident in your abilities than you were, and maybe that was sweet but it was also giving you far more credit than you deserved. 

You didn’t even want to admit that you couldn’t roll a cigarette at all. You always bought straights, the times you bought any at all. Doing it yourself seemed like extra effort for not much pay off. 

You try to mirror Changmin, seeing how much tobacco he used and loosening up the dried leaves between your fingers the way he had done as they all clung together in the bag, then adding a generous amount to the paper you’d taken out of its flat packaging. 

“Do you always smoke American spirit?”

“I tend to. Or marlboro. Why?”

You shrug, going back to what you’re doing but you very quickly realise you’ll need both hands. Watching him do it, pushing and pinching the thin paper together to tighten the tobacco with two fingers, maybe three at best, was ridiculous. 

“Do you want me to hold your ice cream?”

At this point, you’re determined to prove both him and you that you can do this, when you know the reality is you can’t. Changmin doesn’t know that though, and how hard could it be to roll a cigarette, really?

“You can have it.”

“You have more than half left,” he frowns, putting his nearly rolled cigarette down on the table as he holds your ice cream, watching you and the way your fingers take both ends of the paper to pinch it together, “is it not good?”

“It’s nice. It’s not the flavour,” hopefully, he knows to drop the conversation. Though you look up and can tell by his expression that he likely wants to keep asking but you don’t see why you should need to justify it. 

“You need to… no… you have too much,” he sighs, wanting to reach over but both his hands are occupied with both of your ice cream cones and so he can only sit trapped wishing to intervene as you try to make adjustments when he complains with no real instructions as to how you can do it better, “you’ve never done this before.”

“So I’ve been caught,” as if one of the cafe staff had noticed him struggling, they bring over a holder for two ice cream cones that are scattered on a few tables, yours not having been one of them. 

“Thank you,” he redirects his attention to you, hands free, “look, I’ll teach you,” you scoff, crossing your arms as you’ve let go of the damaged bundle of tobacco in a scrunched up paper, looking between its state and back up at Changmin. You didn’t want him to teach you anything, because you didn’t think he had anything worth showing you. Yet at the same time, you didn’t enjoy not knowing how to do something, and if he was willingly prepared to show you how to actually do it, maybe you shouldn’t deny him. 

“I don’t really smoke…” 

“I won’t encourage you to,” he grabs another rolling paper, holding it out to you and you hesitate but ultimately take it between your fingers as he does the same, ignoring his near finished cigarette to start over, “but I smoke a lot, so I’ll take it off your hands if you don’t want it.”

“You’ll get cancer,” you’re disgusted but you don’t have much of a right to be. You smoke too and do far worse things. Every party could bring you to the brink of death if you aren’t careful enough with what you’re using, and yet you’re telling him he’s risking his life. 

“Thanks, the packaging hadn’t told me,” you recognise Changmin’s sarcastic tone well by now, given that it’s the tone he mostly spoke to you in, but you also don’t retaliate this time. You had nothing to say, nothing to add that wouldn’t be another circular back and forth of neither of you ever getting to the point or settling a fight. 

“The tobacco is quite tight, so you’ll have to loosen it with your fingers a little before you put it on the paper.”

“What about the filter?”

“It’s harder to roll with a filter. Try without first,” but you’re stubborn, and you grab a filter and bring it to one edge of the rolling paper before he can take it away from you. Sighing, he relents and grabs one too to demonstrate more accurately. 

“You’re ridiculous,”

“And I won’t be caught dead smoking a non filtered cigarette.”

“You should try it. The nicotine high is amazing,” okay, so maybe you’d reconsider. You’d never thought of it, even if it was obvious, “you’re curious now.”

“I might be,” Changmin smiles and your cheeks feel a little warmer, but surely it’s the warm coffee and the indoor heating and not the fact that he looked at you with eyes that were gentle, like his happiness in showing you something wasn’t structured into an act of false behaviour.

Then you wonder why it makes any difference. If he wasn’t being genuine, did it matter?

He leans back over and slips the filter away from your paper, then adjusts and sits up a little straighter before his body moves back into your space to be a little closer to demonstrate. 

“So, you loosen some of the tobacco between your fingers. This one is quite dry- and then you bring it onto the paper like so,” you follow his lead, though you could’ve managed this part on your own. This was the one part you’d done correctly without his help, “you want it to be pretty even but don’t worry about it not being perfect.”

“It has to be perfect,” he sighs, his head rolling down in defeat before he slowly looks back up at you. 

“Perfection is an unattainable fantasy. Now take your fingers and move them to either edge and pinch while rolling it like so.”

You follow his lead though if you’re entirely honest, you have no idea how he makes it look so easy and effortless. His tobacco bunches together into a beautiful neat line perfectly, whilst yours is a disaster in which it falls or thins out too much on one end. It feels awkward and incorrect, the way you do it, and yet you’re following his exact instructions. 

“You’re terrible at this.”

“Or you suck at teaching,” giving up was tempting, but showing Changmin defeat wasn’t an option. You wanted to get this, no matter how awful the end outcome would be. 

“You have the ends. Move your fingers more into the middle to roll.”

“It doesn’t work like that!”

He looks exasperated, his glasses moving slightly as he raises his brows and huffs out in annoyance at your inability to do something he deemed simple, “you’re just bad at this. That’s okay.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not bad at things.”

“Just roll the paper over once you have the right shape. Wet the end and seal it and then you can tap the end against the table,” he shows you how, but he does it so quickly you barely manage to follow his movements. He’s amazing at it, you do have to admit, but you hate him for it because you want to be better. It’s irrational, because how realistic is it for you to be better at rolling a cigarette when you’d never done it before, when Changmin had probably done it for years?

“It’s not tight like yours though.”

“Just try. You have the movement right,” but it doesn’t feel right. It feels awkward and you might just blame it on your acrylics for not managing, but the end result is so pathetic that you’re surprise the cigarette even holds. 

“It’s… a cigarette.”

“I’m not smoking that,” Changmin doesn’t seem surprised, but he does surprise you when he places his perfectly rolled cigarette right before you and takes yours instead, placing it behind his ear before retrieving his jacket and taking his melting ice cream, “you coming?”

Well, you suppose you were now. 

You grab the bag with his hoodie in one hand, Changmin’s cigarette in the other as you follow him outside, leaving your ice cream to melt before it’s thrown away. It’s not unnoticed by him either, and he turns around to grab it between his fingers, “if you won’t have it, I will. You’re wasting money and good ice cream.”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“Why?”

He holds both cones in one hand with their remnants of sweet gelato, placing his cigarette between his lips and lighting it with one hand turned away from the storm and rain. The shop has an overhang to shield you both from direct downpour, but lighters are stubborn with wind and he seems to know it well. 

His one worded question seems strange. It’s not worried, nor is it judgemental. At least you don’t perceive it to be. It’s simply confused, like he’s genuinely surprised that you would even bother at all. 

“Because I want to be thin.”

Changmin wants to say something. You can tell he does, that there’s something right on his lips yet he doesn’t speak it. He resists words he probably knows you really don’t want to hear. He would be right, because any comments about your body aren’t welcomed unless they’re compliments that remind you of what you’ve worked for. All the times you don’t eat are rewarded with the acknowledgement of it. 

“Here,” he holds out his lighter, the flame igniting right by your lips in which the cigarette is perched carefully, and you lean in enough and inhale so that it burns. 

“Thanks.”

“You really are peculiar,” you don’t see how you are. From your point of view, he’s the abnormal one. He dresses cheap despite the school he attends, he doesn’t socialise, and he seems so ignorant to his surroundings and the importance of appearance, “I have to go.”

It takes you by surprise. Your thoughts had been so tangled and convoluted that you hadn’t seen him take his phone out, much less fumble with the ice cream, his cigarette and the device to answer whoever it was. 

You wondered who it was. 

“Who is it?”

You can’t help it. Call it morbid curiosity, even in regards to Changmin of all people, “I completely forgot I have a date.”

The thought of anyone going out with Changmin was a concept you weren’t ready to wrap your head around, but maybe if it was a girl he’d met online, she’d based it merely on appearance and even you wouldn’t fully be able to say that he was ugly. You knew he wasn’t, as much as it pained you to admit he was actually rather beautiful when he didn’t open his mouth. 

“Is she cute?”

“She’s cute, yeah,” but he doesn’t seem excited. It almost feels like an insult to hear how he speaks about the prospect of his date. Were all men like this?

Had Juyeon been so disinterested when he first dated you?

“You’re going dressed like this?”

“What’s wrong with it?” 

Boy, he really wasn’t trying. It felt near cruel, because you were almost certain that the girl would be beautiful, and even if her physical appearance wasn’t as gorgeous, she would make up for it in every way with the way she chose to dress. 

And Changmin was in casual attire, his hair had fallen to his face and he seemed tired. 

“Poor girl.”

“It’s really not your business,” and then he discards his cigarette and grabs the bag you’d been holding without warning, practically ripping it out of your hand and the movement feels more aggressive than you’re used to from him. His tone could be harsh but his actions never were, and so it surprised you when he didn’t even ask to take it. 

“Thank you for the hoodie.”

He doesn’t sound thankful at all. Changmin sounds annoyed, as he throws the little remnants of ice cream cone with next to no ice cream left, in the trash he passes as he walks away from you. You stand there, empty handed aside from the cigarette that was burning but barely smoked, and you honestly feel lost. You’re strangely confused and unsure, and you really don’t quite know why.

You felt like maybe you’d managed to really get under his skin, and if that were the case, you were sure it was the first time you’d ever managed it. Yet you’d expected it to feel different, to frustrate him enough to show true emotion in his anger and discontent towards you. 

Instead it just felt like nothing.

You’re not sure what to make of Changmin. But you had bought a packet of loose tobacco and pink rolling paper to fiddle with in the comfort of your large bedroom. You were near naked, just out of your shower and only in underwear whilst you fiddled around with the cigarette in your hand. It was fucking difficult, and you’d probably gone through ten different videos on youtube teaching you how to do it. At least trying to, and each time you just failed to fully do it right. 

Juyeon had called you and while you’d originally wanted to pick up and even thought to, by the time you made any attempt to move your hands, he’d already hung up.

Chanhee had also called though and you had picked up, asking how he was though he pushed for you to answer first, and you hadn’t known what to say. You felt fine yet simultaneously you felt strangely numb. It wasn’t that you didn’t care, it’s that Juyeon had worn you down. He’d broken something in you and collecting the pieces wasn’t possible because not all parts still existed. 

Convincing yourself that it was over was difficult when Juyeon was right there to call back. 

You wanted to. 

It takes about ten failed attempts at rolling a cigarette before you manage one that’s just decent enough to smoke, and in your mind you wish to share your success with Changmin, since he was the one that had witnessed your inability to do it in the first place. You wanted to prove a point, as petty and unimportant as it was. You could roll a damn cigarette. 

But you’d rather roll over in your grave than ask anyone for his phone number. If anyone even had it. He’d said he was supervising a friend the night you first really spoke to him but you’d yet to see him talking with anyone at all. Who was Changmin friends with, if anyone at all?

The question dwelled on you curiously. You didn’t think he’d lied to you that night, you had to at least give him the benefit of his annoying ability to always speak what you assumed to be his truth. He didn’t care of the consequence or if it hurt, and you supposed maybe that was where your one similarity lay. 

If you hurt someone, it didn’t really matter as long as it made you look good.

“Dear? Could I come in?” 

Your mother being home was unexpected. Her knocking on your bedroom door to ask if she could come in was even stranger. It made you worry, and you quickly discarded all your rolled cigarettes in a drawer as well as any other damning evidence aside from the one now considered a masterpiece to show off. You placed it behind your ear and straightened your posture, “yeah?”

“You need to draw the curtains,” she criticised, walking over to the massive window to give you far more than you bargained for with the natural sunlight despite the depressing clouds, “and we do not smoke indoors.”

“I’m not smoking it!”

“Attitude,” you want to sigh but you’re sure that runs in the same category as what she’d just warned you about in your tone, so you bite your tongue and just wait to hear what she wants. 

“I’ve been told you’ve missed a lot of your classes.” 

“By who?” 

“We had dinner with the Lee’s. Juyeon expressed his concern over you. Why you ever broke up with that handsome young man is beyond me, Y/N,” yeah, it was beyond you too, at this point. Clearly you were the fucking idiot, as everyone so rightfully had begun to assume. Juyeon was the perfect man, one most girls would probably dream of and you had him. You had him, and you wasted the opportunity to be happy with him. 

And what for? 

“I know, mother.”

“You should come with this time. Maybe you can both make up before we go on that lovely vacation together.”

“What…?”

She stands by the edge of your bed with condescending eyes that look down on you and make you feel small, which was ironic because your mother was about a head shorter than you and incredibly petite, but her personality was so in your face, her stare so cold that it made you feel like nothing. She made you feel insignificant and she did so perfectly. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten? You’ve always been forgetful,” you cast your eyes down to your lap, listening to her berate you and having no real way of defending yourself without it earning you a slap or worse. 

“I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind.”

“Go on a walk. You could go to the docks on one of the boats. I don’t care. But stop missing classes because I will not have a failure of a child when she gets everything handed to her,” it stings. It really stings to be insulted so genuinely. Your grades were by no means terrible and your mother rarely cared before about any of your stupid behaviour, but you supposed as soon as your mask slipped and you fell towards lower status, she could sense it like a blood hound and she was intent on destroying you to a point in which you’d need to remodel yourself to be perfect again. 

You were grateful for her, because she knew how to shape you into someone you wanted to be. 

“And invite Juyeon if you’re taking the boat out!”

She leaves without another glance your way and you feel like nothing, but you also call Juyeon, so you suppose her harsh words and loveless demeanour worked. They worked at beating you down and you listened to her, but you couldn’t say you weren’t at least a little relieved when Juyeon didn’t pick up at first.

“What?”

Damn it. 

“You called me first.”

“And now you’re calling me back,” it felt like a game. It was constant at this point and it never felt healthy and yet you knew no better. You weren’t dumb but Juyeon had an incredible way of making you appear to be the greatest idiot. 

“My mother wants us to take the boat out,” you wait for a response, not hearing one first until there’s shuffling on the other line. 

“Just us?”

“Well, she likes you,” you add, which you knew would work well for his bruised ego. Juyeon loved being told he was liked and you knew how to feed into it well. You’d spent years learning the intricacies that made up Lee Juyeon, and you doubted that would ever fully go away. You weren’t sure if you wanted it to go at all. 

“Have you told her why I haven’t been around?”

“You could always tell her yourself. She hates me enough, you can’t make it worse,” you hear him on the other end and you hope he feels bad for you. You want him to, even if it’s just for a little moment. 

“That’s just not as fun,” he breaks your illusioned disbelief that he could be sympathetic towards you and you wish yet again for your remaining feelings to go away. 

Instead, you decide to be stupid and slip up. 

“I really loved you.”

The silence is so painfully long you could honestly throw yourself out the two story window of the view your mother had just revealed to you moments before. 

“You don’t love me anymore?”

The way you fell into his traps was so effortless. Juyeon wasn’t having to really try and yet you fell right into his hand every time without fail. You were so drawn to him and you couldn't tell for what reason. Because in truth you didn’t really see yourself as wanting a relationship with him, he was an asshole and yet you ran in circles because you somehow still liked him despite it all. 

“Juyeon…”

“Do you love me?”

He asks it again and the question is a demand for you to answer and yet it doesn’t come naturally to you the way you want it to. It feels false, maybe because you know you’re walking yourself into a trap. Yet the trap being laid out for you to see doesn’t hinder you any less from falling into it because of the reward you see in the midst of it. 

“I love you.”

“Then why don’t we celebrate?”

A yacht party was not at all what you had in mind when celebrating your pathetic attempt at clearing your image by being back on Juyeon’s side. But Juyeon had insisted and your mother had somehow overheard at some point and was practically beaming just at the prospect of Juyeon being back on one of your family boats. Her timing was masterful and you hated everything about it. 

You also hated the looks you were getting, judgement, whilst Juyeon was on the opposite end of the yacht gleaming and taking in every ounce of sympathy like it fed him. He’d so graciously forgiven you, told everyone that it was an honest mistake and that he understood you both were over, and now everyone stood at his feet as if ready to do any and all of his bidding.

It was insufferable.

“I think he likes attention more than you,” Chanhee mumbles, standing next to you now with a champagne flute between his delicate fingers and you turn to him with a frown on your face. 

“I think it’s pathetic.”

“I’d agree,” your best friend leans back a little, staring into the dark water as night time beams above you in the shape of a crescent moon, “but you go for it every time.”

“I’m not here for a lecture,” you have a sip of your drink, grimacing at the strength of it. You’d been a little too generous on the rum, even for your standards, but you need the alcohol if you’re going to get through this night out on open water. 

“Have you seen the new kids?”

Chanhee nudges you towards another direction, one that has two younger men downing a glass of something each, and being urged on to do so by Younghoon and Hyunjae. Juyeon was now talking to a girl you didn’t care to know the name of, but he occasionally glanced over too. 

“Freshmen?” 

“Mhmm, one of them is kinda cute, no?”

You give your best friend an odd look before glancing back over. They both look young, not older than twenty, playful and energetic and so full of life that you wonder when that’ll go away. You wonder when both of them will realise the world is dark and being so carefree was simply being naive. 

“Which one?”

Chanhee gestures to the one on the left, with dark hair and full lips that you’re sure has made girls jealous in the past, and if not jealous, at least more than willing to kiss him. He seemed to know it too, because something about him felt cocky and maybe even arrogant, despite his sweet playful smile and loud laugh that you could hear from this far away. 

The other, a striking blonde colour of hair that he’d definitely bleached with a sharp pointed nose that seemed surgical, making you wonder if he’d invested in a nose job as soon as he’d turned eighteen. It wouldn’t surprise you if he had, for if it was real it was almost absurdly perfect. 

“Juyeon invited them?” Chanhee shrugs, though given that neither you nor your best friend seemed to have any clue on who they were and had no influence on them showing up, you were almost certain it was Juyeon. It was near confirmed when your recent lover approached the blonde and wrapped an arm over his shoulder, ruffling through his hair playfully though you could see the roughness in his grip. 

It’d surely be blamed on boys being boys.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you say, and you can see Juyeon’s eyes meet yours as you do. He detaches from the blonde and approaches you, and god do you wish it wasn’t noticeable to everyone that he was doing so. 

“Little princess,” he leans against the railing, watching as you pour yourself more rum but in truth you are ready to down the whole bottle when he talks to you, “why’re you frowning?”

“Did you invite freshmen?”

“Who? Oh- you mean Sunwoo and Eric? I did, yeah. They’re cute, right?” 

There had to be a motive. You didn’t trust Juyeon to have pure intentions and simply so graciously bring a pair of freshmen onto a party such as this. There was no way in hell Juyeon would introduce someone into his social circle without gaining something out of it. Especially someone younger than him. 

“What’re you doing with them?”

“I’m thinking a sex party?” you laugh because it’s absurd, but Juyeon laughs too because he’s managed to humour you and it’s nice. It’s nice to laugh with someone you consider close, someone that is similar to you and that understands the importance of status and appearance. 

“Now what is it actually?”

Juyeon looks over, seeing his friends and the two in question playing around with a lighter and the not lit outdoor fireplace. At least not lit yet, given that they were clearly trying. Hyunjae was sat on the circular couch, Younghoon lying next to him, Sunwoo standing and berating Eric who was hunched over trying to light the coal, “he needs ignition.”

“I’ll go grab it for him.”

Juyeon leaves you standing there with a bad feeling. Drunk people around a fire, intoxicated people in general around live flames was a recipe for disaster. Yet you weren’t stopping it. Maybe because you knew it wouldn’t be you to fall into it. 

Chanhee had joined them, sat next to Hyunjae with his legs curled under his thighs as he held a new glass in hand, looking so delicate and regal he felt most like royalty out of all of you. He was so beautiful, it made you jealous again. It was worse, too, to know that he had naturally just formed to be this way, whilst your parents had discretely paid for your nose to be fixed, your breasts to be augmented and to have some leftover fat dissolved to appear even smaller. 

Not that you’d outright admitted it to anyone, though you were sure those who’d known you long enough, knew that a part of you simply wasn’t real anymore, because reality wasn’t pretty and you wanted to be.

Juyeon joined them a few seconds after with lighter fluid, thankfully not being too generous with how much he coated the charcoal in. At least he seemed sober, more than anyone else that was sat there, and you watched Eric attempting to light the flames again, this time successful in sparking a fire that jumped high enough to nearly hit his face, making him jump back in surprise and panic at the thought of getting burned. 

Unbelievable. 

You walked over to them and sat down at the very edge, Eric turning his attention to you with a bright smile that surprised even you. He seemed energetic and sweet, but why he was so open to you simply coming over was a strange feeling. Juyeon noticed it too, and before you realised, he’d moved to sit between you both.

“Are you jealous?” Juyeon looks at you with a forced smile, shaking his head before having more of his drink and turning his attention to you. 

“I have no reason to be,” he answers, and you suppose he’s right though just the same you wish for him to be, “I’m not the jealous type.”

It felt like a lie. Juyeon’s characteristics that made up who he was were all fairly negative and jealousy was one of them. But then he’d have ways in which he showed kindness with gentle touches and you fell into it because those touches were warm and those words were sweet. 

“Not like me, right?” 

You attempt a joke you both know to be true. You could easily get jealous, because the prospect of having romantic competition made you feel worthless, like you weren’t good enough, and so anger came naturally whenever your worth was threatened. 

“Not like you,” he has more of his drink and you drown out the conversation, watching the way your best friend cuts up two lines of cocaine with Sunwoo now, as if he’d made a quick natural friend and you’re just at the very edge being forgotten. It’s the feeling of unimportance and being replaced that bothers you, and instead you focus on the fire right in front of you. It’s enchanting and beautiful, tempting enough to fall into because it’s warm and inviting. 

It’s dangerous too and that isn’t lost on you, but you still lean a little closer, being careful to push your hair back whilst you watch the flames. You’re in a little world, one none of them are in and you honestly don’t think they ever really noticed how close you’d gotten to the fire, which ends up being the big mistake. 

You’re not sure what happens, but the flames make a crackling sound and the fire rises so incredibly close to your face, you feel the heat sting at your skin. It sends you into high alert and panic, causing you to scream and turn around just quick enough to avoid it burning your face. Unfortunately, the wind and your hair among the flames causes the strands to start burning.

“What the fuck, Eric!”

“We need to put it out!” Chanhee. That’s his voice and the only one you can make out. The others barely seem to move and you’re not sure if it’s shock or because they don’t care, but Chanhee is genuinely the only one moving at first.

You can feel the way it hurts your skin, but it all happens so fast that the pain barely registers with the way the back fabric of your dress singes. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” Chanhee, again, but then you feel another force that sends you falling forward and the sound of a fire extinguisher. 

“YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO USE THAT ON A PERSON!”

So many voices, complete panic and you barely register any of it. You feel dazed, nearly unresponsive and it’s likely the shock settling in that just leaves you numb to it. At least the fire seems to be out, given the darkness that had cast over all of you. Your skin feels cold at first, until you feel a heavy blanket over your shoulder and Juyeon crouches in front of you. 

He’s speaking to you, but you really have no idea what he’s saying. Even when he cups your cheeks, it’s completely lost on you. Nothing he says is audible and for just a brief second you wonder if maybe you’d entirely lost your hearing, though you don’t see why you would and you’d heard voices just seconds before. 

You feel him touch your hair and you’re relieved more than anything to know it’s still there at first. The very relief of knowing that makes you want to cry, but you refuse to show any of them that you were scared. 

“She needs a hospital. Turn the boat around,” you hate attention like this. When you’re vulnerable, it’s not what you want. 

“How bad is it…?” 

You sound hoarse, but Juyeon doesn’t get time to answer because Eric intervenes with panicked eyes. He looks so genuinely guilty, like a kicked puppy and you know almost immediately that deep down it was likely a genuine mistake. Though it didn’t really matter as the damage was done either way, “I’m so, so sorry. I’m really sorry.”

You don’t think you forgive him. Even if he looks sorry, you’re more than a little upset, rightfully so, “I can’t believe you’re so fucking stupid. Who’re you trying to impress, anyway?”

It cuts him, you can tell. That childlike energy that had been there before dies the second you speak to him like he means nothing. Eric looks like he could cry and you’re certain you don’t really care but something about his eyes make you feel guilty. And you don’t do well with guilt. 

You force yourself up and away from everyone, pushing past Younghoon harshly because you can see him trying to bite down laughter. You’re near close to slapping him, but you don’t want even more unwanted attention. 

You hide away in the bathroom and no one seems to follow you first, locking the door after yourself  before stripping down to your underwear, discarding your heels and letting your feet rest bare against the tiled interior. Every bit of sound is slowly coming back, and you seem to be returning to your senses as you cast your eyes outside through the small circular window, seeing the distant city and the water break into aggressive ripples of small waves. 

You run your hands through your hair, trying to adjust the mess that it probably was before you realise that certain strands come to an abrupt harsh stop. It feels uneven, shortened and burned and that’s when you first notice the smell that becomes so sharp so suddenly that it overwhelms you. 

You open your palm up to be met with charcoals of black burnt hair that you’d broken trying to brush through it with your fingers and now you’re completely certain that you fucking hate Eric. He’d ruined your appearance, and it’s only confirmed when you look in the mirror and are met with something so ugly, you could break the glass in front of you. 

So you do. You break down and shatter the mirror because what you see disgusts you. A part of what had made you so feminine and pretty was scorched unevenly, in parts up to your shoulder, and it was so ugly and heart wrenching you could’ve thrown up just remembering what it looked like. 

It was so ugly and unattractive and the worst was knowing that everyone else had seen it before you. They had seen it, and said nothing. Juyeon had touched your strands of hair near the root and yet said nothing to indicate that a part of it was missing by the ends of where your hair usually fell.

You can’t take seeing it, and in your slightly intoxicated mind it makes you sink enough that you throw up into the toilet, hating yourself more than you ever had. It would take years to grow back the hair you’d lost, and worst was that you’d have to let go of the length that some strands still held. The ones that went unscathed and were still perfect would be lost just the same. 

It was so embarrassing. 

Your hand was bleeding, shards of broken glass between the knuckles but you made no attempt to get rid of them. You could’ve been dying and it would’ve meant nothing to you. 

A knock on the door snaps you out of your dazed mind but you don’t respond. You hope maybe they’ll go away, but then there’s another knock followed by a third in quick succession, “want a line?”

Chanhee. You laugh at the way he speaks and then you soften because he’s there, standing on the other side and looking for you. So with the little strength you can bother to conjure up, you unlock the door for him. 

“Holy shit,” it’s not you being naked that really surprises him, but rather the utter damaged state this room was in, “your parents are gonna kill you.”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about that,” you groan, watching your best friend lock the door once more before grabbing a towel and turning on the faucet, the water presumably cold. 

“I hear Juyeon’s pissed,” Chanhee starts, and it manages a smile out of you just briefly as he comes over, “Eric feels horrible, though.”

“He should,” you snarl, watching the way Chanhee grabs a pair of tweezers from his purse, disinfecting it with a wipe before grabbing your hand. 

“Should I book you a hairdresser?”

You know he’s trying to lighten the mood, but you don’t find it funny. You don’t say anything as he starts to remove some of the glass from your skin, carefully and precise as to not cause you more injury. He seems to get the hint, that you’re not in the mood for anything lighthearted, so he stops and falls silent that only you break after a few minutes. 

“I’m ugly, Chanhee.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll get a cute haircut and you’ll be perfect again.”

Even if that were to be true, you’d never be Chanhee. You felt so jealous, the more you thought of it. So much so, that you wanted to hate him. You wanted to tell him how unfair it was, that he didn’t deserve it when you did, but you would never dare to break what made you two so close. You loved him.

“I don’t want a haircut. I want my hair.”

“I know,” but he says it like you should know that it’s not an option. You do know, and it makes you want to die inside. 

Another knock and a voice you make out to be Juyeon’s, so you let Chanhee reach over and unlock the door as a familiar figure leans in with a smirk on his face. Maybe it’s seeing you sat here naked, but you turn your head away to avoid looking at him, “ambulance is here. We’ve docked.”

Chanhee finishes getting one more piece of glass out and helps you up, Juyeon handing you your dress and helping you with your shoes, touching your bare legs so carefully that it makes you feel a little shaky. He smiles, looking up at you with sweet gentle eyes that are so unlike him and once again bring in the idea of a motive to your mind, “your mothers gonna kill you for that glass, by the way.”

Everything else after the boat docked had become a blur. You had some mild burns but your now ruined dress had protected most of the flames before they were put out, so most of the marks were faint angry red shades on your back that would likely fade over time if you kept it well treated and applied an ointment to avoid scarring. You’d been grateful that it hadn’t been worse but the state you were in didn’t quite feel better.

Your hand wasn’t broken, but one of the gashes had been pretty bad unbeknownst to you and it had needed five stitches, everything being wrapped up in a bandage as you were told to rest a couple of days. 

You’d wanted to rest, but the following morning, your mother had other ideas.

“Juyeon tells me you had an accide- my god, what happened to your hair?”

“I burned it off,” came your response, feeling your blanket being ripped away from you, your bare legs being met with the cold air as you tried to adjust your shirt. 

“Why in heaven's name would you ever do that?” God, you could laugh. She clearly didn’t know you, if she ever thought you’d do such a stupid thing intentionally. 

“I’ll get it sorted,” though you’d made no attempt at making an appointment. As long as the outside world didn’t see you, you could be as ugly as you wanted. 

“You, young lady, are headed to class,” she slaps the bottom of your leg before running over to your beloved curtains, tearing them open and letting the offensive light blind you, “you’ve missed far too much already.”

“I’d rather die than go looking like this,” you mutter, earning you another slap to your skin that makes you sit up sharply and glare at her with such discontent, she must know that you hate her. 

“Should’ve made an appointment in the morning then. You can fix it later, but you’re going, now.”

There was no point in arguing. Even with a valid doctor's note, it was pointless. She’d make you go to uni and whatever you said would be entirely without point because it wasn’t valid. It didn’t matter. The best you could do was attempt to look presentable despite your singed hair and then run to your family's go to salon for help right after.

You made sure to wear something revealing. Something hopefully distracting enough so that the hair you’d tied up in a bun, wouldn’t be very noticeable. You actually thought you managed to hide it with fair success, but you had to pull out nearly every trick you knew about a tight ballerina bun to hide most of the damage. The biggest issue was the damaged strands being so short in length sometimes, that they kept falling back out and refusing to lay the way you wanted them to. 

Your mother had already left the house by the time you were ready, in a tight mini skirt and a shirt kept together by string in the middle, showing plenty of skin all the way down to your pierced navel. It was just enough to grab attention away from everything else that needed fixing. 

Getting to class made you realise just how much people talk. As if the vitriol from Juyeon humiliating you with Changmin’s name hadn’t been bad enough, now everyone seemed to know about your burns and the bandage on your hand didn’t help either. You’d overheard someone say that they thought you’d gone off the rails, making you shove your shoulder against theirs so that they fell off balance. 

But that girl hadn’t been the only one to say it. It felt like everyone was looking at you again, like this was high school and your dirty little secrets were all exposed to be mocked and tormented until you well and truly became the off the rails mess that they already claimed for you to be. The looks were horrific, but the fake sympathy in trying to speak to you was worse. 

Though you’d truly wanted to lose it when you overheard the sympathy Eric was getting. How sorry he’d been and how it had been such a horrible accident. How bad he felt, that you’d rejected his apology and been so cruel to him. That you were truly a horrible person. Even if it might’ve been true that Eric felt bad, he had hurt you, and yet no one spared any real empathy for you. No one cared. 

You had one more class for the day but a long gap in between where you’d need to find something to do, and so you settled on the park nearby with a small lunch and a coffee, having a sip before you reached for the tobacco in your bag. 

You still wouldn’t call yourself a smoker, but you could use one now and it was still practice and improvement from the absolute travesty you had rolled before. Besides, you found it peaceful, to sit there and roll a cigarette to then smoke or save for later. 

“It’s getting better,” you look up and see Changmin already with a cigarette between his lips, placing it between his fingers to move it down and away from his mouth as he exhales. He’s dressed warm, in a dark sweater and jeans with a coat over both, his eyes staring at your own as he takes you in, “you want help?”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t ask if you needed it. I asked if you wanted it,” you were struggling and he could tell. Your hand still hurt from injuring it and it made rolling even more awkward, so eventually you relented and just shoved the bag of tobacco out for him to take. He sighs and sits next to you, turning his body a bit towards you as he discards his own cigarette entirely in favour of starting over. 

“Why’d you waste it?”

“Well, I figured if I offered it to you, you’d refuse it,” he was right, “I’ll roll two.”

Normally you’d be tempted to argue and fight with him using your stuff, but you have no energy and he was kind enough to share with you last time. You watch him, the way his fingers work together to roll the first cigarette, and you can’t say you’re not entranced because you are. The way he does it makes it all seem so easy. 

He seals the first cigarette with his tongue before placing it behind his ear, and you swear for the first time you saw a hint of jewellery, “do you have a piercing?”

“I have more than one,” he gets to work on the next one, looking over at you briefly as you try not to stare too obviously. You’d seen the ones on his ear but the one on his tongue had been new to you. 

“I never noticed.”

“We don’t really talk,” he hands you your cigarette and you nod in thanks, twisting it between your fingers once to inspect it before placing it between your lips. You end up fiddling with your lighter, huffing in frustration each time it refuses to light. The wind worked against you and it seemed low on lighter fluid already, but still you persisted. 

“Here,” his cigarette is lit, and he places the burning side against yours, “just inhale.”

You listen to him and the flames transfer to your cigarette when you do, thanking him again, though you’re not sure why he didn’t just offer you his lighter instead, “I had it.”

“Sure,” you both fall silent again and you must admit it’s getting a little bit annoying to have nothing to really talk about. It seems so pointless, like it holds no real purpose and yet there’s a comfort in just being sat here and clearing your head. 

“What did you do with your hand?”

“You’re telling me you haven’t heard?” you don’t believe it. Changmin might not socialise but he does hear about things. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been so wrapped up in the last one. Or maybe that one only reached him because it directly involved him. 

“Isn’t it better to hear the truth from you?” he surprises you again. You hadn’t really thought of it that way. In your eyes, people were always quick to believe what they were told from others whether or not it was the truth. Especially from those whose words held more weight simply because of who they were. And if someone like Younghoon, who you suspected, was running around telling people you were insane, they were bound to believe it without fact checking his claims at all.

“I broke a mirror,” he laughs, as if it’s amusing to hear about your screw up and you wonder if it would be worth hitting him again. 

“You really are something else, even for a rich person,” you want to know if that surprises him. If he’s as confused by you as you are by him and his strange behaviour. He seems to bite back less in sarcasm today, but he still speaks like he’s unimpressed, unphased by your violent outburst and rather finding it amusing. 

You stare at him for a long time, taking in his side profile up close. The way his glasses frame his face, how his dimples aren’t as deep but still there because he’s trying to bite back his amusement in a smile that you find pretty, even if you won’t say it. He takes another drag of his cigarette, then turns his attention back to you, though it quickly falls from your face to your hair as he gestures to it, “and this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair up.”

“You pay attention to things like that?”

 “Unintentionally, yes.”

“But you don’t notice it’s burnt?”

“Oh, no, I noticed it,” of course he did. He was probably waiting for the opportunity to tug your hairpins out so he could see the disaster that is your hair. It probably didn’t matter, really, if he saw it, but you liked the belief that you could remain beautiful, at least in someone's eyes, regardless of who they were. 

Then again, Changmin might not find you pretty at all. 

“I wasn’t meant to come today but my mother told me to. I haven’t been able to fix it,” you’re not sure why you’re honest, especially to him, but he doesn’t really say anything at first while he continues smoking, “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this.”

“Neither do I,” god, what an asshole. He simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut and accept it, “is it true a freshmen burned it off?”

“So you did hear about it?”

“I saw him getting coddled in the hallway. I think a girl brought him flowers,” of course she did. He gets flowers and you get to drop a couple of hundred at the hairdresser to salvage what’s left. You’re not even sure you want to go at all and be faced with the vitriol. 

“I really don’t need our family hairdresser to tell the whole community about my hair being charcoal black because of a drunk night out.” 

“You have a family hairdresser?” it’s like it’s the most absurd thing you’ve said, stranger than your hair being burnt by an open flame, or the fact that you smashed a mirror and your mother dragged you out anyway, or the countless other things, actually, that you’d said and he hadn’t really cared to comment on. 

“You focus on the wrong things.”

“And all you focus on is superficial at best,” you wonder what he considers the worst, “so you’re not going to get it fixed?”

No, you are going to get it fixed. That’s what you want to tell him, that of course you’re going to drag your ass there right after your final lesson is over. That it’ll be perfect again tomorrow and you will be perfect and you can forget all about it. Maybe you can even forgive Eric if you’re feeling extra generous, although you don’t think you will be. 

“I will. I just… have to find another hairdresser. I don’t really know how to do that.”

“Google it?” you grimace, eyeing him strangely yet he looks at you like you have three heads. Like something is seriously wrong with you and you wonder if he’s right or if he just has no concept of the real world.

“I don’t want them to say something.”

“I doubt they care,” Changmin offends you, but he says it nonchalantly and casually as he puts out his cigarette and discards the filtered end, “let me do it.”

“I’d rather die than let you touch me,” it’s a quick answer, snapping back at him with determination because you really would rather sign an early death than let him any closer than he already is just sitting here next to you. 

“But I don’t care about how ridiculous you might look,” so he admits you probably look insane. You know better than to believe that he wouldn’t laugh at you, yet you also wonder if maybe that was better than it being spoken around your closed community and bringing embarrassment to your parents for your drunk failings. They didn’t care what you did if it didn’t affect them, yet this might and therefore it became a bigger problem. 

“Do you even know how to cut hair?”

“How hard can it be?”

“Absolutely not,” you think that’s the end of it, but you hadn’t known Changmin to be so determined with something such as this, for he seems persistent in making a case for himself as he turns to you fully. 

“I think you should think about it.”

“You could make it worse. You have no idea what you’re doing and you hate me too,” he doesn’t disagree with it, though he does seem to think. Perhaps another way of making his case though you really don’t know what could convince you when you had money at your fingertips to even fly halfway across the globe for someone to fix it for you. 

Which, actually, might’ve not been a bad idea. No one would know you abroad.

“I wouldn’t cut it any more than where the strands are burnt.”

“No.”

“Fine, at least let me see it.”

“Absolutely not,” he huffs like a child, watching the clouds pass while the sky dims to a depressing grey, indicating rainfall. You don’t need to be laughed at, especially by someone lesser than you.

“I have to go,” you want to ask him how his date went. You remember it now that he goes to leave. Yet you also know not to ask him. The last thing you wanted was his assumption that you might be interested in him, “you can think about it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Suit yourself, little doll,” he leaves you alone and you simply stay sat with a frown on your face until the raindrops start falling and you’re forced to go inside. 

They had all been right. You’d lost your mind, completely, because the hairdresser you had found completely destroyed your ends even more and you refused to let yourself be seen by anyone until it was fixed. Like a dog with his tail between his legs, you drove to university without the intent of actually going to class, but rather waited like a stalker for Changmin to appear at some point, because he had to, right?

It took far longer than you’d hoped, because the first time he had appeared, there were far too many people around for you to give in to his suggestion of doing it himself, but turns out paying for it to have it done professionally hadn’t done much of a difference and had been far from worth it. 

The second time he came out, he had his nose in a book and was barely watching where he was going, and you figured it would be the perfect time to step out and talk to him. You’d still dressed up, albeit not as much as you usually might to avoid detection, when you approach him and stand right before him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his head not moving up to look at you as he keeps walking. You felt ridiculous chasing him, but you grabbed his shoulder and stopped him in his steps, finally looking up to face you, “oh, it’s you.”

“What do you mean, oh?” 

“Exactly what it sounds like. What the fuck happened to your hair?” Changmin asks, seeing that you kept it out but hidden under the hood of your jacket, and he could still see the damaged parts as you’d eventually gotten up mid hair appointment to leave before she could finish and do any worse.

“Someone fucked it up, obviously. Are you stupid?”

“No, but your insults when you want something from me are a poor choice,” you cross your arms, standing straighter to look down on him, heels just tall enough to do so while he adjusts and closes his book, “so, what is it?”

“I… need your help,” fuck, that pains you. It really kicks your ego and confidence to have to ask something of him. Well, not that you had to, but you were refusing the family hairdresser even more now and if Changmin fucked up too, at least his services were free. 

“You want my help?”

“You offered it,” you bite back, but he doesn’t seem pleased. If he was taking his offer back, you felt like he should just say so, but instead he was smiling as he lit a cigarette. 

“That I did,” he was so cocky, it reminded you of Juyeon, “I guess I could give it a try.”

“You said you would.”

“I said I can do it if you’d like me to try.”

“And I’m telling you to.”

“But you should be asking me.”

“Changmin, you think I haven’t been through enough embarrassing shit because of you? You owe me this fucking favour before I break your neck with my heel.”

He stops entirely, eyeing you up and down briefly before he finally settles on your eyes again. It’s a little intimidating to have him stare at you so intently, but you refuse to show discomfort and stand your ground. He fucking owed you this and you knew that he did. He did owe it to you, at the very least for the rumour involving you and Juyeon.

“Okay, sure. But I’m driving.”

He discards his cigarette and holds out his hand for the key, and you really think he’s joking before he gives you another look telling you to hurry up. 

“Are you serious?”

“Think of it as payment,” it’s crazy to you but you ultimately agree. Curse you for not using your driver for one day, but why should you when you weren’t even planning to attend classes. It just left another witness to tell your parents that you had been faltering in the one thing they expected you to do well on. 

“I hate you,” his hands hold the key to your Mercedes and he seems content, and you watch as he steps up inside your car so carelessly that it makes you nearly cry out to tell him off.

When you get in, he leans over and places his bag down by your feet and you note that same cologne that had sat on his hoodie that you took so long ago. A creature of habit, whereas you went through various perfumes depending on the type of outfit you were wearing. 

“Can you be more careful? The interior is custom.”

“Of course it is,” he adjusts the seat and you realise what a bad idea this really was because everything he changes now, you’ll have to change back, but it was too late. He settled and reversed the car far faster than you would’ve liked, barely looking in his rearview mirror to see if he’d hit someone. 

“Do you even know how to drive?”

“It’s an automatic. Even an idiot can drive one. Exhibit A,” he looks at you and you ignore it by looking ahead before he abruptly hits the breaks because someone crosses the parking lot completely unexpectedly, “god, some people just want to die.”

“Do you even have a licence?”

The silence confirms your expected fear and you cannot believe you just put your life in his hands. You wish you could hit the brakes, but he’s turned into the main road and now you’re wondering if you’ve well and truly lost your mind. You can practically hear Chanhee’s voice berating you for the insanity that you’re currently in. 

“Where am I going, by the way?”

“I guess my house,” he sighs, and your hand instinctively falls to the wheel to pull him more to the right to avoid the left lane.

“Yeah, and where is that?”

“Oh, right. I’ll write it in the nav,” he scoffs like it’s absurd, but you’re not really in the mood to give instructions and honestly you didn’t think you’d be very good at it. You knew the way well and your mind would naturally think where to turn without saying it outloud. 

“You’re driving too fast,” at this point you’d fully accepted your potential demise, because making him pull over seemed like an almost worse idea at this point. 

“I thought it was sixty.”

“It’s fifty,” you answer him, and at least he listens and slows down, maybe because being caught meant you’d both be in horrific trouble. 

There’s no music and the silence in such close proximity isn’t exactly your idea of fun, but it’s becoming a little more familiar than you’d like to be like this with Changmin. It wasn’t that you liked him or enjoyed his company, but the way you both sat together without speaking had become a little common, at least enough that you found it to be okay. 

“This cannot be real,” he mumbles, the gates to your community closed before you hand him the keycard. He looks at it like it’s alien, but he opens the window and reaches for the keypad to open the gate, “I actually hate rich people.”

He doesn’t sound genuine, more baffled if anything as he drives in and over to your house. His eyes just widen more as he parks outside the front steps leading to the massive entrance door, but you’re more relieved that you survived driving as a passenger with someone that had no right to even take you anywhere with a car, “I was gonna say park in the garage but I suppose you can leave it.”

“I think I’m good, yeah.” 

You step out with him, taking the key back as soon as he lets it dangle between his fingers for you to take, and you walk in with him and greet one of your cleaners that seems more than a little surprised to see you with someone. Normally you might make an attempt to hide who you were with, but she was nice and didn’t speak often, especially to your parents unless it was work related, so you knew her to not be the type to say something. 

You really hoped, anyway, or you were definitely fucked. 

“Do you have scissors for cutting hair?”

“I think we do somewhere. I’ll ask someone,” though Changmin doesn’t seem to be listening, because his eyes are cast elsewhere and you notice your little ragdoll perched on the railing and looking at him with curious eyes. 

“Oh, look at this little cutie,” he approaches her carefully, holding his hand out gently but she seems more than a little excited, which you find unusual, though maybe she sensed his compliment to stroke her little ego. 

“Thought you didn’t like cats?”

“How can I not when I see this little dear, hmm?” 

She purrs in response, pushing her head up into his palm as he scratches her ear, and you nearly roll your eyes at seeing her unusual affection. She liked Chanhee, sure, but even that had taken some time, but with Changmin she’s practically on his lap within the first minute. 

“Do you have any treats for her?”

“Sure, they’re in my room. Or the kitchen.”

He follows after you, the little lady prancing after him like she’s straight out of the aristocats, elegant in how she moves and so confident in her step. Lady really is a diva.

“They’re on the desk,” you gesture over to the corner and Changmin moves over to find them, but he’s slow and looking around like he’s taking it all in. It leaves you a little vulnerable, only because the way you’ve decorated is a look inside who you are, feminine and expensive, with simple colours and beautiful plants and endless books that are overflowing on your shelf. 

“I didn’t know you read.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re a pain in my ass. Here you go, darling,” he crouches down, holding out a treat for your cat while you open a window. She seems pleased, tapping his hand for more with her little paw and even you admit it’s a cute display of affection from her. 

“I’ll look for the scissors.”

Changmin doesn’t answer, busy being loved by a cat and so you leave them both while on the hunt for some scissors. In the end, you ask one of the cleaners if he’d seen any around while finishing up your parents’ bathroom and to your surprise the search is successful when you go through one of the drawers. 

You pass the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, one for Changmin too because you hadn’t asked and you were not prepared to walk back downstairs again in case he wanted some. That, and you brought a packet of gummy bears, not for you but him, and then came back upstairs to see Changmin still on the floor waving a string with a little tiger on the end that Lady was chasing relentlessly. 

“I found them,” he looks up at you and she takes the opportunity to pounce on the toy, dragging it between her claws as he tries to push against her, “I also have water.”

“Voss?”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t that overpriced tap water?”

“Tap water tastes like blood. This is citrusy,” you hold it out to him, and he takes it despite his apprehension.

“Put a lemon in it,” he says, before adding, “and why do you know what blood tastes like?”

“Why do you not?”

He gets up while you rummage around your room, moving your chair right in front of your mirror to give you a view of what he’s doing, “I might need wine, on second thought.”

“I’m not going to ruin your hair any more than it already is,” at least he acknowledges the horrific state it was in, but you knew that, “did the hairdresser cut it that weirdly?” 

“I didn’t let her finish. Look at this,” you show him one of the butchered strands and even Changmin looks more than a little shocked that a professional had done such a horrific job.

“I’ll have to cut quite a lot. You realise that, right?”

You did. Of course you knew your once beautiful long hair would be no longer than right by your shoulder and that fucking shattered your heart and confidence, but you could not keep it like this either and magically having longer hair again wasn’t happening without a wig or extensions. 

“I won’t cut before you tell me it’s fine but a lot of it is still burnt up to about… here,” he gestures to your collarbone, though he’s careful not to touch you. Maybe he knows you won’t like it and he’s right, you wouldn’t like it, but you were surprised by his way of keeping boundaries. 

“If you manage to do this well I’ll buy your groceries for a week,” Changmin perks up, like he hadn’t expected it but they were words he was happy to hear. Almost like he needed it. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” and now your mind wandered again, because he’d insisted he had at least some money and yet he made it sound like he was struggling just to buy some food. Though you try not to dwell on it as you grab your hairbrush to gently get the knots out of your hair.

“I really don’t want you to cut more than you need to.”

“I already told you I won't,” he’s getting frustrated, you can tell, but you want to make sure he gets it. If he didn’t listen to you, it would be so much worse and you’d be absolutely destroyed, and Changmin likely wouldn’t care because it didn’t affect him. 

“Okay, so I have a plan,” he says, and even those words cause you worry but you’re willing to hear him out before you both commit, “I’ll just cut all the long hair that’s left up until slightly above your chest and then I’ll actually be neater and more precise with what’s left to work with that’ll get rid of all the burnt hair.”

Not a terrible plan, actually. It’s not like he’d have to be neat cutting up to a certain point if it wasn’t going to stay. It would be a waste of both your time if he did it that way, “okay, we’ll try that.”

“Do you want any music?” Changmin asks you, your cat jumping up onto the bed to perch herself on the edge and watch the way you both move and speak. You wonder if she can tell you both dislike each other, or if she thinks maybe that’s a friend. It makes you curious to know how cats think, but that was a whole other thought process that you were honestly too sober to consider really having. 

“I can turn some on,” you connect your phone to your speakers, pressing the shuffle button and leaving it on one of the coffee tables you had next to the mirror full of perfumes and some accessories. 

You take a seat and place a towel that you’d gotten around your back and a little towards the front of your body, adjusting your back so it’s straight as Changmin stands behind you. You watch him in the mirror, the way he studies your hair and seems to be contemplating on how to best approach it. It makes you nervous, and once again you’re wondering when you became this insane. 

“Okay, I’ll just start cutting.”

“Okay.”

You both fall silent, though you’re left still staring at him in the way you both reflect before you amongst a few polaroids stuck on your mirror. Your heart picks up when you feel his fingers brush the back of your neck as he takes some of your hair between his fingers, but you push it away and try to focus on something else. Anything else. 

The first strands of hair fall and you feel like crying. You see the way they end up on the floor, how they lay there and you feel terrible. It feels like you’re ripping away a big piece of yourself and you didn’t wish for it to ever happen. 

“I can’t believe Eric did this to me.”

“Wasn’t it an accident?”

“I don’t care,” you snarl, crossing your arms and watching him cut away more and more pieces. For a second you wonder if he’s cut too much but he seems to know how to read your mind because he brings what’s left of it to the front of your body so that you can see its length, most of it the promised length he’d agreed on with you aside from the bit of hair that was already ruined or made shorter before he ever got to it. 

“If it helps, I think short hair might suit you,” might. Not that it would, that it might, and that really doesn’t sit well with you, because what if it doesn’t?

“Short hair isn’t pretty on women,” you tell him, but he looks entirely perplexed at your statement, as if he finds it to be absurd.

“According to who? You?”

“Everyone,” a lot of men, mostly, and some women. Juyeon didn’t like it either, you knew that. He’d told you once when one of your female acquaintances had cut her hair and he looked at her like she’d grown two heads. 

“I think some women look better with short hair,” he tells you but you don’t really buy it. Then again, you don’t really know Changmin’s type, and once again you’re reminded of his date. Maybe you could ask now, right? 

“Did your date have short hair?”

Subtle. You could laugh at yourself, laugh at how pathetic you’d become and how Changmin was often the reason for your downfall. Of course he was, and you cursed yourself for ever agreeing to kick him out of that forsaken party months ago. 

“She did not, no. Unless you consider a little over the shoulder short.”

“I do,” he sighs again and maybe you want to smile because honestly, it is a little funny at this point, how quick he is to be annoyed and how quick you are to be the same, “did it go well?”

“Do you really want to know about my dating life?”

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” you lie, because honestly you were really curious to know. You wanted to know what she looked like, if she was beautiful, more so than you. 

“It was fine. Didn’t really have much chemistry,” he tells you, adjusting his glasses briefly as he dusts off some of your cut hair from your back. 

“You mean like sexually?”

“What? No. I mean in general. Chemistry isn’t just sex,” to you, it was most of it. At least you believed it to be. Good chemistry came from desire and lust, which is why you and Juyeon had worked so great when you were in love. You wanted to answer, maybe even defend yourself where he didn’t know you had to, but instead you kept your mouth shut, “I’m going to cut more now.”

“A lot?”

“I think if I play my cards right, it’ll just about be touching your shoulder,” he answers you and you agree, sighing as you adjust the way you sit again and watch him in the mirror. 

You watched the way he concentrated, how he bit his lower lip and occasionally adjusted his glasses if he leaned forward too much. He seemed so intent on doing well that it calmed you just a little. At least he would try, you assumed, and all you’d have to do in return was get his groceries. 

You were both silent for a long time, simply watching his hands move between strands of hair, trying not to tug too much or break off more hair with what was burnt. The music wasn’t overbearingly loud, and your cat was soft asleep now, sprawled out comfortably in your duvet. It was all very peaceful, strangely so. 

You came to realise even more in such silence that Changmin really was just so pretty. 

“You’re staring at me,” he tells you, not once making eye contact with you and yet he’d caught you. 

“What am I meant to look at?”

“I was only telling you.”

“Does it bother you?”

He stops, meeting your eyes in the mirror and suddenly you look away, “no, I don’t really care.”

You both fall silent again and you watch as he fixes the broken ends and frowns when it doesn’t seem to be going how he wants it to. Seeing him concentrate is a little amusing, because his nose occasionally scrunches and he lets out a little breath of air in annoyance when it just doesn’t work. 

“Did you ruin it?”

“Do you really want the truth?”

“Changmin, what the fuck did you do?” 

He laughs, and it sounds so happy and amused you turn around and hit his arm, making him jump back and hunch over even more to clutch his stomach while he chuckles. You want to know what the hell is so funny when he’s potentially done worse to you, but he doesn’t say a single word. 

“Changmin!”

“It’s nothing. I just find your lack of faith in me hilarious,” your arms cross and some of your hair falls to your face, but to your surprise it seems shockingly neat. 

“I was just going to say that I was right. Short hair suits you,” you heart lurches forward again and you’re stunned on what to say. It’s clear to you that it’s a compliment and maybe an attempt at making you feel far better, but all it manages to do at first is make you feel more vulnerable. He’s the first to see you like this and he’s not turning away from it or insulting you the way you would’ve insulted yourself. He’s kinder to yourself at this moment than you would ever be, and it doesn’t even feel forced. 

You don’t know what to say. 

“You don’t need to say that. We’re not friends,” he looks exasperated, like he’s near given up on ever being kind to you and you hope he truly stops trying. You don’t want to be friends, and while you’ll admit he’s not been as bad as you might’ve initially presumed, you would never want to speak of this after. 

“I think it’s nearly done.”

“Are you sure?” Changmin looks at you through the mirror, his eyes finding yours so quickly it makes you stop and stare back at him with strange interest. 

“Mhmm, where’s your hairbrush?” you hand it to him and he thanks you, brushing through the strands with a gentle touch you’ve never even given yourself. He’s so careful, like he truly doesn’t want to hurt you, and you’re not really sure when that became important to you but it makes you smile, “I think I should change majors.”

You know he’s teasing though his confidence leaves you curious. From what you can see, it isn’t terrible, but you have yet to see the full result and it’s scary to realise that your hair no longer reaches very far. You’re not even sure how the hell you’re going to style it when you have to have it up, or want to. In the end, maybe you would need extensions. 

“Do you have any hair oil?”

“I can’t believe you know what that is,” you get up, intentionally ignoring the mirror to stare back as you move to your bathroom, rummaging through one of the drawers before you find the serum you’re looking for, bringing it over to him, “here.”

He nods, standing in front of you and you don’t make an attempt to move. You let him reach for your hair behind your ear, bringing it forward between his delicate fingers with the oil you’d brought him, bringing it to your short ends and you simply let him. He’s never been this close to you, you don’t think, but it surprises you how it doesn’t make you grimace and want to turn away. Changmin’s in your space, but he isn’t invasive with it either, so very careful with his movements like he’s wondering when you’ll actually shrink away. 

“Done,” okay, fuck, now you’d have to look. It would either make you want to curl in on yourself or you’d be content to deal with it, even if you hated the short hair either way. You were already prepared to not like it, but you turn around and it hits you again. 

“I hate it,” Changmin’s face briefly falls, maybe with worry or just genuine upset because it sounds like an insult towards him. It’s the very first time where your heart sinks because you feel bad for making him believe he’d done something horrific when he’d helped you. He looks so genuinely pained, almost like he’s afraid that you’ll turn violent for what he’d done, and how truly sorry he looks makes you feel awful. 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, turning back to him so you can avoid the mirror, and you make an effort to look into his dark brown eyes framed by his glasses, the softness in them not going unnoticed by you. The way he looks like he’s ready to walk out with a knife in his back. 

“No, I just… I hate having my hair short,” you attempt, awkwardly reaching for his arm in an attempt to make it better, but it’s awkward for you both and so you remove your touch and look back at him instead, “I think you did great, Changmin.”

“You can be honest.”

“I am. I think it’s really neat,” which was true. He’d cut it precise and straight just along your shoulder and nothing seemed out of place. It was hard to believe he’d never done this before.

“I should get going,” there’s a voice in the back of your mind offering him to stay a little longer, but your mother could be home at any point and you knew very well that she wouldn’t like Changmin at all, even if he’d done you a favour. 

“Wait…” he stops, his jacket just pulled over one of his sleeves as he looks at you, “what about your groceries?”

“Forget it, it’s fine,” he’s upset. Something is on his mind and you want to know what it is. You don’t really believe him to be the type to be so hung up on one of your insults. He’d never been before, and some had been far worse than this, and yet he’d never been so quiet towards you. 

“No, I think I should,” you reach for your purse and while you can tell he wants to leave, he doesn’t walk out. He waits for you to gather your things and then stares at you. 

“I really don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity. You cut my hair,” he looks like he wants to agree with you. Like he knows that he did and yet he doesn’t really want to acknowledge it. 

“Fine.”

It was already late in the evening when you got to the store, not realising how time had slipped away from you both while you were at home. You’d thought Changmin had been quick, but reality had been different and time had simply flown away from you. 

“This place is expensive.”

“Is it?” you shrug, never having thought of it as you step out of the car, waiting for him to follow suit though he hesitates for far longer before he finally comes out of the car, approaching you with apprehension, “does it matter? You’re not paying for it.”

Changmin huffs, nails digging into his knuckles while he stares ahead at the store in front of you. You weren’t ready to admit to him that you hadn’t done groceries in years because it was always done for you, and you were not going to admit that the corner store when you were missing some snacks was as far as shopping for food went for you. 

“I don’t need you to spend money on me.”

“I doubt I’ll notice it’s gone,” he scoffs, clearly unimpressed as he walks with you. You don’t like it, because it feels like he’s looking down at you again, like you’re lesser than him when that has never been the case. You don’t understand the issue or why it should even concern him if you’re spending your allowance on him, but for some reason it does. 

“You realise the problem with that, right?”

“What problem?”

His kind eyes are gone, replaced with the ones you know far better. The eyes that judge you, that see you as frustrating and annoying, the ones that hate you and think you’re unimportant. You hate that gaze, the way he looks at you, and yet it doesn’t go away, nor does it fade in intensity, even while you watch him grab a shopping cart and step inside because you simply refuse to do it yourself.

“What would you like?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” he starts, clearly in thought before he adds, “I need cat food.”

It catches you off guard. Changmin feels selfless, in that regard. How his first thought for what he needs isn’t for him at all but rather his pet. It makes you look at him differently, even just for a moment.

“That’s at the back.”

He follows you, completely silent and now it feels awkward again. It’s almost amazing how quickly you both revert back to this. 

“What does he eat?”

“He likes tuna,” he reaches for something, a packaged box of cat food with an assortment of different flavours and you grimace. 

“Is that good for him?”

“It’s all I can afford,” he snaps back, putting it in the cart but you don’t seem pleased. If he had a cat, he should at least put in the effort to feed him well. You’d never understand pet owners who practically fed Mcdonald’s to them in jelly form. 

“I’m paying for it.”

“And I’m not changing his diet for a week or two just because it’s not on my dime,” well, you lost that argument, albeit begrudgingly because you didn’t agree with it. 

“Can I at least choose some treats for him?”

“Do whatever you want, princess,” you freeze up, briefly reminded of Juyeon and his voice and the way he calls you princess. How that’s his thing to do, not Changmin’s, nor anyone else’s. You didn’t want anyone else to call you that, yet you were so frozen in place by surprise that you couldn’t tell him to stop. Instead, you fall silent and pick something out for him that you hope he’ll like, placing it in the cart before you follow Changmin to another aisle. 

You don’t speak to him for a while, and it’s so awkward to watch him find random things, and even worse when he finds something only to put it back because the price makes him do a double take. And each time you make an attempt to offer to get it anyway or tell him it really doesn’t make a difference to you, he gives you a look of such discontent, like he wants you to keep your mouth shut and it surprises even you that you do. 

You were stubborn and weren’t one to back down, and yet you would find it so embarrassing if an argument ensued between you both in public. It was bad enough that you were both together with the potential risk of someone you knew seeing it, but even worse if you brought on that attention through your disagreements when you could’ve avoided it. 

“I think I’m done,” you look down at all the items and frown, wondering how the hell that’s meant to last a week. It makes you think again, if he really could make this last for a while or maybe he just really didn’t want to live off your dime and you’re not so sure what bothered you more. 

“Do you not eat?”

“Coming from you?”

Another insult and it leaves you angry, but you also wonder if he’d noticed. If he had, you wondered how. If he was simply attentive or watching you constantly when you weren’t looking like some creep, “I eat.”

“I’d hope so,” you want this evening to be over. It would be nice to go home and curl up in your bed, to maybe call Chanhee and hear your best friend’s voice, to maybe text Juyeon to get a goodnight that was kind and sweet, to maybe ask Hyunjae if he was planning a party any time soon so that you’d have something new to look forward to and redeem yourself and your reputation. 

“There’s nothing else you want?”

“Nope,” you look down at all he’d chosen again and it just doesn’t sit right with you, but you don’t say anything else. It’s none of your business, how he chooses to consume his meals or what his motive or intentions are in not taking advantage of you buying everything for him, but it feels like an insult to you and your money that he’s not using it properly. 

It also bothers you, how he’d seemed enthused earlier at the prospect of you getting groceries for him, how he’d even laughed while doing your hair and how when he'd smiled it even reached his eyes, only to stand here with him now and see the way his eyes seem lifeless, how his smile has faded and he seems so miserable and over being around you. 

“Fine,” is your answer, cold just like him as you both go to the check out, paying for all his things whilst he packs them up. You’re both so silent, the woman scanning all his items gives you both a look, as if she knows you’re both fighting and can feel the tension between you both. 

You don’t end up spending much at all, far less than you’d expected, and yet when you try to pay, Changmin steps up to you, “I’ll just get it.”

“No, I want to get it,” you push him away from you, but he surprises you in his strength and resistance, barely moving an inch while you try to tap your watch against the card machine. 

“I don’t want you to.”

“I said I would!” you snap and he finally stops fighting you, maybe in his shock because you’ve raised your voice publicly, but you manage to pay and the woman gives him a sympathetic look with kind eyes as if to tell him she’s sorry for your behaviour. 

It’s silent as you both go to the car but you can feel his anger radiate off him. You already know he might snap, the question is what his anger will look like. You’re not afraid of it or Changmin, because while you don’t know him well, you don’t believe he’d hurt you in frustration. But you do wonder what he’ll say, if anything at all. 

You try to ignore him by drowning it all out with music, occasionally glancing over at him though he’s on his phone not paying attention to you. It was like having a random strange man in your car, one that wouldn’t take any time to get to know who he was even with, but you supposed that was better than the alternative. 

“I don’t know your address,” you tell him eventually, realising you were just heading back to your place when you should very likely be going a whole other direction.

“Drop me anywhere. I’ll take the bus.”

“I’m already driving,” he sighs, but he doesn’t fight you either, reaching over to the touch screen in the centre of your car to find the navigational system so that he can type in his address. You knew the area by name, though you’d never done more than pass it by. When you were younger, your parents had insisted on avoiding places such as the one you were now going to, for it was full of criminal activity and rather dangerous at night. At least so they said. 

“Thank you for helping me,” it takes a lot for you to say it, so you hope at the very least he’ll realise how difficult it is for you and to appreciate that you managed to say it anyway. He doesn’t react at first, looking outside into the dark, up at the city lights and the way everything reflects, but eventually he pays attention to you again when the trees get boring and a droplet of rain falls onto the window. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Yeah but… you didn’t laugh at me.”

“There was nothing to laugh at,” he made things difficult. It was hard to speak to him, sometimes moreso, because he just seemed so indifferent when you didn’t want him to be. You also knew him to be different, just sometimes, because you’d had little glimpses of it, and you wondered where they went when he stopped smiling. 

“Juyeon would’ve found it hilarious.”

“I’m not Juyeon,” he interrupts angrily, this time turning his head to look at you properly and it distracts you. You were near certain though you’d gotten no real confirmation that they didn’t like each other at all, and yet his instant protest made it far more evident than you’d presumed it to be. 

“You make him sound like a bad person.”

“If he would’ve laughed at you, then isn’t he?”

No. You want to say no. Juyeon was flawed but not bad. He was always so kind to you, until the moments in which he wasn’t but you knew how to ignore those for the good things you got. But then you wondered why you’d broken up at all if he was what you wanted. It was hurting your head to think about it, to think about Juyeon was always so complicated and painful, yet here you were again wondering if you could ever have him back. 

“He’s not that bad.”

“Right,” you’re not sure why you wanted him to fight with you. To tell you you’re wrong, that Juyeon was fucking terrible and destroyed every little bit of confidence within you so that he could mold it back together into the perceived beauty that he wanted. Until you were created to be only his. 

You’re not sure why you want Changmin to say it, because you know you’ll resist him anyway. 

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, really. I just don’t get it. I’ll never understand wanting to be hurt by someone you think should love you,” you fall silent first. You want to defend Juyeon but you’re not sure how to do it without sounding pathetic. 

“He does love me,” Changmin doesn’t say anything else. He rolls down your car window and lights a cigarette without even asking if he can though you say nothing about it. Maybe you might normally, but you stop yourself this time because your thoughts are muddled and you’re not sure you can even really think. 

“It’s just here,” he breaks you out of your thoughts and you park just a bit down the road where there’s space, watching him get out of the car but you stay put at first. You feel a little numb, frozen even, though when he opens the trunk of the car, you finally snap out of it and follow after him. 

“You don’t need to help me,” you don’t listen to him, grabbing one of the bags before shutting the back of your car and looking at him expectantly, “you’re not coming inside.”

“Fine.”

You’re a little disappointed. Mostly because your curiosity has grown and you really want to meet his stray cat, but Changmin seems determined to keep you away from the little furball, “next time then.”

He seems as surprised as you by your words, although deep down you think you both know they’re not meant. You likely won’t ever be here again, and so the final steps to the front door of the apartment complex is all you’ll ever get a glimpse of into his life. You wonder how he lives, what it looks like, if it’s neat or cluttered, dark or bright.

You wonder if his interior reveals his interests and hobbies, or if it’s monotone and hard to decipher. You realise you wonder so much in this moment, about Changmin and who he is, what he’s really like away from what you see. But maybe what’s inside is too vulnerable for him to reveal, that he keeps it to himself because it feels safer. 

You wonder even if just for a moment, what it would be like to get to know him beyond you both standing here in the light rain.  

“Well, thank you for the groceries,” you hold the last bag out to him for him to take and he does, leaving you to stand there with no real purpose other than to look at him. 

“Yeah… of course,” you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve forgotten how to formulate a sentence and it feels suffocating to stand here with him. You really want to leave, though not because you detest Changmin in the way you might sometimes believe, but rather because it feels so strange to just stand there with him, with no real purpose or gain out of it, “goodnight Changmin.”

He nods, reaching for his key rather awkwardly and you’d help if it didn’t mean reaching into the pocket of his jacket. You watch him struggle though he manages eventually, turning only briefly before he ultimately sighs, “I should walk you to the car.”

You want to ask why until you remember what your parents had said. Maybe they were right, that it really was unsafe and Changmin knew it too, “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t care,” he puts his bags down in the hall right next to the door, letting it fall shut after him as he comes back down the steps to where you stand to begin the short journey back to your car. It’s so awkward between you both, so painfully silent and you think back to the woman at the grocery store again, the way she’d stared at you both. 

“Well, I survived the walk to my car,” you think you see a faint smile on his face, but you don’t want to comment on it in case he notices and lets it fade away again, “goodnight Changmin. For real this time.”

Changmin smiles. He genuinely smiles and his dimples show on his cheeks enough to make you want to mirror a similar upturn of your lips. It’s contagious, and he stands there as you shut the door though let your window down just a little in case he wants to say anything else to you. 

At first, you don’t think he’s going to. You think he’s going to let you leave but when you start the car, he leans his arms against the opened window and looks up at you again, carefully, as if his eyes are searching for something within your own and you wonder if your cheeks look as warm as they suddenly feel. 

“Get home safe, little doll,” you want to answer but you’re left completely stunned by him. The wave of emotions you go through in his company can’t be quite good for you. It makes you feel vulnerable and a little confused and you can do nothing to help it. It’s simply there, every single feeling is right at the surface and you can’t hide it. 

It makes you feel so exposed, enough that your words get caught in your throat and you have to simply drive away, seeing him in your rearview mirror, and you hope he gets inside and off the street if it really is as bad as you’d been told here. 

You don’t mean to do it, but after a few minutes you turn around just to check that he’d gone inside, slowing down when you don’t see him anymore, nor do you see the groceries he’d placed down just inside when he’d chosen to walk you back to your car. 

Which meant he was okay, and you could go home. 

You’re at another one of Juyeon’s parties and you’ve had a little too much to drink. You don’t know what time it is, nor are you sure on where you’re even going. It’s disorienting for you to even walk, dizzying in hallways you’re familiar with and yet you can’t make out where you are. Eventually you give up and try to roll a cigarette, but you swear you’re seeing double and can’t even imagine the state you’re in. 

Wondering if you look like a disaster, you try to see if you recognise anyone, though you’re alone aside from a couple making out not too far away from you. It bothers you a little, but you don’t want to bring their attention towards you and instead remain silently sat on the hardwood floor, beautifully dark and expensive. The music is still loud so you figure you must still be close to the main living room but you can’t be sure. 

“Little princess, I’ve been trying to find you,” Juyeon’s worried voice breaks you out of whatever daze you’re in, looking up to see him stand there in his dress shirt that clings tight to his thin waist. He’s beautiful, of course, and you become aware of the state you must look like, now that something so gorgeous is in front of you. 

What is happening to you?

“Am fine,” you mumble, wanting to close your eyes as much as you want to go outside to have a cigarette. 

“You look awful,” you know. He doesn’t need to tell you, and yet when he does it stings deep and makes you wish he hadn’t said anything at all. You wish for just a moment that he’d lie to you and tell you otherwise, in a way that makes you think that the opposite might be true. 

You want Juyeon to tell you that you’re pretty. 

“I know,” he stares at you, silently first before he crouches down to your level. Your eyes meet and his are dark but pretty, a certain glazed spark that makes you want to kiss him, but you don’t. 

“I can take you to my room,” you nod, holding your hand out to him so he can help you to your feet, and you stumble into his chest when gravity decides to not be in your favour, “when did you turn into such a drinker?”

You’re not sure, really, what had made you drink so excessively tonight, but Juyeon knew that you drank and could drink a lot so the question still takes you aback. Does he think you’ve gone off the rails? 

“Am not…” though your lack of coordination and the fact that you feel increasingly ill from being intoxicated seems to suggest otherwise. Remembering how much you’ve had would be impossible to decipher so you wouldn’t even attempt it. 

“Here… you should shower first.”

“Don’t wanna…” as if you’d trust yourself to even stand upright in the shower, but Juyeon seems just as persistent as you. 

“I’m not letting you in my bed in this state,” you scoff, thinking it’s unbelievable that his first concern would be his silken bed sheets though simultaneously you know you’d be just the same. No way you’d ever let someone this drunk on your mattress with the chance that they’d be sick. You understood perfectly, and yet it still made you angry. 

“Why’d you care so little about me?”

Juyeon doesn’t say anything first, leading you to the bathroom and you sit against the door, watching him move around without his attention ever going to you. It almost confirms the question, that he’s so indifferent and careless because you’re not worth even worrying about. 

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?”

You’re getting angry and it shows, pushing your body up with all the strength you can possibly find in your body, Juyeon catching you the moment you threaten to fall back to the floor. Even if he caught you, he seems to push your body away from him, like he doesn’t want you any closer and it kills something in you to have him act this way towards you when he’d been so sweet before. 

“Why’re you doing this?”

“You should go home. I’ll get Chanhee,” normally, he would've let you stay. Juyeon would let you stay in his bed and the fact that he isn’t even offering it makes your heart sink deep, a heavy weighted feeling in your chest that’s just equally as hollow. Your heart is breaking and he doesn’t seem to care at all, nor does he seem to care for the consequences. 

You stand completely alone, looking around the bathroom before you get a burst of energy that has you looking for any remnants of cocaine in any of his drawers. Juyeon hid it well, just in case the cleaners rummaged more than he’d requested, because he did not need anything to get back to his parents in regards to some of his more worrying behaviour. Unfortunately, you come up entirely empty and the door opens to you surrounded by a mess of his things. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Juyeon is so angry, you truly want to fear him with how he looks at you, but Chanhee and Hyunjae both stand there too, with Hyunjae even moving to block Juyeon’s body from you. You’re not sure why he does it, but to know he seems more concerned for you than the man you loved brought a new pain to your chest that really made you want to cry. He was so careless and it hurt. 

“I’ll just take her home- don’t,” Chanhee glares at Juyeon when he makes an attempt to move towards you, and you’re grateful for your best friend when he helps you back up, albeit you have no way of really focusing in on him, your vision blurry and tired. 

“Did she take anything?” Hyunjae. You think it’s Hyunjae, his voice soft and gentle, sounding entirely sober and you wonder if he’d had anything to drink at all. Usually he did, a bottle always famously in hand yet he seemed so okay now, you couldn’t imagine it. 

“Don’t know,” cold. His voice sounds so cold and careless, it’s the only thing you can focus on. You can’t pay attention to Chanhee holding your body up or the fact that Hyunjae is right in front of you. You don’t even notice.

“It’s like she’s been drugged,” Chanhee. It’s Chanhee, and he sounds more angry than Juyeon, though for an entirely different reason. He’s concerned for you, but in a tone you’re not familiar with. 

“Just get her out then.”

“She’s about to pass out, Juyeon.”

“I don’t care, Chanhee.”

Your vision is spotted and you start to think that maybe Hyunjae’s question has merit. You’d had plenty to drink but in your mind it hadn’t been enough to act like this. Yet you were so out of it, so unaware and so ready to sink back to the floor where your heart already lay in pieces. 

“I’ll carry her. Let’s just go,” you can’t make out the voice anymore. You can barely make anything out as you feel yourself being lifted up onto someone’s back. He’s warm and strong, a cologne you recognise but not familiar enough with for it to belong to Chanhee. If it’s not your best friend and it isn’t Juyeon, it had to have been Hyunjae. 

You hope it’s Hyunjae. He’s the one you’d trust the most after the two other men in the room with you. 

You don’t remember falling asleep nor do you remember waking up, but there’s a sharp cold breeze and wind blowing through your short cut hair, earrings swaying with every step of the man who’s carrying you. 

“Should we take her to the hospital?”

“I think she just needs to sleep,” you think that’s Hyunjae. You hope it is. He’s so comfortable to hold and so warm if that’s the case. 

“I can’t believe Juyeon’s such an ass he can’t even let her crash in his bed.”

“I’m gonna talk to him about that,” the voice closest to you tells your best friend. At least you presume it to be. Eventually you let your eyes reopen, nuzzling deeper against Hyunjae’s shoulder once you confirm it really is him.

“You’re awake,” your best friend looks at you with a concerned gaze that has you wanting to turn away. You don’t like that look of pity and concern for your state. You’d much rather ignore the mess you are in favour of pretending it never happened. 

“Hi pretty,” Hyunjae says, turning his head slightly to look back at you. You have to admit it’s incredibly nice to walk with them like this though you’re not sure why they didn’t just get your driver or one of their own, “we’re nearly at my place”

“Mhmm, why didn’t we uber?”

“Figured you could use the fresh air. It’s not much further,” Hyunjae answers, Chanhee walking in silence with you both. 

“You’re really sweet Hyunjae,” you feel him laugh, the vibrations in his chest reaching you and it makes you smile against him. It’s nice, the way he laughs, the way it reaches deep in his chest and sounds so low and carefree. 

“That I am, darling.”

You make it to Hyunjae’s place not long after and you’re not really sure what happens beyond that. You think you remember Chanhee asking if he could stay in the bathroom with you while you shower, just in case you fall or hurt yourself, and you do remember agreeing and even telling him to leave the door open in case Hyunjae had to come in to help. 

After that, it becomes a little more muddled, though you do get a change of clothes from Hyunjae that swallow you whole because he’d already warned you ahead of time that it was too large for him too, and then you’re curled up in the centre of his bed with both your friends on either side of you. 

You’re turned facing Chanhee, far less space between you and your best friend than you and Hyunjae, though Hyunjae had insisted on keeping a larger distance because he didn’t want you to feel weird about sharing a bed with him. He was right, it was a little weird at first to be in bed with him, but you got used to it quickly because you think he made a joke and you know you laughed and then you must’ve fallen asleep before they followed suit. 

And suddenly you didn’t mind it at all.

You swear you’d been hungover for two days after that cursed party at Juyeon’s house. When you had first woken up in Hyunjae’s bed, you’d still felt drunk, and that drunk feeling turned into being hungover with a throbbing headache and the following day it still persisted. It had persisted but you needed to catch up on a lot of studying, having put it on the back burner long enough that soon your parents would notice and say something, or worse, take your allowance from you. 

So you found yourself back at the library, overdressed to compensate and hide how absolutely shit you felt from the amount you’d had to drink, trying to find somewhere to sit. You decided to sit on a table far in the corner, away from everyone yet still within sight of the main area, opening your laptop up and grabbing one of your many notebooks and one of your textbooks. 

You think an hour goes by when you briefly leave to grab a coffee from the cafe just down the street, coming back with a warm drink and another painkiller down your throat because the headache persisted and you had at least a few more hours to study before you could tell yourself it was enough. 

It hadn’t even been a minute since you’d sat when a shadow of a person stood across from you, completely still first as if debating before he speaks, presumably towards you, “you don’t mind, right?”

You raise your head to see Changmin with a coffee from the same place you’d just been to, his hair wet from rain and his glasses a little slanted, his hoodie too large for his body and covering even his palms to imitate little paws. 

“I guess it’s fine,” he sits diagonally to you, adjusting his glasses and you just stare as he gets his books and a notebook out, full of coloured little tabs and sticky notes. It was colourful, unexpectedly so, and very messy in a way. You wondered how he learned anything like that, but maybe he had a method.

“You got home okay last week?”

It’s a question directed towards you but it takes a minute for you to process it while you were in a daze, blinking out of it and focusing on him properly again, the way his hands rest under his chin, two of his fingers twisting one of his rings. 

“Well, I’m here, right?”

He nods, having some of his coffee before he starts to write something. You think that’s all he’ll say, so you turn back to what you’re doing and try to focus on literally anything but him. He was such an easy distraction, and yet he did nothing to be that. 

“Are you hungover?” Shit.

Were you really that obvious, or was Changmin just that good at guessing? You honestly couldn’t tell, and you weren’t sure what you favoured less. 

“I look like shit, don’t I?” Changmin surprises you when he smiles, not in a way that tells you he agrees but in a way that tells you he’s amused. Like he genuinely finds it funny that that was your conclusion to his question. 

“Is that what I said?” Well, no, you supposed not, but it surely felt like it first when he’d posed the question, “you just look a little out of it.”

You were. God, you were so fucking over everything and you couldn’t fully describe or explain what was happening to you. Something was, but you couldn't control it nor did you control your feelings or outcomes of the situations you put yourself in when you didn’t need to be in them. 

“I am, yeah,” he opens the lid of his coffee, as if trying to reach the foam that normally clings to the lid of the cup like glue. You stare at him again like a bad habit, only realising after a while that neither of you are attempting to argue with the other and maybe you don’t detest him so much. 

Just maybe. 

“Juyeon’s, right? I heard about it,” you look away from him in favour of finding your coffee and having some of it before it gets too cold and bitter to taste. You’re not sure what to answer to that, not more than a nod because it feels weird to know that he wouldn’t even have been invited yet he knows that it happened and that you were there. 

“Yeah,” it sounds weak and you try to clear your throat, coughing instead as a result and turning your eyes back to the words in front of you, the mathematical equations that make you want to die the longer you look at them and the scribbles you’re trying to decipher even though you were the one to put them there. 

“You look confused.”

“I am confused,” you tell him, and he surprises you by getting up and coming over to you, hovering into your personal space before you can ask him what the hell he’s doing. He’s close but never too close, and you hope no one is watching you both or peering in to the fact that you’re being friendly. “I can solve it for you if you want,” now it’s your turn to be amused and laugh, because no way in hell is Changmin able to look at your notes with anything other than a giant question mark over his head, “What? You think I don’t know how to do mathematical analysis?”

“Honestly, no,” you confess, and he looks at you strangely before reaching over for one of his pens. 

“I can do the first one. It’ll help you figure out the second question,” you’re not sure why you agree or why you let him so easily take control of your notebook, but he does and you don’t say anything first, watching the way he writes out the equation. His motions are so fluid, the way his fingers grip the pen with confidence in what he writes. There doesn’t seem to be a single mistake as he writes, like he knows exactly how to get the answer and it amazes you. 

“I didn’t know you were smart,” you’d meant it as a genuine compliment and genuine amazement but it’s clear to you that it sounds quite backhanded, which you suppose mirrors your personality towards him more. He doesn’t flinch, ignoring you entirely before he pushes your notes back to you.

“There you go,” he gets up before you can even say thank you, and it’s the sudden absence of his presence beside you that makes you realise you didn’t mind him in your space at all. You feel like you should, that you did just recently, but his closeness to you had felt like a safe presence, not a familiarity yet and not foreign enough to make you alert to it. 

It was just sort of there. He just sort of existed with you. 

“Thank you,” you’ve never sounded so sincere with him before, not that you had ever wanted to be nor meant it, but even when he’d been kind enough to cut your hair and not fuck it up, even then you hadn’t thanked him the way you did now, even if you’d argue that that gesture was far more important to you than this.

“You really don’t need to thank me. I find it weird,” what a way to ruin it. You roll your eyes and turn back to your work instead, using his method of solving the equation to help you figure out the rest. His handwriting was a little sloppy but you could read it fairly well, though the few times you struggle you still refused to ask him to tell you outright what it meant.

“How’s your cat?”

“You don’t have to make conversation either,” he adds, but it doesn’t sound troubled or annoyed, rather a statement that you don’t have to put in effort where you don’t want to. And then you wonder why you’re putting in any effort at all so suddenly, “he’s fine. How’s yours?”

“She’s fine.” “That’s good,” he never once looks up at you and it’s starting to bother you. Are you that ugly, that he simply didn’t want to see you at all? Was there something about you that was so easy to detest that even someone like Changmin couldn’t find it in himself to be decent and meet your eyes?

It’s like he could sense your thoughts and your bitterness of his refusal to meet your eyes, because suddenly his deep brown ones were staring into your own and you found it almost overwhelming to meet his gaze. His eye contact lingered and he didn’t falter with it, and eventually the way he stared back at you became too intense and you had to look away. 

“You’re terrible with eye contact,” you were, he was right. It wasn’t very comfortable for you, and the longer someone lingered on you, the worse it got unless you were angry and intimidating someone. 

“It’s weird to stare at someone.”

“You stared at me first,” fuck, so he’d noticed it. Of course he had. You knew what it was like, to feel that stare of someone enough so that you tried to find where it was coming from. In this case, Changmin had felt it yet there hadn’t been enough people around to hide that it was you. He knew instantly, because it had been obvious. 

“I daydream.”

“How cute,” it sounds sarcastic coming from his lips. You don’t think he genuinely finds you cute. Honestly, you’d take it as an insult if he did. Cute was for animals, not for a grown woman, and so you were glad to know that for once he was mocking you.

There’s no words said between either of you for a while. You finish your coffee and he finishes his, and after a while he gets up and grabs both empty cups once he’s sure there’s nothing left in yours, “where’re you going?”

“Bin,” he leaves you alone and you’re left staring at him dumbly, watching his figure disappear behind rows of books and shelves. But then he doesn’t come back, and a few minutes turn into a quarter of an hour and you want to start looking for him. His things were still with you, including his phone, and you wonder why or when he became so trusting of you. Surely you could take it all or worse, you could ruin it, and he just had faith that you apparently wouldn’t. 

Eventually he reappears, but you only notice because another cup of coffee is suddenly right in front of your eyes, held by hands you recognise because of the jewellery adorned, and it’s only further confirmed when you look up again to see him standing there. 

“You got me a coffee?”

“Why’re you so surprised?”

Many reasons. You don’t like each other very much. His money was tight, that you knew. Or just the fact that it was the last thing you naturally expected when he’d disappeared for so long.

“How do you know what I drink?”

“Guesswork. It’s skimmed milk, too.”

Even Juyeon messed that up. He’d mess it up nearly every time and you could always taste the difference, you swore it, and yet he’d lie and say he’d gotten it right just enough for you to want to believe that maybe you were wrong. Maybe it wasn’t him that screwed up.

Surely it was always you. 

“I really don’t want to keep thanking you today.”

“Then just get the next one in a few hours,” you’re rendered a little speechless on the silent assumption that you’d both be here for most of the day, but you suppose he’s being fair and that it’s very likely you’ll be here for a while, still. 

“I guess,” you mumble, bringing the coffee closer to you to warm your fingers. You hold it for a while, fingers laced together before you bring the liquid to your lips to drink. It tastes exactly like you would’ve wanted it to, and briefly it makes your mind wander on how he could’ve known it so well. 

You’re back to sitting in complete silence and after a few hours go by like that, Changmin seems disinterested in his work and instead wanders off before returning with a book to read. It brings amusement to your lips, an upwards smile that you try to hide under your hand because you don’t want him to comment on it. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he ignores it. 

“Well… I suppose it’s my turn,” you mutter, reaching over for his empty cup before taking your own. He looks up at you with warm eyes, adjusting his glasses again and you start to think that it might be a habit given the repetition in which you see him do so. 

“I’ll have a cappuccino.” 

“Do you want it with the chocolate powder?”

“Yeah, just as it comes is fine,” you leave your things aside from your wallet and phone, as well as the two empty to-go cups and make your way out. It’s a strange feeling, running an errand of sorts you suppose for the both of you. And yet studying with Changmin across from you isn’t bad at all. Actually, you find it strangely peaceful, because he doesn’t bother you at all but his presence makes you feel less isolated. 

You like that he doesn’t really make an attempt at a conversation where there isn’t one to be had. 

“Here you go,” he mumbles something similar to a thank you, at least you think, his hand reaching out for you to place his coffee into. You do so, watching as he doesn’t once look up but his fingers dust over your own and it makes your heart jump to your throat because the feeling is foreign and strange but you want to welcome it. 

You don’t like that you do, huffing in frustration at yourself and your stupid mess of emotions that have been scattered ever since that forsaken incident weeks ago. Maybe you’d have to consider therapy at this point, if the mess that was your mind persisted and the results were hangovers spread over multiple days and heart palpitations because someone simply touched you. 

“Thanks,” you nod but he doesn’t seem to notice, so deeply caught up in his work that you think it might be something important, or at least incredibly interesting. He’d put the book he’d found earlier down and held his pen between his lips, fingers running through his now dry hair as he gripped the ends when he seemed frustrated.

Again, you were staring, but it was far too easy to do when he was right there and practically the only source of entertainment for your mind when your work was boring you to death. 

“Struggling?”

“I suppose,” he draws out, pen no longer between his lips so he could answer you. You want to ask him what he’s doing, what exactly he’s even majoring in because you realise you have no idea. Then again, it had never interested you enough to ask and you’re not so sure if you ever will. 

“Biochemistry,” he says outloud, presumably spoken to you. When you don’t answer, he looks up and stares right at you, “that’s what I’m studying.”

Wow, so he really was smart. 

“Willingly?”

“Surprised?”

“Maybe,” the back and forth felt a little like flirting, and yet you knew it wasn’t that. It was a back and forth simply because the conversation never really went deeper. It was quick because there was nothing else to say. 

It’s early in the evening when you decide that you've had enough. Changmin had left a few times for a cigarette, always rolling one at the table with you right there, making lazy conversation before he’d leave for a few minutes and then return. You debated asking if you could come with him just once before you remembered where you were and who you were with, so instead you sat and accepted the nicotine withdrawal. 

“I think I’m done for the day,” he looks up at you briefly before he stretches his limbs, turning his shoulder either direction to warm his muscles and rid them of the tension from being mostly sat all day. 

“That’s fair,” you start to pack up and there’s something in your mind wondering if you’d end up doing this again. You wouldn’t entirely mind it, as annoying as he is, when you simply sit with each other it’s rather nice and easy. It’s when the two of you start to speak to one another that problems arise. It’s when you realise again who he is that the calmness in your veins turns into something else. 

“You’ll take a break at some point, right?” 

“I plan to, doll,” his eyes meet yours again and you’re left staring, unsure what to make of that nickname anymore. It still bothers you and yet you perceive it as a compliment just the same, for if he calls you a doll, surely you’re delicate enough to be one?

“Don’t forget dinner,” he adds when you start to walk away from the table, and it brings you to a halt. Changmin doesn’t look up from his work, although you know that he’s aware that you’ve stopped, that you’re probably frustrated and that you want to tell him to go to hell when you let out a frustrated sigh. He has no right to tell you that, and yet the very fact that he’d brought it up at all with such casual nonchalance yet clear determined voice makes you think he might say it because he’s worried but doesn’t want to push a boundary further than he thinks he needs to. 

He wants to remind you without pressuring you into a corner.

First you think of saying something, to maybe make a comment back but for the longest time you’re left standing there with nothing coming out of your lips. You simply can’t find anything to say. 

“I’ll remember dinner when you forget to smoke,” he looks up from his textbook but you’ve already turned away from him, disappearing behind the shelfs and he’s left staring after you, a little lost before a faint smile falls back to his lips and his dimples become prominent despite just the faintness in which his lips curve. 

You’d never know that he didn’t smoke for the rest of the night, but you did have dinner before you curled up in your bed with a book and your cat sat lazily beside you. 

Changmin was starting to interest you. Not because you liked him but rather because he left you curious and a little stunned because of how strange he was. You were also wondering how or why he always managed to read you so well, it was all guess work and yet it was simply always correct just the same and you had no idea how he did it. Aside from the thought that he might be stalking you but you were always more than certain that he’d claim to have better things to do than follow you. 

You hadn’t studied with Changmin since the hours spent in the library together but you had used the few notes and solutions he gave you the next few days as you revised. It was incredibly helpful, annoyingly so and you were beginning to feel a little dumb because why couldn't you have just written this out yourself? It wasn’t difficult now that you saw the answer.

Sunday night comes around and you’re lazily hanging around in bed listening to the rain outside. You’re so bored, but there was no party to attend and nothing else to really do. Chanhee said he was too busy and you weren’t going to ask Hyunjae, even though you had his number. You considered it truly, but ultimately didn’t want to give him the wrong idea of you nor were you sure how that would look if Juyeon found out. 

Juyeon. A thorn in your side that pinched and twisted. He wouldn’t go away and you were conflicted on whether or not you wanted him to. You cared for Juyeon deeply and yet he seemed to prove the opposite in return, that you were worth the minimum if nothing at all. The final bit of evidence wasn’t even too long ago, when he left Hyunjae and Chanhee to carry you home instead of simply letting you stay in his bed to recover. 

It was starting to feel, just a little, like Changmin might be right. Maybe the bad did outweigh the good though you weren’t ready to face the consequences of that being true. You weren’t ready for any of it. You didn’t want it to be true, because if it was you would have to grieve something only you seemed to love and you really didn’t want to be faced with that reality. 

The doorbell rings and it breaks you away. It takes you a minute to realise that you’ll have to be the one to answer, as your parents are out and none of the staff remained given the late hour. You wondered why your parents still didn’t invest their money on a live-in butler, but they insisted he would attempt to steal with all the extra time given to him in which he simply stayed here. 

When you come downstairs you’re already a little annoyed. The ringing persisted and whoever it was was incredibly impatient with you getting there, so you’re already ready to yell at whoever it is but when you finally meet the gaze of who it is, you stop in your step and stare.

Juyeon. 

act iii

this chapter was meant to be longer but tumblr said no so I apologise for the cliffhanger it's not my fault and also apologise that this won't be three acts only pfff

taglist: @sanaxo-o @mosviqu @sunramzi @tbzhubrecs @caratsmatic @synnocence

again, let me know if you wanna be on the taglist 💜 comments are always appreciated

series masterlist || tbz masterlist

©️strayed-quokka, please do not steal, translate, reuse or rewrite as your own

[berryless]

And if I do?

This feels like a kiss scene. This should be a kiss scene. Their noses are practically touching. And yet she can't do anything, but stare at him, starry-eyed.

Damn you, Malleus Draconia, for making her fall even deeper each time. Damn you for doing all this to mess up her heart, and yet not kissing her even once! Is she really the only one here who thinks about that..?

Malleus Draconia/Original Female Character Fanfiction (PWP, NC-17 || 11k words || Birthday Boy SSR AU)

Additional Tags: Porn with Feelings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, POV Third Person, Alternative Body Parts, Monsterfucking (Light)… [the rest of the tags are under the cut]

First Kiss, First Time, Some Other Firsts Too, They kissed once and it all went downhill from there, Theoretically knowledgeable virgins getting togetherIs their sex too good for the first time? Maybe it's because they read books about it, Friends to Lovers, #But they're both down bad for each other, But they're not sure if their crush reciprocates the feelings, (Almost) Public Sex, Does it still counts if no public showed up?, Yuu but it's an Original Character, And they're also an adult, Because I prefer centuries wide age gaps where all partners have their brains fully developed, Post Diasomnia Chapter Timeline, Second Year Timeline, Alternative Timeline, Malleus Overblotting Implied, Who knows what canon will bring us so I kept this vague af, Fat Main Character, Plus-Size Main Character, She got 'em love handles and I love that for her, Body Worship (kinda?), Tongue Fucking, Have I mentioned Alternative Body Parts?, Monstrous tongue, Monstrous penis, I love them Bad Dragons thank you very much, Knotting, Breeding (kinda?) (no actual getting pregnant involved), Does it counts as Double Penetration if his tongue is fucking her mouth?, Accidental Angst in the end, Sorry I can't write porn without sprinkling some glass into it

[saavik2285]

Imagine Weyoun and you together …

… in missionary.

Weyoun took hold of your hands and pressed them tight as he entered you for the first time ever so slowly. You held his gaze the entire time. Holding completely still, the two of you sighed at the sensation of being one.

[0and0its0doctor0]

Date Night

David Rossi x OFC Slightly NC-17 Warnings: Heavy kissing, light touching, no actual smut Summary: Bella is new to the FBI and literally runs into David Rossi who she happens to have a massive crush on. He takes her out to dinner and they wind up on his couch.

Word Count: 946

“I mean who would ever want to be with me? Especially someone like David Rossi? I doubt he even knows I exist.” Bella tried explaining to Penelope. She was fresh out of the academy chasing her fathers coattails while trying to pave her own way and David Rossi was well…David Rossi. Bella was just a paper pusher with hopes and dreams of joining the BAU. Thankfully she was weird like Penelope so she quickly became her new best friend. Bella sighed deeply and left her office to get back to work. When she got back to her desk she groaned. Her paperwork pile had doubled during her lunch break. She quickly shuffled through them and knew she needed to make photocopies. Gathering them up she made her way to the file room only to find the copier broken. ‘Use BAU copier.’ The sign said. She frowned but made her way to the next floor up. 

Bella had her hands full and turned a corner cursing as she collided with someone. Paperwork scattered across the floor and she landed on her ass. “You okay kitten?” Oh shit. She knew that voice. She looked up to see David Rossi looking down at her. “I’m so sorry Mr. Rossi. I wasn’t paying attention and I just am not as graceful as I used to be.” She was rambling as she got on her hands and knees to pick up the scattered papers. “No it’s okay it was entirely my fault.” David said, helping her pick up papers. Once she was done she looked up at him while still on her knees, batting her eyelashes. He bit his lip and cleared his throat causing her to blush. “Need a hand kitten?” He asked, holding out a hand helping her up. “It’s Bella. I mean I don’t mind if you call me kitten. But my name is Bella.” She said tucking back a red curl. “I know who you are. Arabella Montgomery. Fresh out of the academy. You help put together our finished files after cases.” He said, causing her to blush. David Rossi actually knew who she was. “I worked with your dad a few times. I was sorry to hear about his accident.” He said, still holding her hand after helping her up. She deflated a little when he brought up her dad. “Would you like to join me for dinner tonight? Fizolies. 8pm.” He asked and she nodded. “See you later kitten.” He said with a smirk and a wink and she quickly ran to tell Penelope what happened.

Bella sighed as she picked at her little black dress and nervously looked at her phone. 825. She frowned and sipped at her wine. She would give it a couple more minutes before accepting the fact she got stood up. Who was she kidding? No one liked her. Especially someone as special as David Rossi. She was about to get the check when the chair across from her pulled out and a handsome man in a suit sat down. “Sorry kitten. Got a case file dropped off right as I was leaving and had to get the team. Looks like we are going to New York tomorrow.” He said ordering himself some wine. “Oh. I’m originally from New York.” She said, sipping at her glass. “What brought you out here?” He asked, sitting back. “Well I had been a ballerina since I took my first steps. I was a ballerina with the American Ballet Company then one performance of Romeo and Juliet…I was Juliet…I blew out my knee. I can no longer dance so I decided to take after my dad.” She explained with a bit of a frown. “Your dad would be proud of the Agent you are becoming.” David said with a reassuring smile. “Just wish he would have lived long enough to see me graduate. Now I’m just a paper pusher.” She said with a bit of a frown as she shrugged her shoulders. 

Bella and David both drank a substantial amount of wine. “I’m only 5 minutes away from here.” He had his hands wrapped around her waist and was brushing his lips against the curve of her neck. “Wanna come over?” He asked and she quickly nodded. David flagged down a taxi and once inside his hands were all over her. But she definitely didn’t mind. Once they arrived at his house she giggled as his beard kept tickling the sensitive skin of her neck. He paused from kissing her just long enough to unlock the door and push her inside. Once inside he quickly shed his jacket and pushed her onto the couch. He pulled off his tie and climbed on top of her biting and kissing along her neck and collar bone. She moaned, tilting her head back to give him more access to her pale skin. He left lots of marks she was going to have to explain the following day but she didn't care. She pushed her hips up against his moaning as she felt the bulge in his slacks. “Tell me how far you wanna go.” He whispered breathlessly into her ear. “All the way.” She moaned back as they both quickly started to undress each other.  His hands dipped down and lightly started to trace up her thigh and he swallowed the sounds she was making. "Easy kitten." He said with a grin before dipping down to place kisses between her cleavage. He was devouring the little sounds that she was making as his fingers pushed the fabric of her dress up her legs till it bunched up around her waist. He couldn’t ask for a better night.

[final-girl96]

My Boyfriend's Back Chapter Twenty-Six

YN

"I'm not going to that party," I said. Randy and I were walking across campus to the cafeteria for dinner. "Oh, come on. Why not?" He asked. "So you forget what happened at the last party we were at?" He rolled his eyes, "you mean the last party you were at. I've been to other parties. And the murders at the theater have nothing to do with us." I scoffed at his denial. "You are in such denial! Randy, two people were killed at a movie based on our lives!"

He stopped in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Look, I know you're worried about Stu coming back. But come on, don't you think he would have already if he was going to?" If only he knew the truth. The truth that Stu was back and I've been giving in to him. "You're going to that party with me. Plus, Dewey is here. He's not going to let anything happen to any of us."

I stood around, a drink in my hand out in the backyard at the Sorority party. Randy had showed up at my dorm with Mickey of all people. "See, this isn't too bad." I looked over at Randy and gave him a deadpanned look. "Oh, yeah, so fun!" I said sarcastically. "Nothing is going to happen, just relax and have a good time. I'll be back with more drinks!" He walked back into the house and I stood there awkwardly.

"Yn? I didn't know you were coming." I turned around to see Sid and Hallie coming up to me. "Randy forced me to come." Just then Randy came to stand beside me handing Hallie and Sidney a drink. "Took you long enough," Sid said to him. "You need to get out of that damn room of yours and stop being a hermit crab."

Mickey came over saying something about a movie sequel to Randy and they both walked off, Hallie went off another way and Sidney went to sit down with Derek. A flash of blond hair caught my eyes and I snapped my head to the right to see Stu talking to some girl. What caught me off guard was he was wearing glasses. There has only been a handful of times that I've seen him wear his glasses.

I watched him talk to the girl, well more like she was talking to him but he was paying more attention to me. I flinched when someone came up beside me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." I looked up to see a guy, dark hair and green eyes smiling at me. I raised my eyebrow at him and he let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I'm Luke, I'm in one of your glasses with you."

"Oh, okay? Did you need something?" I asked. He looked down and shook his head, a blush tinting his cheeks. "This is stupid. I–um…I just want to tell you that you're beautiful and an amazing singer. I've heard you in the studio a couple times. I wasn't like…stalking you or anything though!" I gave him a small smile and chuckled. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

I looked back over to where Stu was but he was no longer there. "So, you major in music or…" he shook his head. "No, I'm a film major." I nodded my head, "oh. So you know Randy then?" He nodded his head, "yeah. Can I ask you something?" He asked. "Uh…yeah," I said, nodding. He looked around and let you a breathy laugh. "Has he always been so…how do I phrase this…"

"Overly dramatic? Obnoxious? Loud? Yes. Yes, he has been. He's very passionate about movies. He actually brought the film club back to our high school his freshman year. Convinced the principal to give him a week to get at least ten students to join." We both laughed. "You went to Woodsboro, right?" He asked, with a smile still on his face. I took a deep breath before nodding. "I did. Yeah."

"I'm sorry for what happened. I don't think I'd ever leave my room again if something like that happened in my hometown. Hell, my mom probably wouldn't let me out of the house." I didn't say anything and his smile dropped. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll admit I know who you are but that's not why I wanted to talk to you. I do find you beautiful. I was actually hoping maybe…maybe if you'd like to get coffee or something."

"Something happening across the street! The police are over there, come on!" Everyone started to rush back into the house and Sidney came over to me. "Come on." I gave Luke an apologetic look and followed Sidney. As we were getting ready to leave I stopped. "Shit, I forgot my jacket. I'll be–" a hand clamped over my mouth. "Do you not listen to anything I say?!"

I pushed Randy away from me. "No! I do not listen to anything you say. Now, I'm going to go get my jacket!" I turned and walked back into the house. I walked into the living room and over to the couch where I left it but it wasn't there. A hand landed on my shoulder and I yelped. "Sorry! You were just taking a long time." I turned around, putting my hand on my chest. "Jesus, Sid! I'll be out in a second."

"Where's your jacket? Do you need help finding it?" She asked. "I thought I left it on the couch but it's not here. I'm going to look upstairs and I'll be out I promise." She shook her head, "I'm helping you." I sighed and nodded before heading for the stairs. Just as I got there the phone rang. I looked back at Sidney and she shook her head. I went to head upstairs when she called out. "I found it!" She came over and handed it to me and we walked towards the door.

I paused when the phone rang again. "You girls ready?" Derek asked. "Yeah, in a second." I walked over and answered the phone. "Hello?" There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before the modulated voice spoke. "Hello, yn." My whole body froze. "What do you want?" I asked. "What's your favorite scary movie?"

I rolled my eyes. "Real original. If you're going to kill me just don't already you fucking coward!" I yelled. A deep chuck sounded from the other side of the line. "My pleasure." My head snapped to my left when the voice didn't come from the phone. Ghostface stood near the door, knife in hand and tiled his head. "Sidney!" I screamed and he charged at me.

[theersatzcowboy]

Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! / ¡Átame! (1989)

In his controversial, NC-17-spawning early masterpiece, Almodóvar satirizes the dark romantic narratives of Spanish machismo culture in this tale of a crazed man who kidnaps his favorite actress to make her fall in love with him.

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Cinematographer: José Luis Alcaine

Starring: Antonio Banderas, Victoria Abril, Loles Léon, and Francisco Rabal

[somedaylazysomeday]

Dexterity - Part Three

Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: Explicit, NC-17, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3,600

Warnings: Warnings for self-doubt, intense conversations, a heavy makeout session, fingering, unprotected piv sex.

Previous | Masterlist

---

When you were safely inside your shared quarters, Thorin carefully asked, “Would you like something to eat?”

“Absolutely,” you confirmed, though your stomach was tight with nerves. “I'll change out of these robes.”

You were still wearing your royal finery, thick robes that protected against Erebor’s perpetual chill without being too confining, but they were still too formal for an intimate dinner, no matter how comfortable you were wearing them. 

It didn’t take long for you to dress in more casual clothing and return to the dining area of your quarters. When you got there, you found that Thorin had placed his chair in its typical place beside yours instead of keeping the customary arrangement that would leave you on opposite ends of the long table. You both wanted the closeness, and that made you feel better.

Thorin was standing uncomfortably beside your chair, and he held it in place as you sat. When he took his own seat, you both loaded your plates in silence. That silence stretched until your plates were noticeably emptier.

“Are you upset with me?” Thorin asked gravely. 

“No, of course not!” you assured him. “Are you upset with me?”

“On the contrary,” he told you, a hint of a smile playing around his mouth. “I have not seen Dwalin so discomfited in almost two hundred years. I should thank you for keeping him on guard.”

You laughed at that, and felt the tension in the room lower another few degrees. 

“If you are not upset, why did you run from me?” Thorin’s voice was soft but sincere as he asked the question. 

You sighed, scrubbing at your forehead. “I wasn’t running from you, Thorin. I was just… momentarily overwhelmed.”

“By Thranduil?” His face darkened. “He must be here for the trade negotiations to proceed, but he will leave the moment they have concluded. If necessary, I can complete the remainder of them myself. You need never be in his presence again.”

Judging from the conciliatory tone of his voice and the way his fingers caressed the back of your hand, Thorin believed all your problems were solved. You flipped your hand over beneath his, lacing your fingers together. With a fortifying breath, you said, “Thorin, you were talking about children earlier with Thranduil.”

Thorin froze. Carefully, he said, “Yes, I mentioned them. I believe we have discussed that we would like to start a family someday.”

You nodded, the motion jerking and uncomfortable. “Is there a timeline I’m not aware of?”

He shook his head, the gentle waves of his still-drying hair brushing the fabric of his tunic. “None at all. Why do you ask?”

“I-” you started, then paused, settling back in your chair as you tried to find the right words. “Being queen is more difficult than I had imagined. I constantly worry that I am forgetting something important, or missing a tradition I hadn’t considered.”

“You have done well,” Thorin objected, watching you with a proud half-smile on his lips. “I could not have hoped for a better queen to rule by my side.”

“I appreciate that,” you told him honestly, “but I think you forget that I am an outsider in your culture. I am human, no matter how I’ve come to appreciate dwarves... Well, one dwarf in particular.”

Your joke made Thorin’s smile reappear, but his eyes were solemn and earnest as he told you, “I know you are a stranger to some of our ways, but do you truly believe that I would not tell you if you were making a misstep? Besides, I happen to believe that your ignorance of our traditions allots you a valuable perspective. The freedom to question the things we take for granted is one I hope you never lose, and something I hope you will pass along to our children someday.”

When he phrased it that way, all you could do was nod and attempt to swallow the lump in your throat. “So… So you are not bothered that we have been married nearly a full year and have no children?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said firmly. You relaxed, but your tension returned quickly when he fixed you with a stern look. “I am bothered that you believed you would disappoint me if you brought this matter to my attention. My love, you can speak to me about anything and everything. I want you to do so.”

“I know, Thorin,” you agreed. “However, this situation seemed like it could be painful to discuss. The last thing I want to do is cause you hurt.”

“You are my wife,” Thorin emphasized. “Painful conversations hold a place of equal importance with joyful ones or those that bring sadness. In marrying you, I agreed that I would take part in everything you experience. I want to discuss things that make us happy or sad or hurt. Especially when they are topics which concern our shared life.”

“I understand, Thorin, and I’m sorry.” Making eye contact with your husband was difficult then. You were feeling particularly humbled by the reminder of how deeply he loved you. He was a fine husband, loving and patient. Those very traits were why you had fallen for him at first, and why you agreed to something so serious as marriage. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me,” he refused instantly, wearing a deep frown. “It is wholly unnecessary.”

“I disagree,” you countered, rising from your chair and stepping over to his instead. It was only when you perched in his lap that the concern on Thorin’s face smoothed into an expression of interest. “Though perhaps I could find more… tactile ways of showing my appreciation.”

Thorin let out a noise that sounded remarkably like a growl, steadying you with the firm hold of his hands around your waist. That little growl turned to a groan as you drew him in for a kiss.

He would never grow accustomed to your softness. 

Dwarves and humans were - simply put - built differently, in both form and temperament. Dwarves were strong beyond what their compact physiques would indicate. Their bodies were covered with a layer of fat to protect the muscles necessary to hold that strength, then topped with a generous dusting of hair besides. 

There were infinite variations among the bodies of dwarves, but there was no disagreement that they were not the same as humans.

Humans seemed gangly to dwarves, most of them too tall for comfort. Their long, thin limbs could only hold so much strength. The layer of fat was not present in all of them, and their hair was much more sparse on their bodies. There was more variation among humans, but many lacked the engineering brilliance and cleverness of nimble fingers found in dwarves. In short, humans were generally seen as people who were unfortunate in that they were so close in form to dwarves without quite managing to achieve dwarfdom. 

(Humans were, of course, seen as vastly superior to the elves, who were - for various reasons - seen as irredeemably different.)

As a young dwarf, Thorin never would have considered the possibility of binding himself eternally to a human. Cultural differences were one concern, especially after he had been forced to live among humans for as long as he had. Admittedly, though, the physical differences between the species were something he would have thought impossible to overlook. 

Yet, as his hands traveled over your body, he could find no flaw in you. Your skin was the perfect texture under the roughness of his fingertips, your limbs the perfect length. The plushness of a cushioning layer beneath your skin was utterly bewitching and you were strong enough to hold him close, which was the only strength Thorin cared about at the moment. 

And as for the cleverness of your fingers… If they were any more skilled, Thorin feared he would allow Erebor to fall to ruin before he could be convinced to leave your bedchambers. 

Your lips were parted against his, brushing rhythmically as the wet fire of your tongue explored his mouth. 

As the king of Erebor, there were few moments in which Thorin was not rushing about, trying to bring order to a people who were attempting to rebuild one of their oldest societies. This was one such moment. He was at peace. If this could stretch out into infinity, Thorin would be a happy king. 

Unfortunately, the pleasurable activities were drawing needs to the surface. Soon, Thorin found himself uncomfortably hard, the sensitive length of him pressed against the heat of your thigh. The strength it was taking not to rut against you was growing so great that it threatened to outweigh the drunkenness brought on by your kiss.

With a reluctant groan, Thorin broke away from your lips. You blinked at him, hair mussed and mouth shining. That alone almost made Thorin toss his scruples into the fireplace and continue as you had been. But that would be unfair to you, and he was determined to remind you that he was a trustworthy partner. 

“I am sorry,” he said, stifling a wince at how gruff his voice sounded. “We must stop if we do not wish to end up in an uncomfortable position.”

You gave a mischievous smile, wiggling your hips in a way that nearly succeeded in making him gasp. “It feels as though one of us is already in an uncomfortable position. Do you not wish to continue this? Or perhaps move to a more convenient location?”

“I-” It was not often Thorin was robbed of words, but this was one such event. “I believed, given the topic of our conversation this evening, that you would not wish to lay together.”

You paused. “I do not wish to try for children tonight, but that doesn’t mean we cannot be together. We have managed exactly that for the past year with no consequences.”

“I would not want you to feel as though I am attempting to trick you into bed-” Thorin started, though he was interrupted by a loud laugh from you. 

“Historically, I have been the more likely one to trick the other into bed,” you pointed out, smiling once more. “If you are not interested, though, I will not insist. The offer still- oh!”

This time, Thorin interrupted you, scooping you into his arms and taking purposeful strides toward your bedchamber. You squealed with laughter - a sound he hoped to tease from you for a different reason shortly - and chided him, insisting that you were too heavy to be carried. Thorin shook his head and smiled. You were forever underestimating the strength of dwarves. 

When he deposited you, it was gently and slowly enough to show off that his strength allowed him to do so. Thorin was bare in only moments - a direct benefit of wearing comfortable clothing. You had half-removed your own comfortable clothing by that point, but Thorin stripped everything else before you could finish the task. He was feeling suddenly impatient. 

You were giggling at his eagerness when he kissed you once more, then gave a low moan as he buried his hand between your thighs. 

This was another sensation Thorin would never grow weary of. You were soft under his fingertips here as well, but also impossibly slick and hot. After a year of marriage - and some secret time before that - of sharing your bed, Thorin could play you to a fervor with ease. 

His fingers pressed deep into your channel, plunging the honey from your depths as well as stretching your tightness to better accommodate him later. At the same time, his thumb drew circles around the bundle of nerves at the top of your slit. You had assured him that the stretch of his fingers in you was pleasant, but could also be a bit uncomfortable. He had made a point of easing that discomfort every time since. 

When he could hear the sounds of his own fingers in your wetness - the sweetest music to ever grace his ears - Thorin began to speed up his motions. He mimicked the thrusts and pulls he would deliver later, tightening the circles he made around your clit until you made a noise that sounded almost like a plea with every stroke.

Lost as he was in the rush of bringing you to the edge, Thorin stopped instantly when your hand fell to his wrist. He opened his eyes, breaking your shared kiss. 

“Thorin, please,” you said, a wrinkle between your brows. “I need you.”

“And you shall have me,” he decreed, flexing his fingers inside of you and delighting in the way you trembled at the simple motion. “I want to bring you pleasure first.”

“I would rather move on to something that brings us both pleasure.”

Thorin had opened his mouth to protest that this was bringing him pleasure. That was the only reason your simple touch against his throbbing length caused him to release a noise filled with such desperation. 

You pulled his hand from you with a wet noise and a sensitive shudder, navigating him to lay on the bed in his typical place. The furs of your shared blankets teased silky coolness over his back and buttocks, though they were nothing compared to the thrill of your skin brushing his as you straddled his thighs. 

When your eyes shifted from his face to the hardness of his cock straining between you, Thorin knew what you were thinking. You shifted as if to move downward, confirming his suspicions, but he did not allow you to move. With his hands wrapped around your upper arms, he shook his head. “You wanted something that would bring both of us pleasure, yes?”

You pouted. “This does bring me pleasure.”

The way you repeated his earlier thought almost exactly made Thorin bite back a laugh. Instead, he arched a brow at you. “You are close to dripping on my leg, my treasure. I believe we have run short of time for exploration.”

“Fine,” you agreed with a sigh. 

When he felt you move upward once more, Thorin released you, but he was not prepared for the swiftness of your movements. In the instant after his hands fell to his sides, you had risen to your knees, angled his cock into the correct position, and sank down onto the hard length.

Thorin’s head fell back as he gasped, hips reflexively curling upward to push deeper into you. It felt like his cock was engulfed in hot silk, made even more tantalizing by the way you were so wet for him. That single stroke had pushed him so far into your depths that you were nearly sitting astride him already. 

The single remaining thought in Thorin’s mind was a musing on whether this felt as overwhelming to you as it did to him. Part of him did not believe it was possible, but another part dearly hoped that it did. How could he live knowing that you brought him such pleasure, but he could not do the same in return?

Of course, this was a single, fleeting thought, drowning in a pool of demands for him to move.

You were still balanced on your knees, planted on either side of Thorin’s hips, but you were hunched forward slightly. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you breathed through parted lips. Your fingers - splayed in their position braced on his chest - were trembling.  Thorin found himself concerned.

“My love?” he gritted out, voice painfully rough. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I- certainly am,” you said between breaths. “I shall never become accustomed to how you feel this way. It is as though you are planted so deep I will feel you always.”

Thorin’s cock twitched - no mean feat, locked as it was inside of your tightness. It was the sense of pride he felt at that, the joy of thinking he would be with you always since you were so deeply implanted in him in return. 

You must have felt Thorin’s response, for you smiled at him. “I agree.”

With that, you lifted yourself up from him only to sink back down just before the tip of him left your folds. Thorin wanted to keep his gaze downward, entranced by the sight of himself plunging into and withdrawing from you, but the sight could not compare to that of your face.

You were watching him as you moved, your eyes dancing with passion and pleasure, all lit by the glow of love. It was a bewitching sight, and Thorin felt himself already growing close to his end. 

“Why are you frowning so fiercely, my love?” you asked.

Thorin was taken aback slightly. Was he frowning? This was close to being another perfect moment. The only problem was… “You are too far away.”

You laughed as he pulled you down until your chest was pressed against his. That laughter tightened you even further around him and Thorin fought the instinct that was urging him to thrust inside of you. Instead, your legs locked behind his back as he rolled you, pausing only when he was on top. 

How he found the strength to leave the overwhelming heat of you, he would never know. It must have been some instinct that told him you would feel all the more incredible after being parted for the second it took to withdraw and thrust into you once more. 

He would not last much longer, Thorin knew. And since he refused to take his pleasure without you, he needed to push you toward your orgasm. 

Thorin bent his head downward until he could reach your chest, aided by the way your back arched with his thrusts. The rasp of his beard over the sensitive skin beneath your breasts made you shiver, and your nipple was stiff when he took it into his mouth, giving the small nubbin a hard suck.

You were rather sensitive here and normally liked to work up to intense play, but Thorin had noted that you tended to become distracted in the middle of sex, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sensation being pushed upon you. When he was trying to hurry you toward your end, unexpected roughness could be the only thing that broke through the fogginess of pleasure.

A sharp noise escaped your lips when he sucked again, caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry. There was a moment of tension… then you seized around him.

If Thorin had thought your channel was tight around him earlier, it was nothing compared to this. Your body clamped down around him, inner muscles rippling as if you were trying to milk him of his seed.

And he was only too glad to oblige.

Thorin pulled himself from you with a curse, spilling over your stomach in a series of pulses that felt like they drew everything from his toes up. The pleasure was vivid, nearly robbing him of sight in the process - though with the image of you writhing with pleasure already burned into his mind, he did not mind it so much. 

When he finally returned to his senses, Thorin retrieved one of several soft cloths and cleaned his seed from you. He kept a store of such cloths in the bedside table for exactly that purpose. 

You embraced him eagerly when he collapsed ungracefully to the bed once more, curling around him so that he was awash in your heat and the intoxicating scent of your skin. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, trailing his fingers lazily up and down the smooth curve of your upper arm.

“That was… delicious,” you purred. 

If he had been anything less than fully emptied, the sound of that tone in your voice would have sent Thorin straight back to hardness. Instead, he only gave a small, self-satisfied smile. “If we are not to begin a family yet, we must be careful not to fall out of practice.”

You stilled beneath his hand. “And you’re certain you accept that? The waiting?”

The worry in your voice made Thorin’s contentment dip. He lifted his head to look at you, finding that the worry was equally evident on your face. “My treasure, I love you.”

You frowned, your brow crinkling with the expression. “That isn’t an answer, Thorin.”

“It is,” he countered even as you closed your eyes, still frowning. “I love you, not the idea of a future family. I would like to have children someday, but if that does not happen - for any reason - I would be equally as content with the family I already have. Fili is well prepared to be king and Kili has adapted to the role of a prince. I want for nothing, my love.”

When you opened your eyes, Thorin was alarmed to see that they sparkled with tears. “What is-?”

For the second time that evening, you interrupted him… this time, with a kiss. When you pulled away, you were smiling, your brow smoothed and your eyes gleaming with the lightness of worry abated. “I love you, too, Thorin. More than you will ever know.”

Thorin gave a disbelieving grumble. “Rather how I feel about you. In fact, you might be hard-pressed to convince me to share you with anyone else for at least another year.”

You laughed again, and this time, he joined you.

---

Author's Note - These two are so soft! As far as I can remember, this is the first time I've written a spicy scene from a male POV. If there are glaring inaccuracies or you just want to give me some feedback, I would appreciate it!

I don't offer a taglist for explicit fics, but you can find other works (Fanfic February 2023 or others) on my masterlist.

[rarepairmebaby]

Bankotsu/Sango Everything's Made To Be Broken

Bankotsu stuffs his hands into his dark jeans, stepping closer to her. The alley is dark, the only light coming from the street lamps at the very end. It smells like cat piss and vomit and it was stupid for her to come out here alone but she's all lean muscle under that tight dress, probably thinks she can handle any thugs that come her way. He smirks; well he can tell she hasn't met a nightmare like him before. His shoes scoff against the concrete as she lights up, those chestnut eyes snapping up to his face. Such a pretty face, he wants to ruin it.

"Sneaking away for a smoke, Taijiya?"

Her eyes narrow, cold enough to send chills up his spine. He can't help the grin that splits his lips, fingers twitching in his pockets.

"What do you want?" she hisses, voice like ice and Bankotsu bites back a groan. He's going to really enjoy breaking her.

"Isn't it obvious?" he sneers.

--

Bankotsu, leader of his band of brothers and highly paid mercenary by Naraku, can't believe his luck when he and Jakotsu spot Sango having a night out with her friends. There would never be a better opportunity than this to take revenge against her father, Kaiko Taijiya, by stealing his little kitten away from him. But Sango isn't a kitten, she's a tiger with claws. And Bankotsu can't get enough.

[thislislraven]

— Carla... Faster, I beg you! - agent groans quietly, arching his back like a cat and sticking out his elastic butt, which immediately receives a resounding slap.

— Quiet, Miss Wong... I did not allow you to open your mouth.

Now the original couldn’t even cling her fingers to those idiotic sheets that had already rubbed her cheek, because her wrists were firmly tied to someone’s painfully familiar red-knitted scarf. Now Ada could only hum heatedly, burying herself in the sheets, soaked from their long games. She had no idea what she was getting into when she asked Radames to be on top. She didn’t even realize that she would be whining pitifully for the next hour, since the scientist’s fingers, as luck would have it, slid close to that very spot, without touching the hottest spot. Did this piss Wong off? Yeah! She was infuriated by Carla. But that’s what turned her on. There was something about the clone that made the original want to fall on his knees in front of her and let her tie her hands. There was something about Carla that sometimes made Wong imagine their closeness and wake up at night in a wet sweat like now. The agent looks around and realizes that she is alone. But for how long, if she has been tormented by such dreams for the last two weeks?

(do you think it’s worth publishing the full version?)

[strayed-quokka]

babydoll || ji changmin || masterlist

↳ Changmin isn’t popular nor is he rich, whereas you run on the other end of the spectrum, spoilt and living on your dads credit card. when you’re tasked with kicking him out of the biggest party of your year, you come to realise he’s not all that bad. unfortunately, falling in love with the ji changmin is your one way ticket to social suicide.

↳ pairing: ji changmin x female reader + ex lee juyeon x female reader

!!! this is not a love triangle !!!

~ rating: NC-17 minors please do not interact with this work

↳ genre: enemies to acquaintances to reluctant friends to lovers, slowburn, drama, angst, happy end but it takes a long ass time, rich girl broke ass uni boy

~ warnings: high society bitch of a reader, an unadressed eating disorder (limited), drug use, sex while on drugs, a lot of sex (will add individual warnings to chapters), sex with juyeon, maybe you fuck him twice, sex while high, taller reader with longer hair but no colour description for the plot, jokes and implied tone about death/wanting to die (not meant), obsession with weight and beauty standards, juyeon is manipulative and toxic, emotional abuse, physical abuse (not reader and not in detail), everyone needs therapy, past self harm (not reader, not in detail, descriptions of scars), deep self loathing and insecurities, bullying, changmin calls reader little doll, reader wants to look like a doll, nicknames such as darling and princess, classism

!!! if I missed anything or I remember something else I will add it to the general warnings. there’s a lot of drama but it isn’t as dark as the warnings probably imply it to be, but it also isn’t a light read.

↳ words: 70k + blame the slow burn

a/n: this was meant to be a 20k one shot then changmin said sike so I had to split it up into multiple parts so that tumblr wouldn’t break because it said it would 💔 this is dedicated to @sanaxo-o because she’s never given up on this fic even when I wanted to throw it out the window. no one loves babydoll more than her. thank you @mosviqu for reading this every night when I add a little extra and make you hate juyeon and thank you @sungbeam for the banner cause mine was clearly trash.

I joke that I’ll retire once I’m done posting every part of this fic but we all know that’s a lie. I did pour all my energy into this though so please be nice to me or say nothing at all LMAO. again, I wanna disclaimer that there are some specific physical attributes to this reader which I usually avoid doing but for the story itself it was necessary.

let me know if you wanna be on the taglist 🩵 started: 25.7.24

~ teaser

~ act i

~ act ii

~ act iii

↳ i aim for just three chapters if tumblr allows it but depending on final length this might have to change

©️strayed-quokka, please do not steal, translate, reuse or rewrite as your own

[twentyonepilotsredacted]

from a prolific joshler, I absolutely love when Tyler's clothes cling to him during a set. there's this photo of him where his perky chest pokes through his shirt, of which he's sweating through under the stage light. I think Josh wld see that and just be hard for the rest of the set barely able to contain himself; during the bows at the end of the night he can't help himself and squeezes Tyler's chest and makes him moan directly into the mic as he says "We are twenty øne piløts and so are you" :3 - kiitchensiink

REAL AND TRUE. Also, picturing Josh in his mesh shirt as well ;) (This needs to be a fic) (Someone please write this) (Or maybe I just will ;))

[qwerttyixp]

quick art..heh

[liticia09]

Новый опубликованный мини!

Фандом: «Гарри Поттер»

Пейринг: Драко Малфой/Гермиона Грейнджер

Рейтинг: NC-17

Метки: ООС, потеря памяти, флафф, элементы ангста, реабилитационные центры

«Le coup de foudre»

Гермиона чувствовала на себе чей-то взгляд. Он прожигал её насквозь, оголял, делал незащищённой. Грейнджер осмотрела всех присутствующих, чтобы понять, кому он принадлежал. По диагонали сидел молодой парень, который пришёл последним. Его светлые волосы выглядели небрежно, словно он запускал в них пальцы снова и снова. Чётко очерченные скулы делали его лицо более взрослым, хотя он казался её ровесником. Он расслабленно сидел на стуле, не чувствуя неловкости. Его лодыжки были скрещены, а руки засунуты в карманы брюк. Только смотрел он не на неё, а на кулон, висевший поверх её футболки. Гермиона инстинктивно вскинула руку и накрыла прохладный металл пальцами. Взгляд парня медленно поднялся, и их глаза встретились.

Это было подобно цунами, уничтожавшему всё на своём пути. Всё вокруг, казалось, замерло. Окружающий мир перестал иметь значение, звуки затихли. Серые глаза напротив прожигали её карие, и Гермиона не могла заставить себя отвести взгляд. Дышать стало сложнее. Воздух искрился. Зрачки постепенно съедали радужку. Его взгляд манил. Она готова была утонуть в его глазах. Это было иррационально — она совершенно ничего не знала о человеке напротив, но что-то толкало её к нему. Гермиона не моргала. В глазах появилась сухость, но она боялась смыкать веки — вдруг картинка рассеится.

Читать на ficbook

Art by PollyHolyArt

[paleobeastentertainment]

Day 8: Meta Horror

Film: Man Bites Dog (1992) Dir: Rémy Belvaux, André Bonzel, Benoît Poelvoorde

[hislittleraincloud]

Chapter 6 Part 1 is coming very soon. Here's the soundtrack.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Pursuit

OT-Era Boba Fett x fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

You know you're being followed, but it's still a surprise to find yourself aboard the Slave I. You still have some unfinished business before he takes you to Coruscant. Can you convince him to let you go, even just temporarily?

Rating: Explicit, NC-17, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 6,500

Warnings: bounty hunter Boba Fett and bounty reader, themes of pursuit, predator/prey vibes, sex as terms of a bet/agreement, some creepy themes, unprotected piv sex, references to the Empire.

Masterlist

---

You could hear the regular sound of rushed footsteps trailing behind you, but your attention stayed fixed on searching for other noises. Yes, you knew that there was someone following you, but they weren’t the near-constant presence of the last few days. No, you could hear whoever was behind you now, which meant they weren’t the major threat. 

It was easy enough to dodge them - a sharp corner, a moment to tug your hood up and over your head, and a quick double-back did the trick - but the nagging feeling of being watched remained. It was both infuriating and deeply concerning. You had things you needed to get done, and you couldn’t do them if an unknown party were watching you. The problem was that you were running out of time.

Everything had started four days before. An itching between your shoulder blades, a chill on the back of your neck. All you knew was that someone had eyes on you. No matter where you went or how irregular a schedule you kept, the feeling stuck. 

Or you were becoming paranoid. Stress-induced, probably. But it was no matter. You couldn’t put things off any longer. Hopefully, the feeling of being watched was just a delusion, but on the off chance it was real, you needed to take some precautionary measures.

You returned to your temporary home, carefully closing every shutter and curtain to keep yourself from being visible to anyone outside. A change of outfit and what little you could do to alter the rest of your appearance helped, but you still had to take precautions before you could leave again. 

That time, you used an alternate exit, one you had paid the hostel’s owner a shiny credit to share with you. The short underground tunnel let out in a seemingly abandoned building halfway down the block, where you could slip out into a perpetually empty alley and follow it until you could blend in with the crowd.

You ducked slightly as you exited the tunnel into the abandoned building. You had learned the hard way that a piece of hard plastoid was hanging down from the top of the tunnel’s mouth and the last thing you needed was a concussion. 

When you straightened up, something was wrong with the light. It always filtered in strangely, throwing jagged shapes across the dusty floor from the shattered transparisteel that still lined the panes. Just then, it seemed dimmer than usual, like one of the lights outside had gone out. You weren’t in the best neighborhood, but it was an anomaly. You had learned to dislike those.

A movement.

Your heart paused for a half-moment as you saw and processed the dark silhouette tucked beside the tunnel entrance, almost behind you. 

Before your heartbeat could pick up once more, a bright blue stun bolt had hit you square in the chest. The motion you had picked out had been the single adjustment of their blaster, signaling the simple and immediate destruction of your mission.

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar room. Actually, ‘room’ was too generous. It was long but shallow, with only a thin sleeping mat protecting you from the metal floor. The walls were only barely outside of the sleeping mat, and they were made of thick transparisteel. The metal ceiling was low enough that you couldn’t fully sit up unless you were extremely careful.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t realized that when you jolted awake and immediately tried to sit up. After you had recovered from the painful collision between your head and the ceiling, you repeated the motion with more care. The creeping feeling of being watched hadn’t dissipated, and you found a figure watching you from outside of the transparisteel box you were in.

They were wearing a helmet and armor, but you would guess from their height and the breadth of their shoulders that they were probably human. The armor and helmet were green, but were so scratched that plenty of bare metal shone through. The visor of the helmet stretched wide across where a human’s eyes would be, narrowing to a point at the chin of the helmet. 

A Mandalorian. 

Who the hell had you pissed off badly enough that they sent a Mandalorian after you?

Your captor hadn’t spoken, choosing to watch you just as silently as you were watching them. The silence had stretched to the point of being an unspoken competition, but you had more to learn from them than they did from you, so you decided to speak first.

“Where am I?” you asked, voice raspy.

“In a cell onboard my ship,” they replied. Their voice was modulated as it came through the helmet’s speakers, but it sounded male to you. And if he had cells built into his ship, he was probably someone who transported prisoners often. He had called it his ship, so this likely wasn’t a military or prison transport. Signs pointed to him being a bounty hunter.

When you squinted enough to look past him, your suspicions about this being a private vessel were confirmed. The space was small and utilitarian, bare metal as far as you could see, but the ship was old. If you had to guess, you would say over twenty years old, but it was unlike any other ship you had seen and hard to estimate. Maybe it was common on Mandalore. Maybe his accent was common on Mandalore as well. It sounded completely unfamiliar to you.

You hadn’t answered the man, you realized abruptly. He hadn’t asked a question, but you still had more information to get from him. “And why am I in a cell onboard your ship?”

He pressed a button on his left vambrace. A projected document flickered up, clearly displaying your name, holoimage, and personal information, all under the heading Bounty: 750,000 Credits. 

“You’re a bounty hunter?” you asked, trying to ignore the horrible wrenching in your stomach and chest at the bottom section of the bounty notice. You were accused of conspiring against the Galactic Empire, governmental espionage, and generally committing treason. Even if you managed to get away from this man or somehow defeat the charges (unlikely), this was enough to ruin your reputation and prevent you from holding a job in most civilized systems.

The helmet tilted at you slightly. “Best bounty hunter in the galaxy.”

The words were something you would have expected - bounty hunters weren’t the most humble people in the galaxy - but the tone was off. Instead of being one of bragging or pride, he sounded strangely… tired. 

“I can’t say I’m familiar with many bounty hunters,” you admitted freely, “but I feel like I should know the name of the best bounty hunter in the galaxy. The only one I can think of is Cad Bane, but it’s been a while since I’ve heard anything about him.”

As it turned out, the sound of a modulated snort was one of the stranger noises you had ever heard. You almost laughed as he scoffed, “Bane. No, I’m better than Bane. Have been for a long time. Fett.”

You frowned, thinking back on holonews articles you had read just before the Empire rose. “Jango?”

“Boba.” The single word was said with such force that it felt like he had whipped you with it. 

You nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough conversation,” he said. “It’s a long way to Coruscant.”

“Coruscant?” you echoed, horrified. “I can’t go to Coruscant, not in this coffin of a cell. I can’t even stand up!”

“You’ll be able to when we take off,” he said. “In fact, you’ll have to. Whole ship’s gonna tilt.”

“Those accusations aren’t even true,” you argued, hitting a hand against the transparisteel to punctuate your point when Fett didn’t turn around. “I shouldn’t be in here!”

“Of course not.”

That tired tone was still in Fett’s voice, and you belatedly recognized that it had continued the entirety of the time you had been speaking, with the exception of when he had told you his name. 

No, not tired, you realized. Bored.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, sounding distinctly less sorry than you had the first time. “Am I boring you? Is my unjust capture a pointless drain on your attention span?”

“Yes,” Fett bit out. He finally turned around to face you, the blank gaze of his visor staring pitilessly at you. “It’s all boring. You’re a bounty, just like every bounty I’ve ever taken. Finding you was simple. I’m the best in the field. There are no challenges, so it’s all dull. Don’t take it personally.”

“Oh, sorry I’m offended that you’re destroying my life,” you snapped. “I’ll never be able to erase those accusations from my record and I’ll never be able to work in the Inner Rim again, but what does that matter compared to you feeling like your life is a little dull?”

“Listen, princess,” he snarled, taking a step closer. “I’ve been doing this kind of work for my entire life. Trust me when I say that your life is nothing compared to my track record. I don’t care what you’re accused of. When it mattered, you weren’t good enough to protect yourself from me. I was good enough to capture you in four days. Four. That’s unheard of for anyone in this field other than me. I don’t think you’re worried about your precious little life. I think you’re insulted that you couldn’t get away from me.”

“I didn’t exactly know you were coming!” You paused a split-second to think. “That’s probably why you think you’re so good, Fett. You stack the deck to make sure you win, but no one else knows they’re competing until it’s too late.”

He took another step closer. If the cell’s tiny door was open, you could have reached out and touched him. “Are you doubting me?”

“Strongly,” you confirmed. “I don’t think you would have nearly the same success rate with a bounty who knew you were on their trail. I think your precious record is nothing more than self-inflated nonsense.”

“Osik,” he snorted. You didn’t know what the word meant, but you caught its meaning from his tone.

“Yeah? Then prove it,” you challenged. “Prove you really are the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy.”

Fett crossed his arms, tilting that helmet at you again. “And what do you propose?”

“Let me go.” You had anticipated his scoff and raised your voice accordingly to speak over it. “I’m serious. Let me try to get away from you. If you’re as good as you say, you’ll be able to capture me again.”

He snorted. “Not hard.”

“Okay,” you agreed, continuing on undaunted. “But, if I’m right, I’ll be much more effective since I know someone is coming after me.”

The silence stretched onward and you cursed the helmet that was keeping you from gauging his reactions. It would be a lot easier to convince him that you were right if you could see his face and adjust accordingly. Instead, to cut down on the risk that you were overplaying your hand, you returned his gaze steadily and kept your mouth closed. 

Unfortunately, that left you with far too much time to study him.

It had started out as an attempt to decipher his body language, but - no matter how pure your original intentions - it had quickly devolved into trying to guess how he looked under all of the armor and protective clothing. That was probably a bad sign, but this situation played perfectly to your weaknesses. You had always been attracted to confidence, and the bounty hunter was oozing with it. His form was long and lean, accentuated by the plates of armor rather than concealed by them. And you didn’t see any anti-gravity tech around the ship, which meant he had managed to get you into the transparisteel box with only his own strength. 

“And if I’m right?” he asked eventually, disrupting your devolving thought process. “If I catch you immediately, you haven’t proved anything, I’m just as bored, and all we’ve done is waste some time.”

“Sounds like very little risk, to me,” you said, shrugging. 

“Not enough incentive,” Fett decided after another moment’s pause. “It would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

Never mind overplaying your hand, you decided as you watched him turn and start walking toward the cockpit. You were just trying to fight back the surge of outright panic. “Wait! What would make it interesting enough?”

“Nothing you’re willing to give,” he tossed over his shoulder with one booted foot already over the threshold into the cockpit.

“Try me!”

Whether it was the challenge in your words or the transparent desperation in your tone, Fett paused. He didn’t turn to face you, but his modulated voice was audible anyway. “Careful, little one. You might end up making a deal you aren’t willing to uphold.”

“Try me,” you repeated, relieved to hear that your tone had changed to one of determination. 

Slowly, Fett turned around, walking toward you with a slow, menace-filled stride. “I’m not the one trying to get out. You are. What’s your offer?”

“You let me run, and if you manage to find me again-” 

The modulator in Fett’s helmet crackled with the sound of an amused breath. That same amusement filled his voice as he repeated, “If.”

“If,” you confirmed, emphasizing it with a slight nod. Confidence was key, after all. “If you manage to find and capture me again…”

Hmm. How did you proposition a bounty hunter? Especially given you were hunched over in a transparisteel box? With your sexiest tone you said, “Well, we’ll take some time to get a little more comfortable.”

Fett didn’t seem to react at all. “I don’t take on contracts with such vague terms.”

“When- If - you catch me, I’ll fuck you,” you told him, tone purely flat then. “Was that specific enough?”

“And why would you think I’d be interested?” he asked.

That was a blow to your poor ego, but it was a fair question. If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, it had come from a place of reciprocity: you were attracted to him, so you had hoped that he would be interested in you, too. It would be convenient: if you were going to be taken out by the Empire, you would rather put an end to the dry spell in your sex life first. A little pleasure before the end. But that wasn’t how the universe worked. If the idea of sleeping with you wasn’t enough to tempt Fett into temporarily letting you go, you would have to get creative. 

Feigning a lack of concern, you shrugged. “Nothing says you have to accept.”

“I could do anything I wanted right now,” he pointed out. “You’re locked in a cage. Helpless.”

The pointed statement should have filled you with dread or fear, but instead, you were skeptical. He was right, he could do anything he wanted… but he always could have and he hadn’t. You narrowed your eyes at him. “You don’t seem the type.”

Fett was quiet then. He was quiet so long that you had time to wonder if he was angry with you, then wonder if his helmet speakers had malfunctioned. But you never wondered if he was going to march over and prove you wrong, which only served to make you more firm in your judgment of him. 

“As it happens,” Fett drawled, breaking the uncomfortably long silence as though it had never existed, “I’ve been busy. No time to visit my usual contacts.”

You didn’t know what that meant, but he hadn’t immediately refused you, so you decided not to risk offering a reply.

That helmet tipped again, and that time, something about his posture made you realize that the expression under that helmet was a lascivious one. That realization was your sole hint about what he was going to say: “I accept.”

---

And so you were off again.

This time, you knew exactly where the sensation of being watched was coming from. Fett had given you a half-hour head start, but you still felt the pressure of knowing he would soon be after you once more. You made a single stop, but then your main focus was putting as much distance between yourself and Fett’s ship as possible.

You didn’t have any credits, so hiring transportation was out of the question, and you didn’t have any way of accessing your room at the hostel. There was nothing to do but try to escape in a different way.

With only a limited amount of time before the bounty hunter would start chasing after you, you had no choice but to think as you walked. There was very little chance you actually were the first person to know Fett was after them. Most people probably tried to flee the planet when they found out, so that was likely what he expected you to do. More likely than not, Fett was going to closely watch the spaceport, the closest of which was only a short distance away from the city where his ship was located.

So, in an effort to outthink him, you immediately went in the opposite direction.

That direction held the harbor, which you figured could only help your case. Disrupting the trail and all of that. You snuck onboard a boat that was about to depart, managing to tuck yourself into the luggage area as the vessel slowly crossed the city’s dingy harbor. It was a long journey, cramped and unpleasant, but you had to wonder if Fett actually would be able to find you there. No matter how good a bounty hunter was, there had to be a limit on how quickly they could find a target.

Granted, you hadn’t agreed on a specific length of time, so that didn’t really matter. Fett could hunt you as long as he chose. If you were to guess based on your initial meeting, he would probably do so as long as it took to find his target. By that logic, Fett was going to find you again, which meant that you would have sex with him. And that would probably happen sooner rather than later.

Was it a little twisted to say that you were looking forward to it? 

No, you decided. You were just making the best of a bad situation. Besides, you were the one who had offered that particular prize, and you wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t truly been interested.

That being said, you still let out a blistering curse as you blended with the crowd as they left the dock and saw Fett’s ship sailing past overhead, clearly visible and menacing against the darkening sky. Not only had he managed to anticipate your movements, but he was confident enough that he was letting you see that he was there. He wanted you to squirm. It was nothing more than a game of cat and mouse, born from his desire to prove his superiority… but you couldn’t deny that it left your heart beating slightly faster. 

Just because you weren’t actively dreading being caught didn’t mean that you were going to make it easy for him, though. You watched as the distinct ship prepared to land in the distance, carefully noting where it touched down before moving in the opposite direction. Maybe the best move was to be as unpredictable as possible, basing every move on nothing more than a whim.

Of course, that had been your method from the start, and it apparently hadn’t managed to throw him.

Still, you saw what you needed soon enough: an entrance to the tunnels. 

The city had been plagued with dust storms for as long as anyone could remember. Before the locals had the ability to construct permanent buildings that could stand up to the strong winds, they had relied on a system of tunnels under the city to keep the people safe. Those tunnels had obviously fallen out of use, but they were still occasionally used when a disaster happened.

Slipping between the bars was easy. The gate had clearly not been resecured in years, and the gap between the bars and the tunnel wall was wide enough for you, though maybe not wide enough for a fully armored bounty hunter. At least, you hoped not. 

You moved quickly but carefully into the depths of the tunnel system. There were rumors that the tunnels weren’t empty at all, but occupied by a group of people who had settled there after their own homes had been destroyed. They chose to continue living in the tunnels until they formed their own little society with its own strange and violent ways.

With care, you managed to avoid making much noise. Everything in the tunnels - from the uneven floors to the dusty ceilings - was made of stone, but there were still ways to make your presence known. Loose pebbles littered the floor, ready to skitter loudly with the strike of a foot. Every now and then, a root grew through the wall or ceiling, waiting to throw you off-balance and send you stumbling. Puddles occasionally gathered in low sections of the floor, having been there long enough to grow slippery on the bottom with things you’d rather not think about. Even if you didn’t slip, puddles meant footprints. You didn’t want to leave a literal trail for anyone to follow.

The tunnels were warm and quiet, almost soothing to your frayed nerves as you navigated the labyrinth. However, a chill soon ran up your spine. 

You were being followed. 

Maybe it was Fett, maybe not, but there was someone or something behind you. They were being careful to keep from being noticed, but their footprints were falling a microsecond after yours. The noise hit your ear just wrong enough to be sure of it. You increased your pace, but they still stuck close to you. 

The tunnel you were following split into several different branches. You knew you wanted to get away from whoever was behind you, but did you want to go left, right, or straight? Straight ahead of you, there was something hanging down from the ceiling. Maybe it was another root, maybe it was a cave-in, but you didn’t want to risk having to turn around. You started toward the right branch, but there was a scrap of sound from it - a breath, the brush of skin against a stone wall, something - so you hurried down the left branch as quickly as you could.

The sounds continued, growing even closer than they had been before. Your lungs were beginning to ache with the breath that was sawing in and out of them, but you pushed onward. Was it a trick of your eyes in the darkness..? No, there was a pale spot ahead of you, a pinprick of light that grew steadily as you approached it.

It wasn’t sunlight. The sky had just been growing dark as you entered the tunnels, and you hadn’t been in them long enough for the sun to have risen again. But maybe it was an exit, and you were seeing the city lights outside as you neared the tunnel’s end. 

There was a rattling noise behind you, as if something unused to speaking had drawn a breath. You began to jog through the tunnel, which quickly became more challenging as the ground went from clear stone to a thick layer of dirt and sand. Your muscles were screaming, but you were so close to the light and you could hear the dull cacophony of conversations nearby. 

You burst through that space and halted immediately at what you found there. 

It was a wide expanse of the same stone that had made up the rest of the tunnels, covered in soft sand that rolled and shifted underfoot. The space was lined with the mouths of tunnels, but your immediate attention was captured by the scene in this space between the tunnels.

It was a huge space, large enough that it could have comfortably held a city block. There were lights hanging from the walls and suspended from the ceiling, illuminating the space nicely. Tents were scattered around the area, the center of which was dominated by a collection of mismatched tables. There was food on the tables and many people seemed to be crowded around them.

Despite what you had heard about the fearsome people who lived in the tunnels, these seemed like ordinary enough beings to you. Those belonging to species with hair tended to need it cut and the clothing was obviously well-worn, but no worse than you had seen in some of the city slums. The people talked amongst themselves, sharing food and laughter… though they did turn to eye you curiously when you stumbled through at a rapid pace.

“Ah! Is this the lost one?” a booming voice asked.

When you glanced over, you found a humanoid male standing to one side of the room. His dark hair was wild and his clothing was old but neatly patched. He was smiling at you warmly, but you couldn’t begin to return the expression. Your attention was fixed on the bounty hunter standing beside him in full armor.

“Yes,” Fett told him, voice clipped.

The man smiled even wider. “Happy we could help you, ma’am. People get lost in these tunnels all of the time. It can be dangerous down here. Some of ‘em aren’t structurally sound anymore. We know where the cave-in spots are, but explorers don’t. My people and I try to keep an eye out for explorers, but there are too many tunnels and just not enough of us.”

He walked over to you with a cup in his hands, passing it to you. “You must be thirsty. Have some water. I sent a few people out to track you down and make sure you weren’t lost, but I guess they didn’t manage to catch up to you.”

Hesitantly, you lifted the cup to your lips, taking a subtle sniff as you did. It smelled like water, though that didn’t mean much. You were about to be recaptured by Boba Fett, though, so there wasn’t much more these people could do to you than that. 

After you had drained the cup, only realizing how thirsty you had been as the liquid hit your tongue, you offered the man a hesitant smile. “Thank you. I think they found me, but I was moving too quickly for them to flag down. I appreciate your help.”

“Never a problem,” he assured you, glancing to Fett. “He was worried about you. But here you are, safe and sound. Do you want something to eat? We have plenty, and we’re always willing to share. I think we may even have a spare tent or two if you need somewhere to spend the night-”

“We need to get back to my ship,” Fett interrupted. “One of your gates is broken - the one that leads in from the street heading into downtown.”

For the first time, the man looked displeased. “Dangerous section, that. I’ll have to make sure no one wanders over that direction until we get the gate fixed. There are too many children here to take unnecessary risks.”

Fett inclined his head, but made no other reply. You smiled and offered the cup back to the man. “Thank you.”

He waved away your thanks easily and bid you farewell with an entreaty to travel safely. Fett had laid a heavy hand on your shoulder and started marching you away from the little community before you could say anything in return. You were honestly shocked not to be wearing binders. 

You left in a different direction than you had entered through, though the tracks through the sand on the floor told you that Fett had come that way. The air gradually grew cooler as you moved down the tunnel. You were getting closer to the exit. 

Abruptly, Fett turned, guiding you through a doorway into a tunnel that seemed to run parallel to the one you had been using. You glanced up at him. You had already guessed what was going on, but you asked anyway. 

“Fett? What is-?”

“Time to pay up,” he told you.

You dropped the coy act… and your pants. You stepped out of everything you had been wearing below the waist, folding your clothes just enough so that they wouldn’t be full of sand when you picked them back up. With that done, you braced yourself against the wall of the tunnel and glanced back over your shoulder.

Fett’s helmet was aimed downward, and you got a thrill knowing that he was studying your body. Maybe you gave your hips an extra little wiggle as you spread your feet apart. 

He was behind you a moment later, the chill of his armor biting into your butt and thighs as he pressed against you. You had expected that Fett would take off the necessary armor, open his pants, and be inside you as quickly as possible - in fact, the thought made you wet enough to make that exact thing not only possible, but likely pleasurable for both of you. 

To your surprise, though, you felt gloved fingers between your legs. They teased down the curve of your asscheeks, creeping toward your core. His fingers gave an exploratory swipe through your folds on the way. Judging from the groan that rumbled against your back, he was pleased by everything he found there.

He pressed gently against your clit, rubbing it as you bit back a noise of your own. It didn’t take long for your hips to pick up the rhythm, swaying back and forth slightly as if to encourage his light touch to turn into something more. When he pressed a finger - made thicker with the material of his gloves - into your slick heat, your mouth fell open and you panted at the wall you were facing.

Fett muttered something in your ear that sounded like a curse, followed by, “You’re ready for me.”

It hadn’t been a question, but you nodded anyway. He pulled his finger free of you as you twitched at the sensation. The moment it took him to remove his codpiece and unfasten his pants seemed to stretch into infinity, but you tried to spend it slowing your breathing. Instead, it only picked up as the inside of Fett’s boot tapped at your inner ankle, prompting you to widen your stance even further.

When you were both adjusted, Fett pressed himself slowly into you. It felt like it took forever, the broad head of his cock spearing deep into you while the rest of him followed. He sank deeper and deeper while you savored the stretch and slight sting. 

It seemed like his hips had just brushed against the rounded cheeks of your ass when he pulled out again. He set a firm, steady pace, spearing deep every time only to slowly withdraw himself from you before starting the whole cycle over. Occasional grunts slipped past his lips, each one sending a wave of pleasure spasming through you. 

Not that you were quietly accepting his thrusts. No, you were dancing as much as you could while maintaining such a wide stance. Your hips twisted for him, pushing back as he surged forward as if you could urge him deeper inside of you. Every thrust was a collision, every withdrawal was a yank, and you filled the tunnel with the echoing sounds of your pleasure - both from your mouth and from lower places. 

When one particularly harsh thrust plumbed a loud cry from your throat, Fett’s hand wrapped around the lower half of your face, pressing your lips closed and trapping those little sounds inside your mouth. His other hand was locked around your hip, one finger conspicuously damp as he urged your rhythm to continue matching his own. 

Your orgasm was drawing ever-closer. The tension was building everywhere you were capable of feeling - your tummy, your chest, every finger and every toe. Everything was buzzing, filling with shining pleasure that would coalesce into something transcendental so deliciously soon. 

And then your climb was interrupted when Fett pulled his length fully out of you and your pleasure stuttered, caught in a confused wave of feelings, both bereft and empty. 

“Face me,” Fett ordered. You weren’t capable of speech - creating or understanding it, apparently - and didn’t move. You leaned heavily against the wall, still trying to figure out why he had stopped. His hand struck the stone wall beside your face and you blinked at the sharp noise it made. His voice managed to be even sharper as he repeated. “Turn and face me.”

You did, staring up at him in confusion. 

“Wanna see you,” he said, crowding you against the chilled stones of the wall. “Wanna see that face when you come on my cock.”

“I wanna see you, too,” you told him unthinkingly. “Wanna see you without the helmet.”

He didn’t react other than to grab your thigh and pull it up to wrap around his waist. Since he wouldn’t let you see his face, you contented yourself with seeing everything else. You stared down at him, watching as he aligned himself with your entrance once more.

Fett’s cock was thick, visibly hard and glistening with the evidence of your combined excitement. Even as you watched, he surged forward, burying himself again in the tight clasp of your body. You both groaned at the sensation of being joined again, and your hips reflexively wiggled forward to make sure you were as close as possible. 

He resumed that same firm, steady pace, but this time, your body sprinted toward pleasure instead of taking a leisurely jog. You were teetering on the edge in only a few strokes of Fett’s length inside of you, but he paused before you could free-fall. 

As you prepared to say something nasty, he reached up and pulled off his helmet.

You were open-mouthed as you studied Fett’s newly revealed face. He was darkly handsome, hair curling over his ears and forehead in a midnight tangle. His lips were plush, parted with effort and allowing you to catch a glimpse of his white teeth. Fett’s eyes were just as dark as his hair, with black eyebrows set in fierce determination above them as he picked up his pace once more.

To your own surprise as much as his, you shattered instantly, clenching and releasing around his cock as your mouth opened to wail with the force of your pleasure. Before you could do much more than take a preparatory breath, Fett’s plush lips were pressing to yours, muffling your cries with a sweeping kiss. 

Even without the ability to react audibly, your body would not be denied its response to such a powerful orgasm. 

The leg that was wrapped around Fett’s waist pulled him tightly against you, the powerful muscle of your thigh like durasteel in the throes of pleasure. Your fingernails curled into whatever you could reach: one sinking into Fett’s hair while the other raked uselessly down the thick material of the jumpsuit under his armor. The muscles of your core squeezed his length in long, spasming pulls that only made his thrusts feel like they were spearing all the way up into your throat.

Your body was still clenching around Fett’s, fighting to hold him deep as he tore himself out of you. With a hiss and a curse, his gloved hand fell to his own hardness, working his length until he spilled cum neatly into the sand of the floor beside your feet. 

You sagged against the wall, still weak from the power of your orgasm. Insultingly, Fett didn’t seem to be affected for more than a few seconds after he had come. He kicked sand over the mess on the ground and tucked himself back into his pants. He reattached the codpiece, dusted off his helmet, and - after one savoring study of your body - put it back on. 

He was the notorious Boba Fett once more, his modulated voice stern as he said, “Come on. We need to go.”

Feeling uncomfortably exposed, you dressed quickly, snapping your clothes out of their slapdash fold so that you could put them on. Something hit the sand next to your feet and you paused at the sound. It sounded solid.

Fett bent to retrieve it, tucking it into a pocket as he made ‘hurry up’ gestures at you. You were dressed in seconds, and he pulled you along the tunnel behind him. The gate for that section of tunnels was indeed in bad shape. It sagged on warped hinges, looking for all the world like it had been partially melted. 

As he held the metal gate back for you, Fett gave a slight chuckle.

“What?”

He shook his head, but answered, “First time anyone’s ever come at the sight of my face.”

You rolled your eyes, but it unfortunately wasn’t far from the truth. “What was that? The thing you put in your pocket?”

“Tracking puck.”

Fett did his best to ignore the betrayed gape you aimed in his direction, but he couldn’t avoid your horrified accusation: “You cheated!”

“A good bounty hunter doesn’t let a target escape without some kind of guarantee.” You didn’t change your expression in the slightest, a gnawing sense of terror writhing in the pit of your stomach. His helmet inched toward you, then away. “I didn’t start tracking you until your half-hour was up. You had that full time to escape. Not my fault you wasted your chance. Now come on.”

You followed him silently. If he really hadn’t been tracking you in that first half-hour, you would be safe. If he was and just hadn’t chosen to use that information… Well, your quick stop at a mail office hopefully wouldn’t be seen as interesting enough to follow up on. 

The information chip you had kept hidden in your shoe in the days leading up to your capture was safe. By the time you got to Coruscant, it would be well on its way to the nearest Rebel base. The Empire had you… and your cover was blown besides. There was no reason to hope for rescue, but you had done what you set out to do. If this was your end, at least you were going out in service of something greater.

And it didn’t hurt that you had spent some very productive time with an attractive bounty hunter before things ended for you. 

An odd sense of peace enveloped you as you followed Fett back up the ramp into his strange ship.

---

Author's Note - I'll be honest with you, I'm not super happy with this fic. I've always found Boba Fett a difficult character to write. I think that's a mixture of him being so popular, there being so little canon portrayal about him in the OT, and the fact that I STILL haven't watched the Book of Boba Fett.

But anyway, I can't look at it any longer and part of Fanfic February is posting a fic every day, so here it is.

Thanks for reading!