♡ choi beomgyu turns everything into a joke. he’s the charming menace who laughs off vulnerability and hides behind sarcasm. but his secret photography account — meant to be casual and fun — slowly becomes an archive of his quiet, accidental devotion to you. every photo, every caption, tells a story he’s too scared to say out loud.
☆ warnings: explicit nsfw (MDNI), detailed heavy smut (praise kink, marking/hickeys, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, teasing/edging, switching dynamics, emotional/possessive sex, crying during intimacy, aftercare, light degradation mixed with praise), themes of emotional avoidance and fear of vulnerability
Beomgyu had always been the guy who turned life into a punchline.
In your friend group, he was the one who could make even the most awkward silence explode into laughter. He teased everyone mercilessly, dodged serious conversations with perfect comedic timing, and flashed that signature mischievous grin whenever things got too real. Most people never looked past the chaos. They didn’t see how carefully he constructed every joke — how laughter was his favorite shield.
You noticed, though.
You’d been friends for over two years. Close enough to text memes at 2 a.m., but not close enough for him to stop deflecting when conversations turned sincere. He was charming. Funny. Safe behind layers of humor.
What you didn’t know was that Beomgyu had started a secret photography account three months ago.
It began as something casual — @archiveof_accidents. A place to dump random photos with ridiculous captions. He told himself it was just for fun. Aesthetic shots mixed with absurdity. Nothing serious.
The first post was a blurry brown sunset with the caption: “the sky copied my hair color today. rude.”
Then a photo of a cat knocking over a cup: “this guy owes me money.”
Slowly, without him realizing it, you started appearing in the background.
Not obviously. Never your face.
Just traces.
Your favorite iced coffee cup left on a table at the café you both frequented. A blurry reflection of your jacket in a bookstore window. Your handwriting on a napkin in the corner of a shot. An empty seat across from him at the library, your bag still hanging on the chair.
The captions stayed chaotic at first.
“someone left their overpriced coffee again. tragic.”
But the frequency increased.
Beomgyu told himself it was coincidence. He just took photos of his daily life. You happened to be in it a lot. That was all.
He posted a photo of your silhouette against golden hour light, half-hidden behind a tree. Caption: “this person thinks they’re sneaky. they’re not.”
He laughed when he posted it, thinking it was funny.
He didn’t realize he had taken thirty-seven photos of you in the past two weeks.
At first, it was exactly what Beomgyu intended — chaotic, unserious, a digital scrapbook of his daily absurdity. Followers liked the randomness: blurry photos of streetlights with the caption “he’s trying his best,” or a half-eaten ramyeon bowl labeled “this is my emotional support dinner.”
But something was shifting.
You started noticing it one random Tuesday night while scrolling through your phone in bed. You followed the account because Beomgyu had sent you the link months ago with the message “for my future biopic” and a string of laughing emojis. You thought it was just another one of his jokes.
Until you really looked.
The most recent post was a photo of a familiar café table. Your usual order — iced oat milk latte with an extra shot — sat half-drunk in the frame, condensation sliding down the cup. The chair across from it was empty, but your denim jacket was draped over the back.
Caption: “left their jacket again. some people have zero survival instincts.”
You stared at the photo for a long time. That was last Friday. You had left your jacket at the café when you rushed to class. Beomgyu had been the one who brought it back to you the next day without saying much.
You scrolled further.
Another post from two days ago: a blurry shot of the university library’s third floor. Your favorite corner seat was visible, your notebook open with your distinct handwriting scribbled across the page. The caption read: “someone’s handwriting is worse than mine. impressive.”
You felt your stomach twist in a strange way. Not bad. Just… unsettlingly warm.
The further back you went, the more traces appeared.
A reflection in a bookstore window showing the sleeve of your favorite hoodie. An empty bench at the park with two cups of coffee — one with your signature lipstick mark on the rim. A blurry candid of someone laughing (you knew it was you) taken from behind during a group outing, captioned: “this person laughs like the world owes them comedy.”
Beomgyu never tagged you. Never posted your face clearly. But the details were too specific. Too intimate.
He was documenting you without ever saying it.
The next day, you ran into him on campus.
Beomgyu was leaning against a wall, headphones around his neck, scrolling through his phone with that signature lazy grin. When he saw you, his face lit up in that playful way that made it hard to stay serious around him.
“Yo! My favorite co-conspirator,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders dramatically. “Missed me? Be honest. I know you did.”
You laughed despite yourself. “You saw me yesterday, Gyu.”
“Exactly. A whole twenty-four hours. Tragic.”
He was the same as always — loud, teasing, quick to deflect with humor. But when you mentioned the photography account casually, testing the waters, something flickered across his face for half a second.
“Oh that? It’s just random stuff,” he said, waving it off with a grin that felt a little too practiced. “Don’t read too much into it. I’m basically a chaos artist.”
You didn’t push.
But later that night, he posted again.
A photo of your favorite late-night convenience store. The empty stool where you always sat when you studied together was centered in the frame. A single strawberry milk carton sat on the counter — your usual order.
Caption: “somebody forgot their milk again. hopeless.”
You stared at the post for twenty minutes.
The account wasn’t random anymore.
It was becoming a quiet archive of every small moment you shared — captured through his eyes, hidden behind jokes and blurry angles.
And Beomgyu was still pretending he didn’t notice what he was doing.
What started as random chaos had slowly morphed into something more intentional, more intimate — though he refused to acknowledge it. Every few days, a new post would appear. Sometimes it was still absurd: a pigeon staring judgmentally at the camera with the caption “this man gets me.” But more and more often, the posts carried traces of you.
A half-empty iced americano with your specific order written on the cup and an empty seat beside him on the subway, your silhouette barely visible in the background, captioned: “someone fell asleep on my shoulder and then denied it. bold.”
He always posted with the same playful energy, as if none of it meant anything.
But his friends noticed.
It happened during a group hangout at Yeonjun’s apartment.
The five of them were sprawled across the living room, snacks everywhere, a random variety show playing on low volume. Beomgyu was in the middle of telling an exaggerated story about nearly tripping over his own feet during dance practice when Soobin suddenly sat up straighter, phone in hand.
“Wait. Pause. Gyu, what the hell is this account?”
Beomgyu froze mid-gesture. “What account?”
Soobin turned his phone around. The screen showed @archiveof_accidents.
Taehyun leaned over, eyes widening. “Oh my god. He’s been posting this whole time?”
Beomgyu tried to snatch the phone, but Yeonjun was faster, scrolling rapidly.
“Dude,” Yeonjun said, voice filled with disbelief and amusement. “There are like… four hundred photos. And half of them are just… stuff that belongs to one specific person.”
Beomgyu laughed — that bright, deflecting laugh he used like armor. “It’s just random shit I take when I’m bored. Don’t make it weird.”
Kai raised an eyebrow, scrolling slowly. “Random? Hyung, there’s a photo of their coffee order every single week. With the exact customizations. And look at this one—” He turned the phone toward the group. It was a soft, golden-hour shot of your laughing silhouette from behind, taken at the park last month. The caption read: “this person’s photogenicity should be studied. for science.”
The room went silent for half a second before exploding.
“Bro,” Soobin said, trying and failing to hide his grin. “You are down bad.”
“I’m literally not,” Beomgyu protested, snatching the phone back. His cheeks were slightly pink, but he played it off with an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s aesthetic. I’m building a vibe. You guys have no artistic vision.”
Taehyun smirked. “Yeah...”
Beomgyu opened his mouth. Closed it. Then laughed again — louder this time.
“You’re all delusional. I just take pictures of my life. And yes, they happen to be in my life. A lot. That’s normal.”
But later that night, after everyone had gone home, Beomgyu sat alone in his room, scrolling through his own account.
He stopped on a photo from two weeks ago: your hand resting on a table, fingers loosely wrapped around a pen while you studied. The caption was simple: “focused mode activated. dangerous.”
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he opened his camera roll — thousands of photos, most of them of you in some form. Blurry. Candid. Carefully framed. Moments he told himself were “just for the aesthetic.”
He whispered to the empty room, voice barely audible:
“…what the hell am I doing?”
But he didn’t delete a single photo.
Instead, he posted another one that night.
A blurry shot of two shadows walking side by side on the sidewalk. Yours was slightly ahead, his trailing just behind like he was always following.
Caption: “some people walk too fast. someone has to keep up.”
He told himself it was still a joke.
Deep down, he was starting to realize it wasn’t.
The next day, you ran into him on campus again.
Beomgyu greeted you with his usual chaotic energy — ruffling your hair, cracking a joke about your messy bun, stealing a sip of your coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But when you mentioned you’d been scrolling through his account again, something flickered behind his playful smile.
“Oh yeah?” he said, voice light. “Find anything good?”
You shrugged, watching him carefully. “A lot of familiar things.”
For the briefest moment, his grin faltered. Then it was back, brighter than ever.
“That’s because I have excellent taste. Obviously.”
He changed the subject immediately, launching into a dramatic story about his latest failed attempt at cooking.
You let him.
But you were starting to see through the jokes.
At first, you told yourself you were overthinking it. Beomgyu posted random things all the time — it was part of his chaotic charm. But the more you scrolled, the less random it felt. Every few posts, another quiet piece of evidence appeared, like breadcrumbs leading somewhere you weren’t sure you were ready to follow.
You were alone in your room one rainy Thursday night, curled up in bed with your phone. The rain tapped steadily against the window as you went further back in the archive — weeks, then months.
The pattern became devastatingly clear.
Early posts were pure Beomgyu: ridiculous selfies with captions like “handsome and humble,” or a photo of his messy desk labeled “organized chaos (don’t @ me).”
Then you started appearing.
Not your face — never your face. Beomgyu was careful like that. But the details were too intimate, too consistent to be coincidence.
Many photos of your favorite strawberry milk carton sitting on a convenience store counter, taken from his usual angle when you studied together.
Another from the library: your open notebook with your distinct, slightly slanted handwriting visible in the corner. Caption: “this person’s notes are prettier than mine. annoying.”
A blurry shot taken during golden hour at the park — your silhouette laughing at something he’d said, the light catching the edge of your smile. Caption: “this laugh should be illegal in at least three countries.”
You kept scrolling.
The further back you went, the more your chest tightened. The very first photo on the account — posted almost a year and a half ago — was a blurry, candid shot of you laughing at something during a group dinner. Your head was tilted back, eyes crinkled, completely unguarded. The caption was simple, almost shy compared to his usual style:
“i think something started here.”
You stared at it until the screen dimmed.
Your hands were shaking.
This wasn’t just an aesthetic account.
This was Beomgyu’s quiet, hidden archive of you — of every small moment, every shared coffee, every late-night walk home, every time you’d made him laugh for real. He had been documenting you for over a year, hiding it behind jokes and blurry angles and ridiculous captions.
And he never once said anything.
The next day, you couldn’t look at him the same way.
You met Beomgyu at your usual café after class. He was already there, sprawled in the corner booth with two drinks — yours exactly how you liked it. When he saw you, his face lit up with that signature mischievous grin.
“There she is! My favorite person who definitely doesn’t owe me money for all the times I’ve carried her books,” he teased, pushing your drink toward you. “You look like you didn’t sleep. Rough night?”
You forced a smile and sat down. “Something like that.”
He launched into a chaotic story about his latest streaming fail, waving his hands dramatically, making you laugh despite everything. But you kept noticing the little things now — the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary, the way he subconsciously angled his phone away when he opened it, the way he always positioned himself so he could see your face clearly.
When he excused himself to the bathroom, you glanced at his unlocked phone on the table.
The photography account was open.
A new draft waited to be posted: a photo he’d taken of you five minutes ago while you were looking out the window. The light was soft on your profile. The caption draft read:
“some people make rainy days look warm.”
Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.
When Beomgyu returned, you acted normal. You laughed at his jokes. You teased him back. But inside, everything had shifted.
He had been falling for you in silence, one photo at a time, for over a year.
And he still hid behind the jokes.
That night, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, phone glowing with the archive open beside you.
The account wasn’t just photography.
It was a love letter written in fragments — one he never meant for you to read.
And Beomgyu still had no idea you’d found it.
It sat heavy in your chest for days.
You tried to act normal around him. You laughed at his ridiculous jokes, teased him when he stole your snacks, and pretended everything was the same. But every time he pulled out his phone, you wondered if he was taking another photo. Every time he laughed too loudly at something small, you wondered how many of those laughs were hiding something deeper.
Beomgyu, for his part, remained the same charming menace on the surface.
Until one rainy Friday night.
You were both in his room after a group hangout got canceled. The rain pounded against the window as you sat on his bed, scrolling through your phone while he lounged on the floor, back against the bedframe, pretending to play a game on his Switch. The account was still open in your tabs. You couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Gyu,” you said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Hm?” He didn’t look up, thumbs moving rapidly on the controller.
“Why do you take so many photos?”
He paused the game. The room filled with the sound of rain.
“For the account,” he answered lightly. “Aesthetic chaos. You know me. I’m a visionary.”
You turned your phone toward him, showing the account open. His most recent post — the one of your profile in the café, captioned “some people make rainy days look warm” — was still at the top.
Beomgyu’s entire body went still.
For once, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t deflect.
He just stared at the screen, ears slowly turning red.
“…You noticed,” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.
“I’ve been scrolling through it for days,” you admitted. “Gyu… it’s me. Almost all of it is me.”
He set the Switch aside and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking smaller than usual. The charming, untouchable Beomgyu was gone. In his place was someone vulnerable, exposed, and visibly panicking.
“I didn’t mean for it to become that,” he said, voice strained. “It started as just random stuff. Then you… you kept showing up in my days. And I kept taking pictures because… I don’t know. It felt easier than saying anything out loud.”
You moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed right in front of him.
“Easier than what?” you asked softly.
Beomgyu looked up at you. His usual mischievous spark was gone. What remained was raw and terrified.
“Easier than admitting I’ve been in love with you for over a year,” he whispered.
The confession hung between you, heavy and honest in a way Beomgyu almost never allowed himself to be.
Then he was moving.
He surged up from the floor and kissed you like he’d been holding it in for lifetimes — desperate, messy, years of hidden feelings pouring out at once. His hands cupped your face, trembling slightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with a needy groan.
You pulled him onto the bed with you. Clothes came off in a rush — his hoodie, your shirt, his sweatpants. Beomgyu’s usual playful energy was replaced by something hungry and reverent. He kissed down your neck, sucking marks into your skin like he needed proof this was real.
“Been wanting this for so long,” he breathed against your collarbone, voice wrecked. “Fuck, you have no idea.”
He moved lower, spreading your legs with gentle but insistent hands. The first swipe of his tongue against your clit made you arch off the bed. Beomgyu moaned like he was the one receiving pleasure, licking and sucking with messy enthusiasm, two fingers sliding inside you and curling perfectly.
“You taste so good,” he groaned, voice muffled. “Knew you would. Dreamed about this.”
He ate you out like a man starved — tongue fucking into you, fingers pumping steadily, thumb circling your clit until you came hard on his mouth, thighs shaking around his head. He didn’t stop, working you through it with soft, praising murmurs.
When you finally caught your breath, you pulled him up and flipped positions, taking him into your mouth in one smooth motion. Beomgyu cursed loudly, hips jerking, one hand gently threading through your hair.
“Shit— baby, you don’t have to— fuck,” he gasped, head falling back as you sucked him deep, hollowing your cheeks. His usual cocky demeanor completely shattered; he was a mess of whimpers and broken praises.
He didn’t last long. He pulled you off with a shaky groan and flipped you onto your back, sliding into you in one deep thrust. The stretch was perfect. He fucked you slow and deep at first, eyes locked on yours, every thrust deliberate and emotional.
“I’m so gone for you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “The account… every photo… it was all you. It’s always been you.”
You switched again, riding him hard while he gripped your hips, thrusting up to meet you. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, rain against the window, and Beomgyu’s broken moans.
When you both came — you first, clenching around him, then him spilling deep inside you with a guttural groan — he held you tightly, arms wrapped around your back like he was afraid you’d disappear.
Afterward, he cleaned you up with gentle hands, then pulled you into his chest, pressing soft kisses to your temple.
“I’m sorry I hid it for so long,” he whispered into the dark. “Joking was easier than being scared.”
You kissed his chest, right over his racing heart.
“You don’t have to joke with me anymore.”
Beomgyu let out a shaky breath and held you closer.
For the first time, he didn’t deflect.
He just stayed.
-----
The morning after felt surreal.
You woke up in Beomgyu’s bed, his arm draped heavily over your waist, face buried in your neck like he’d been afraid you’d slip away in the night. The faint scent of his shampoo and the warmth of his body grounded you. When you stirred, he didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he pressed a slow, sleepy kiss to your shoulder.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and softer than usual. No jokes. No dramatic flair. Just Beomgyu — raw and quiet.
You turned in his arms and kissed him properly. He melted into it, hands sliding down your back with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache.
For a few perfect hours, everything felt easy.
But Beomgyu had spent years mastering the art of deflection. Old habits died hard.
By the afternoon, the jokes returned — but they felt different now. Sharper. More frequent. Like he was testing the waters, making sure the vulnerability of last night hadn’t broken something irreparable.
You were at the campus café with a few mutual friends when it started.
A guy from your literature class — tall, friendly, and a little too confident — stopped by your table. He’d been flirting with you on and off for weeks, never quite crossing the line but always lingering.
“Hey,” he said, smiling brightly at you. “You look good today. That sweater’s cute. New?”
Before you could answer, Beomgyu — who had been mid-bite of his sandwich — let out a loud, dramatic laugh.
“Cute? That’s the best you’ve got?” he teased the guy, grin sharp. “She looks incredible. Try harder, man.”
The table laughed. The guy chuckled awkwardly and left after a few more words.
But you noticed how Beomgyu’s hand had tightened around his cup. How his usual playful teasing carried a new, protective edge. How his eyes followed the guy until he disappeared into the crowd.
Later, when you were alone walking back to his apartment, you brought it up gently.
“You were a little intense back there.”
Beomgyu shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking a pebble. “What? I was just being honest. He was lame.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Gyu.”
He was quiet for a long moment, the playful mask slipping.
“I didn’t like it,” he admitted, voice low. “I know I have no right to feel possessive after hiding for so long. But seeing him look at you like that… it made me want to post every photo I’ve ever taken of you just to prove—”
He stopped himself, cheeks flushing.
You stopped walking and turned to face him.
“Prove what?”
Beomgyu looked away, jaw tight. For the first time in years, his humor failed him completely.
“That you’re mine,” he said quietly. “Even if I was too scared to say it before.”
The confession was small, almost shy. But it carried the weight of every hidden photo, every unsaid feeling, every time he’d chosen a joke over honesty.
You pulled him into a kiss right there on the sidewalk, rain starting to fall lightly around you. Beomgyu kissed you back like he was drowning, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with trembling care.
That night, the tension snapped again.
You barely made it inside his apartment before he had you pressed against the door, kissing you hard and deep. His usual playful energy was gone — replaced by something desperate and sincere.
“Need you,” he breathed against your mouth, hands already sliding under your shirt. “Been thinking about you all day.”
He carried you to his bed, laying you down with surprising gentleness. Clothes disappeared slowly this time, like he wanted to savor every second. Beomgyu kissed down your body with focused reverence, sucking marks into your inner thighs before spreading your legs and burying his face between them.
He ate you out like he was making up for lost time — tongue slow and thorough, two fingers curling deep inside you while he moaned against your clit. When you came on his tongue, he didn’t stop, working you through it until you were shaking.
Then he flipped you over, pulling your hips up and sliding into you from behind in one smooth thrust. The angle was devastating. He fucked you deep and steady, one hand reaching around to rub your clit while the other gripped your hip.
“Mine,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “Been mine for so long. Should’ve told you sooner.”
You switched again, riding him slow and deep while he looked up at you with glassy, adoring eyes. His hands traced every curve like he was memorizing you, thumbs brushing over your nipples, lips parted in quiet awe.
When you both came — you first, clenching around him, then him spilling deep inside you with a broken moan of your name — he held you tightly against his chest, arms wrapped around you like a lifeline.
Afterward, while cleaning you up, he pressed soft kisses to every mark he’d left.
“I’m still scared,” he whispered into the darkness later, curled around you. “But I don’t want to hide anymore. Not with you.”
You kissed his forehead and held him closer.
-----
Beomgyu was still Beomgyu — loud, chaotic, quick with a joke — but the armor had visible dents now. He touched you more freely: a hand on your lower back when walking, fingers brushing yours when passing in the kitchen, forehead kisses when he thought you were focused on something else. The jokes remained, but they felt softer around the edges, like he was slowly learning he didn’t need them as a shield with you.
But old habits were stubborn.
One night, after a long group dinner where he’d spent the entire evening making everyone laugh until their stomachs hurt, you both returned to his apartment. The rain was falling softly outside again, like the universe was giving you another quiet moment.
You were curled up on his bed together, lights dimmed, his head resting on your chest while you played with his hair. The quiet felt safe. Beomgyu’s breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders.
“Gyu,” you said softly, running your fingers through his dark strands. “Why do you do it?”
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
For a long time, he stayed silent, tracing lazy patterns on your arm.
“Because it’s easier,” he finally whispered. “If I make everything a joke, no one looks too closely. No one asks the scary questions. If I laugh first, I control how the moment ends.”
You waited.
Beomgyu shifted, turning so his chin rested on your sternum, eyes meeting yours in the low light. He looked younger like this. Vulnerable.
“My family… we didn’t do serious well,” he said quietly. “Whenever things got heavy, someone would crack a joke. Change the subject. Pretend everything was fine. It worked. Until it didn’t. People left anyway. Friends. Relationships. They got tired of the clown who never got serious.”
His voice cracked just slightly.
“So I got really good at it. Being funny. Being charming. Being the guy everyone wants around because he makes things light. But then you…” He let out a shaky breath. “You started showing up in my life and suddenly the jokes felt… insufficient. Taking pictures felt safer. Like I could keep pieces of you without having to admit what they meant.”
You cupped his face gently, thumb brushing his cheek.
“You don’t have to be funny with me,” you whispered. “You don’t have to perform.”
Beomgyu’s eyes shimmered. He leaned up and kissed you — slow, deep, full of everything he’d been holding back for years. The kiss quickly grew heated, his hands sliding under your shirt, tugging it off with trembling urgency.
He took his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he revealed like he was apologizing for every joke he’d used as a wall. When he reached between your legs, he used his mouth and fingers with devastating patience — licking slow stripes up your folds, sucking your clit gently while two fingers curled inside you, stroking that perfect spot until your thighs shook around his head.
“Want to make you feel good,” he murmured against your wetness. “Want to deserve you.”
You came hard on his tongue, crying out his name. Beomgyu didn’t stop until you were trembling and oversensitive, then crawled up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue.
When he finally pushed inside you, it was slow and deep. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in as he rocked into you with long, deliberate thrusts.
“I’m scared,” he admitted against your skin, voice breaking on a moan. “I’m so fucking scared of needing someone this much. But I need you. I’ve needed you for so long.”
You switched positions, riding him slow and intimate while he looked up at you with glassy, adoring eyes. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, but his touch was reverent. Every thrust, every moan, every whispered “I love you” felt like another wall crumbling.
When you both came — you first, clenching around him, then him spilling deep inside you with a broken groan of your name — he held you tightly against his chest, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.
After cleaning you up with gentle hands, he pulled you back into his arms and whispered into the darkness:
“I don’t want to hide behind jokes anymore. Not with you. You make me want to be real.”
-----
Time moved gently after Beomgyu finally stopped hiding.
The charming menace didn’t disappear overnight. He still made ridiculous jokes at the worst possible moments, still sent you memes at 3 a.m., still dramatically gasped when you stole his food. But now the jokes felt like seasoning rather than armor. Underneath them was a boy who was learning, day by day, that he didn’t have to be funny to be loved.
The photography account became something beautiful.
He still posted chaotic photos, but more and more often he included your face — clear, unguarded, smiling. The captions grew softer, more sincere:
“found my favorite view again.” “this person makes bad days feel like plot twists.” “been collecting moments like these for two years. finally brave enough to say why.”
His followers lost their minds in the best way. The comment sections filled with heart emojis and people saying they’d never seen someone fall in love so visibly through photos.
Beomgyu read every single one with a shy, pleased little smile.
One year after the confession, on a quiet spring evening, you found him sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by printed photos.
He’d printed hundreds — every important shot from the account, carefully laid out in chronological order across the floor like a timeline of his heart.
When you walked in, he looked up at you with soft, nervous eyes.
“I wanted to show you something,” he said quietly.
You sat down beside him. Beomgyu picked up the very first photo — the blurry one of you laughing at that group dinner years ago. The original caption still read: “i think something started here.”
“I took this the night I realized I was screwed,” he admitted, voice thick. “You laughed at one of my stupid jokes and it wasn’t polite laughter. It was real. And I just… kept taking pictures after that. I told myself it was for the account. But really, I was just trying to keep pieces of you. In case you ever left.”
He picked up another photo — one of you sleeping on his shoulder on the subway, taken secretly.
“I was terrified of needing someone this much,” he continued. “So I turned it into art. Into jokes. Into anything except saying it out loud.”
You reached out and took his hand.
Beomgyu looked at you, eyes shining.
“But I’m not scared anymore,” he whispered. “I love you. Not in a funny way. Not in a chaotic way. Just… completely. And I want to keep taking pictures of us for the rest of my life. No more hiding.”
You kissed him then — slow, deep, full of every feeling you’d both carried for so long.
The kiss quickly grew heated.
Beomgyu pulled you into his lap, hands sliding under your shirt as he kissed you like he was still making up for lost time. Clothes came off with trembling urgency but also reverence. He laid you down gently among the scattered photos, kissing every inch of skin he could reach.
He took his time with his mouth between your legs — licking slow, thorough stripes up your folds, sucking your clit while two fingers curled deep inside you. When you came on his tongue, he moaned like it was his own pleasure, working you through it with soft praises.
Then he moved up your body and slid into you in one smooth thrust, forehead pressed to yours.
“I love you,” he breathed with every deep stroke. “I love you. I love you.”
You switched, riding him slow and intimate while he looked up at you with glassy, adoring eyes. His hands traced your body like he was still memorizing every curve, whispering how beautiful you were, how lucky he was, how he never wanted this to end.
When you both came — you first, clenching around him, then him spilling deep inside you with a broken moan of your name — he held you tightly against his chest, arms wrapped around you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.
Afterward, he cleaned you up with the gentlest hands, then pulled you back down among the photos. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder as you both looked at the timeline of his love spread across the floor.
“I used to think the archive was an accident,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Now I think it was the bravest thing I’ve ever done. Because it led me to you.”
You turned in his arms and kissed him softly.
“The archive of accidents,” you murmured against his lips.
Beomgyu smiled — small, real, and full of quiet joy.
“Our archive,” he corrected gently. “And I’m never deleting a single photo.”
And in the soft glow of his room, surrounded by hundreds of captured moments, he held you like he never planned to let go.
Your heart and mind seek him for reasons no words could describe — an irony not lost on you, a writer, a weaver of words. And yet, when it comes to him, even you fail to stitch together the language to explain his existence in your life.
⊹₊ wc; 13.2k
Nobleman!Choi Beomgyu x Noblewoman!afab!reader
chapter tags: regency-inspired setting with loosely adapted historical accuracy, heavy slowburn continues, mutual pining reaching concerning levels, they should not be trusted in confined spaces together, forced proximity done wrong in all the right ways, beomgyu is one step away from losing his entire composure (and dignity), taehyun continues to ruin everyone’s peace unintentionally, suggestive tension through proximity and touch (nothing explicit but deeply charged)
warnings: overheard conversation about a young woman’s passing, mc inadvertently (and very much willingly) intercepting information tied to an ongoing investigation
i had to cut the chapter in half because it was becoming far too lengthy WAHAHAHAH i love this chapter a lot btw because i got to torture lord choi <//3 it is proofread but there might still be some errors!
i also wanna thank @yvampyr for motivating me to publish another chapter through her constant praises of this series ily yvro
Story ml .☘︎ ݁˖ Previous chapter .☘︎ ݁˖ Next chapter
The ton often mistakes affection for possession. How unfortunate.
For there exists a far rarer form of devotion, one that asks for nothing and seeks no acclaim. It simply delights in seeing another smile and, having achieved such a feat, considers itself richly rewarded.
This author wonders how many hearts have been lost to that particular vice.
The golden ribbon of dawn had just begun its ascent across the horizon.
Your adrenaline coursed with conspicuous vigour. It had been some time since your blood had carried such brightness through your veins. The act itself was no novelty. You had long since grown adept at slipping beyond the eyes of the aristocrats and at dissolving into thoroughfares where lineage commanded little notice. You had done so countless times.
This morning, however, differed in one irreducible particular. This time, you were not alone.
In what had once been your private and faintly scandalous indulgence, there would now be Choi Beomgyu’s presence.
You found yourself pondering how his hand would feel if it closed around yours to steer through a crowded crossing. To traverse markets and narrow lanes beside him unencumbered by titles and unobserved by matrons introduced an element that painted the undertaking brighter.
It felt perilous in ways that had little to do with discovery because this no longer resembled an excursion between like-minded allies. It felt nearer to flight — a departure into a world you would not mind remaining in, so long as he stood within it.
“You have been smiling since you opened your eyes,” Maya mused, separating the strands of your hair with nimble fingers before weaving them into a single braid. “It is most distracting.”
You lowered your eyes at that, attempting severity and failing to maintain it. “Must you always chaff me?”
“I say it because it is true,” she replied. “You carry your thoughts so heavily most days. This morning, you do not. I would keep this version of you, if I could.”
Warmth crept higher along your cheeks, unassisted by powder or paint. It appeared so thoroughly that it could fool anyone into assuming you had done some touch up.
“Perhaps I have grown soft,” you said quietly. You folded your hands in your lap, then unfolded them again. “It is not foolish, I hope?”
“Foolish?” Maya stepped around you and lifted your chin, studying your face with open affection. “No, my lady. It is human.”
You allowed a small smile. Maya returned it to you brightly. She returned to secure the braid at the nape of your neck and coiled it into a modest knot, fastening the final pin.
“There! Entirely unremarkable. Which, for once, is precisely the aim,” she beamed.
You rose and adjusted the bodice, drawing the laces taut and tying them. The fabric lay plain against you; no ornament distracted from the simplicity of the attire for the obvious part. You regarded your reflection only briefly before your gaze fell again.
“Maya.”
“Yes, my lady?”
It was a bit ironic how you — a weaver of words — failed to weave the very words upon your tongue when it came to Beomgyu. Your delayed attempt at speech formation did not go unnoticed by her. Instead of urging you, Maya waited.
You took a deep breath, then let it out. “I have always walked alone in these paths of mine. I have never had anyone take a genuine interest in the pursuits that occupy my mind, nor have I encountered one who regards the world as I do.” — but in the end, words did end up flowing naturally, and talking about him always brings upon a real smile on your lips.
Maya’s features softened. She took your hands before you could withdraw them and enclosed them within her own. “What troubles you?” she asked.
“I find that I want him there,” you confessed. When you lifted your eyes, hesitation tempered your expression. “More than I should, perhaps. Is it wrong to desire his company so much?”
Maya exhaled fondly. She rubbed her thumbs across your knuckles, as though warming them from cold. “My lady, there is no fault in wanting the presence of someone who makes your heart lighter,” she answered, giving your hands a gentle squeeze.
“I know,” you whispered.
“You have denied yourself companionship for long enough. You may keep a little joy for your own sake,” she continued, adjusting the fall of your shawl over your shoulders. “Go to him. See what becomes of it.”
They were mere words, but the brightness in your heart turned incandescent with joy upon hearing them. You rose from the chair and drew her into an embrace. Her hands pressed warmly against your back. The contact steadied your breathing.
“I shall be back soon,” you murmured near her ear, tightening your hold for a brief moment before stepping back.
“You shall return content,” she replied, patting your arm once and releasing you. “And you shall tell me whether he proved worthy of that smile.”
Beyond the window, dawn had grown brighter; the estate would soon stir in earnest. You turned toward the door and carried that warmth with you.
The old butler, Mr. Austen had long ceased to be merely a servant within the household; he occupied a station closer to stewardship. Beyond Maya, there existed no other soul to whom you entrusted your more unconventional enterprises.
It was he who had priorly secured a carriage — which was not one of yours or bore a crest that might betray affiliation. He had given an impression to the hired coachman that one of the attendants required conveyance to the church situated at the far end of town. The explanation met with no skepticism.
When the appointed hour arrived, you descended the side staircase with your bonnet drawn low to obscure the greater part of your face. Mr. Austen assisted you into the carriage with care that bordered upon paternal instinct. Throughout the journey, no passerby gave the carriage a second glance. To them, it bore the insignificance of countless others that traversed the thoroughfare each day.
By the time the church spire came into view beyond the clustered rooftops, your passage had been accomplished without incident. The carriage drew to a halt near the back wall, removed from the main square where foot traffic gathered in scarce number. Mr. Austen descended first, then turned to offer his hand once more.
You accepted it and stepped down upon the cobbled ground, lifting your skirts to avoid the damp between the stones. Once clear of the carriage, you reached up and adjusted your bonnet, ensuring it cast sufficient shadow across your features.
“Mr. Austen,” you said warmly, “I ought to thank you more properly. You always assist me, even when my requests are troublesome.”
He regarded you from beneath brows that had grown more expressive with age. “If I complained every time you made life difficult, I should have no breath left for anything else.”
You startled into a laugh. “So you admit I am troublesome!”
Mr. Austen’s smile was concealed under this grey mustache, but the crinkles around his eyes were an evident of it. It in return lifted the apples of your cheeks.
“I jest,” he said. “Though I must admit with pride that you have inherited both your parent’s resolve for greater pursuits.”
You tilted your head and allowed a hint of levity to enter your voice. “I keep wondering how you have not grown weary of me, or insisted to betray my secrets in the interest of your own tranquillity.”
At this, he exhaled through his nose and removed one glove, lifting his hand to rest briefly upon your head. The gesture was gentle.
“Betray you?” he said, lowering his voice in a parental rebuking tone. “I have served this household since before you could form a sentence. I carried you through those corridors when you could not walk. I have bandaged your knees and hidden your broken teacups. Do you suppose I would begin betraying you now?”
“When you list it so plainly, I sound incorrigible.” Your smile softened.
“You were an energetic child,” he corrected, drawing his glove back on. “You are now an energetic young lady. I know your mind. I know when you act with purpose.”
You lowered your gaze. “Even so, I must try your patience.”
“You try nothing of the sort,” he answered. His gaze moved past you toward the narrow street that curved away from the church. “Take care while you are out there. Keep to the streets we discussed and return by the hour agreed upon.”
“I shall.” You inclined your head in acknowledgment.
He stepped back to allow you passage toward the entrance, yet his eyes remained upon you until you reached the shelter of the stone archway. Only then did he withdraw to the carriage.
No passerby occupied the lane that led to the churchyard at this hour. The structure had endured many seasons without devoted care; ivy gripped the outer stonework, and long green climbers wound their way along cracked mortar and weathered arches. Moss had gathered between the flagstones of the path.
You crossed the yard with brisk steps, gathering the edge of your skirt so it would not brush the damp growth along the wall. The wooden gate yielded beneath your hands with a subdued groan. You slipped inside and drew it back into place behind you, the iron latch settling with a hollow echo that traversed through the small vestibule.
The church received you in tempered light. Tall windows of stained glass admitted slender shafts of colour that descended across the rows of aged pews and wandered over the stone floor. Dust stirred faintly in the air where the sunlight touched it.
The hush within bore the solemnity of a place accustomed to confessions declared with trembling breaths and parting words spoken with tearful eyes. A sanctuary for lovers brought together by fate and here, beneath these very windows, they had stood hand in hand to bind their futures together before witness and blessing.
Within that broad expanse, he sat several rows ahead with a book in his hands. The stillness surrounding him gave the impression that he had been waiting for some time. You hadn’t taken three steps before he turned his head.
His gaze found you.
It was a wonder he did not drop the book, or how he had managed to preserve even the outward appearance of a gentleman. Nearly every rational thought had abandoned him, leaving only a tumult of sensation that defied decorum.
He could not reconcile the image before him with the world he occupied. There existed no refinement of language that could render you into adequate description within his mind. It was a theft from fortune itself that he should be granted this sight of you — heaven sent — in a place that had borne vows of eternity.
How undeserving he was, and yet how impossibly fortunate, to know you at all. To have encountered you in this lifetime was a miracle he could scarcely bear to acknowledge without trembling. He, who had done nothing to earn such grace, found himself granted it all the same.
He pressed the book shut with his thumb and set it aside upon the bench without once glancing away. Rising soon after, he remained where he stood and did not dare step forward to meet you. Any further claim upon your presence might verge upon excess.
The path you walked on had seen brides being led forward beneath veils.
You reached up and untied the ribbons beneath your chin, slipping the bonnet free and lowering it to your side. Filtered sunlight brushed across your features; you were unaware of the devastation your simple gesture wrought upon the man who watched.
With no witness but the silent church and its ancient walls, Choi Beomgyu found himself wholly, helplessly, and madly in awe of you.
Meanwhile, each step along the aisle was taken with a steadiness that belied the faint quickening beneath your ribs. Once standing before him, your lips parted in an aberrantly shy greeting.
“Hi.” — the greeting emerged so softly that it scarcely disturbed the hush surrounding you.
He forgot every prepared greeting he had carried with him into the church. He had spent the better part of the morning considering what he might say upon seeing you again but none of it survived.
"Hi,” he returned after a short moment. He stepped forward a pace, the faintest tremor betraying the effort it took to hold himself upright. “Did you have a safe journey here? I hope it was not troublesome to avoid the eyes."
You laughed, a delicate sound that rolled through the air and set his heart skittering.
“This is hardly my first venture of the sort, Lord Choi,” you said, a trace of mirth touching your lips. “You needn’t worry on my behalf.”
He pressed his lips together, his eyes closing briefly as he recalled the forgotten detail. He inclined his head in a gesture that carried apology — one that seamlessly delivered that he had disciplined himself for even daring to dismiss something from his mind about you.
“Yes—yes, of course.” His voice softened, almost conceding the ground with care. “Forgive me. I remember now that you have done this many times before.”
Your smile deepened. “Apology accepted.”
You moved together toward the rear of the church where there was a door set behind the last row of pews. He reached ahead of you to pull it open, then stepped aside to let you pass through first. The faint freshness of the season’s turn kissed the skin beneath your eyes.
A slim path stretched ahead, bordered by overgrown hedges and low-hanging branches that filtered the daylight into shifting patches upon the ground. Beomgyu lifted one hand to guide a stray branch away from your path before letting it fall back into place. He walked beside you, though never too near. You wished he did.
“After a short while, a man will pass here with his cart. We will join him and reach the town without a hitch,” he explained, glancing down the road ahead.
You tilted your head, curiosity brightening your features. "Are you friends with this man, Lord Choi?"
"He has been the one to get me in and out of town during these escapes of mine." His gaze carried a secretive fondness. The next moment, however, he gave you a look. “Though I must warn you, he sometimes let his tongue outrun his wit.”
You hummed, eyes tracing the patterns of sunlight through the branches. The faint stir of leaves above lent a softness to the moment. “It is lovely , isn’t it, Lord Choi?” you said after a pause, “to have friends who look out for you so, without question.”
You thought of Maya, and of Mr. Austen — whose loyalty had never once wavered despite the liberties you so often took. It was indeed the greatest gift in knowing that one was not alone in one’s ventures, however ill-advised they might appear to others. You were comforted to know that Beomgyu was not solitary in his wanderings; that beyond the confines of expectation, he too was sustained by hands willing to guide and guard his passage.
“You need not call me that.”
During the passing silence between you, in which the sound of your footsteps mingled with the whispering leaves — his low voice tickled your ears. The sensation travelled all the way down to your arms, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps whose reason of origin were too specific to be blamed upon the morning breeze.
Your feet slowed of their own volition. “Whatever do you mean?”
“‘Lord Choi’,” he said, meeting your gaze. “You do not need to keep using the title with me.”
“And what should I call you, then?” you jested, the question light upon your tongue. “Mr. Choi?”
That drew a different look from him. The smile that curved his lips deepened, and he held your gaze with a gravity that pulled at your senses. He allowed the meaning of his words to settle — and understanding came to you in a gradual unfoldment.
"Oh," you murmured, the single syllable tasting of revelation.
“We are not within society’s bounds here. If you continue to address me so, it may draw notice.” He wished to hear his name from you alone — stripped of rank and shaped only by your voice, entirely kept apart from every other claim upon him. It seemed, in that moment, an unnecessary barrier — one he could not bring himself to tolerate. “Use my name.”
You held your gaze on him, feeling a giddiness unfurl within your chest that made your pulse reckless. He was looking at you with expectation, a tender touch of patience, awaiting the very thing your heart ached to give. Your breath caught in a minuscule falter before you turned your face aside, conceding the moment without granting it its full due.
“You ask for liberties, Lord—” The title slipped out of habit; you halted, then amended with care, “—then I should expect the same from you, should I not?”
Beomgyu smiled in full, no withholding. “You may always expect from me what your heart permits, and far more besides.” — then he said your name.
He stepped closer in thought, if not in body, his words bending the social rules only to fold entirely around you.
You had grown so accustomed to hearing him say “my lady” to address you that the notion of your own name claimed by his voice had never crossed your mind. Now, confronted with your title’s absence, you found yourself wholly unprepared. Would it be improper to coax him to repeat your name? Though you doubted whether you could ever request it again without succumbing into a breathless whisper.
“Oi! Choi Beomgyu!”
You turned in tandem. An old man was approaching you with a slow, rolling gait on a haycart.
“Didnt expect you to show up today!” he called, squinting at Beomgyu beneath the brim of his worn hat. “Thought you’d lost your nerve this time.”
“I gave you my word, uncle Park,” Beomgyu replied, stepping nearer as the cart drew close for him to lay a hand upon its side. His fingers closed around the wooden rail, steadying the slight jolt as the horse was brought to a halt. “You might consider granting me a measure of patience.”
“Patience?” Uncle Park barked, striking the side of the cart with a resounding slap. “You vanish for weeks on end and return with talk of patience? I ought to charge you interest for every day you kept me waiting.”
“Come now, do not begin reciting my faults before I have even greeted you properly,” Beomgyu drawled. The tilt of his mouth carried a trace of mischief that seemed ill-matched with the poise he otherwise wore. “You would have me condemned before I could attempt a defence.”
The change may have been miniscule but it did not escape your notice. It was, you thought, a sight to behold — to witness him thus.
“Well now, and who might this be?” The old man’s attention veered from Beomgyu with abrupt curiosity. He regarded you with frank appraisal before his brows rose and his grin widened into something altogether knowing. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and found yourself a sweetheart. Took you long enough, boy. I thought you meant to wander alone till your bones gave out.”
Oh, it was another sight to behold — to see such a bright shade of red adorning his face.
“No—no, you’ve mistaken it entirely,” Beomgyu spluttered, the denial arriving with such haste that it threatened coherence. “She is—we are acquainted. A friend.”
Uncle Park’s expression did not alter in the slightest. He let out a low hum, drawing the sound out as his gaze passed between you both again. He was unconvinced in the most evident manner.
“A friend, is it?” he repeated with skepticism. “Well, a friend with the look of her, I’ll grant you’ve done well for yourself.”
A trace of pity found its way through you for him. So you stepped forward before Beomgyu could further knot himself in needless explanation. Inclining your head in greeting, you offered Uncle Park a civility he had not anticipated.
“Good day, sir,” you said, hands gathered neatly before you. “We remain indebted for your assistance.”
He blinked with bafflement. Then he let out a small chuckle, scratching at his jaw. “No debt worth speaking of. Any friend of his is welcome enough.”
“I have heard you have been aiding him in reaching town,” you said once settled upon the cart’s wooden bed, Beomgyu following close behind. “Though I begin to suspect I have been introduced into a history far more elaborate than I was warned of.”
Beomgyu released a breath through his nose, turning his head aside as he ran a hand through his hair as though it might restore some fragment of dignity. “You have been warned sufficiently,” he muttered, though his glance betrayed a flicker of reluctant humour. “It is not my fault you chose to ignore it.”
“Was I now?” you returned, the question light but you were evidently chaffing.
“Warned?” Uncle Park echoed, taking up the reins and guiding the horse forward. “Now that is a detail I should very much like to hear. What, pray tell, have you been saying about me, boy?”
“Nothing that would survive your hearing,” Beomgyu replied without missing a beat, though the faint colour rising along the line of his cheek rendered the retort less convincing than he might have wished.
Uncle Park released a loud laugh, head tipping back in delight as the horse gave a mild flick of its ear in response. “Ah, so you do possess a tongue when pressed!”
You turned your gaze upon Beomgyu then, interest brightening your expression as the exchange had offered you a private amusement worth savoring. “It seems I had formed a rather different impression,” you said, lightly.
Beomgyu’s gaze narrowed with a flash of protest that did not quite disguise the reluctant curve threatening his mouth. “You can change your opinion of me if you want,” he returned. “But I would advise against placing too much faith in this man’s testimony.”
“Dangerous counsel,” Uncle Park interjected. “Encouraging a lady to doubt me at our very first meeting. You’ll have her convinced I am a scoundrel before I’ve even had the chance to prove it.”
“I suspect that you would require no encouragement at all in that regard,” you replied, your tone turning pleasantly contemplative.
A stunned beat passed over the air punctuated only by the sounds of the hooves. Not long after, the old man threw his head back and laughed again, wholly delighted.
“Oh, I like her,” he declared, pointing a crooked finger in your direction. “You’ve brought me someone with sense, Beomgyu. That alone earns you forgiveness for your many disappearances.”
“I am relieved my standing has been restored on such merciful terms,” Beomgyu said dryly.
Uncle Park clicked his tongue, casting him a sideways look. “But do not grow complacent. A man who makes promises and neglects them is of little use to anyone, least of all himself.”
The remark had teeth underneath the jovial tone which altered the look in Beomgyu’s eyes. As much as it was miniscule, it was still perceptible. There was little room left for defence when the accusation aligned too closely with his own assessment of past conduct. For a brief stretch of thought, he allowed no rebuttal to form but his fingers tightened against the rail’s rough grain before he inclined his head.
“I am here now,” he said.
The words were few, but they carried an undercurrent of finality that admitted no further censure.
Uncle Park stared for a passing moment, the remnants of his earlier levity giving way to a more considered regard. He gave a short nod and returned his attention to the road.
“Aye,” he conceded. “That you are.”
You offered no interruption through it. There were conversations that did not belong to you, and you possessed enough discernment to leave them undisturbed.
The wind had found its way into Beomgyu’s hair and tousled it in the most wild manner; a stray leaf remained stuck near his temple. Wordlessly, you reached forward and removed it, and upon feeling your touch on his skin, Beomgyu relaxed as he faced you.
You lifted the leaf between your fingers, a faint smile touching your mouth as you held it out for him to see. He did not need to know that it had served as your excuse to touch him and to offer a moment of solace. He remembered your words of affirmations from the riverside. They were called forth with little effort, softening whatever had remained of the previous exchange. He said nothing.
From the front, uncle Park glanced back once more, his grin returning in full force. “You’ll have to tell me her name, at least,” he called. “Can’t keep calling her ‘friend’ all the way to town.”
Beomgyu’s expression tightened into a reluctant frown. “You may mind the road, and leave the rest to me.”
“Aye, I’ll mind it well enough,” the man replied, though satisfaction coloured his tone. “But I’ve eyes, boy. And I know what I see.”
The cart drew to a halt at the edge of the town, where the worn road gave way to a livelier thoroughfare beyond. Beomgyu descended first and his hand rose in instinctive assistance — though he paused just short of presumption, allowing you the choice of accepting it.
A soft laugh slipped from you, touched with fond exasperation as you accepted his offer. Even now, he held himself apart, careful to grant you space you had never asked him to keep. You had never objected to his hand — had, in truth, found yourself inclined to accept it whenever it was offered.
You were more than willing to take his and only his hand.
Uncle Park watched the exchange with unabashed interest. Once you had offered your thanks and moved ahead, he turned toward Beomgyu with a pointed sound of disapproval.
“A friend, he says,” he remarked, shaking his head. “If that is friendship, I should like to see what he calls devotion.”
Beomgyu shot him a look that might have served as a warning in any other circumstance. Here, it merely provoked further delight.
After bidding him farewell, the two of you moved toward the town proper. What awaited you upon entry bore little resemblance to the subdued bustle you had anticipated.
Colour adorned every visible corner and banners stretched between buildings in bright swathes, fabric stirred by the passing air; lanterns hung in careful rows, their glass catching the sunrays in fractured gleams. Myriads of laughter carried through the streets with a buoyancy that stirred even the most indifferent passerby.
“Have we arrived in the midst of some celebration?” you asked, gaze moving from one detail to the next before looking up at him. “Were you aware of this?”
His expression was shaped by honest surprise. “I had no knowledge of it,” he said, almost to himself, before his features eased and a smile found its place. “Still, it is rather fortunate. We should make use of it while we are here.”
He lifted his arm toward you in invitation.
You looked at the gesture, then at him. Had it truly slipped his consideration that any display of formality in such a place might draw unwelcome attention, when he had been so insistent elsewhere that you abandon it and call him by his name? Surely, it would not hurt to return a fraction of that boldness now, simply to see whether it might touch him the same way it had undone you.
You placed your hand into his, bypassing the offered formality entirely. His breath faltered.
You leaned closer, lowering your voice so that it reached him alone. “We cannot follow etiquette here, can we?” you murmured, tilting your head in a small indication toward the passing crowd.
The words were meticulously delivered with a soft provocation that sought him out and held him there. Beomgyu exhaled, the sound uneven before he gathered himself, his fingers closing more securely around yours. It was no longer tentative in their claim. You beamed.
“You have not yet eaten, have you?” he asked. “There is a place ahead I would like to show you. Their breakfast is worth the visit.”
Beomgyu led you through an alley tucked between bustling storefronts until the sight of a weathered wooden sign drew recognition from you. You had visited this establishment more times than you could count during your private excursions through the town. Little about it had changed since then.
The old matriarch still presided over the shop with formidable vitality, directing her children and grandchildren from behind the counter while pots simmered and trays passed rapidly from hand to hand. Age had touched her hair and the bend of her back, though not a single soul beneath that roof appeared foolish enough to mistake her for frail.
The entire household erupted into a chorus of greeting the moment Beomgyu stepped through the doorway.
“Mum, Choi Beomgyu came back!”
“You finally remembered us?”
“Sit down before your face grows any thinner!”
One of the younger boys abandoned his errand entirely to throw his arms around Beomgyu’s middle, nearly causing him to stumble backward with startled laughter spilling from his mouth. An older woman emerged from the kitchen carrying a basket of bread and clicked her tongue at him before cupping his cheek in both hands, scolding him for his long absence while her eyes shone with unconcealed affection.
It was one matter to know Beomgyu as you did. It was another matter entirely to witness the traces he left behind within the lives of others.
What stood before you was not simply a man who was well-liked, but a man who had left impressions upon people so deeply fond that they reached for him — actually reached for him — with happiness made visible on their faces. This was something you had no tidy word for, which meant it was, in all likelihood, the truest thing about him. Looking at him made the brightness in your heart alight with joy.
The family ushered the two of you toward a crowded table beside several townspeople midway through their breakfast. There was more food than you can reasonably eat as they jumped at the opportunity to feed you when they noticed Beomgyu brought you along. Fresh bread still warm from the oven, butter softened beneath the morning heat, roasted potatoes seasoned generously with herbs, thick stew fragrant enough to draw sighs from nearby tables — the varieties only kept increasing.
“Please,” you finally laughed after another bowl was placed before you. “Surely there are others here who must also eat.”
Every attempt to refuse additional servings was met with scandalised disbelief. You had easily eaten to the comfortable limit of your capacity and settled back with the satisfaction of a meal properly honoured. Beomgyu leaned forward at your side and studied your expression with poorly concealed anticipation.
“Well?” he asked. “Was bringing you here a wise decision?”
You exhaled contentedly and brushed a stray crumb from your fingertips. “Very wise. This reminds me of meals back home. There is far more soul within food prepared this way.” Your gaze wandered briefly toward the rear counter where kettles released curling streams of steam into the air, and said, almost to yourself, "I wonder if they carry tea."
"They do," said Beomgyu, and paused in a way that told you the sentence was not yet finished. "Though I find myself compelled to ask something first. Have you ever had coffee ground fresh and prepared with any degree of honest care for the result?"
You raised your brows to show you were thoroughly interested in the subject. “Do you consider yourself an authority on the matter?”
“I consider myself tragically burdened with superior taste.”
A laugh escaped you. “I prefer tea,” you admitted, affording him the candour the question merited. “Though I have had coffee on occasion and found it perfectly—”
"Agreeable?" he supplied.
You rested your chin briefly upon your hand, smiling. "Is that not sufficient?"
Without another word, he rose and extended his hand toward you. There existed an eager brightness about him then, one that stirred immediate curiosity within your chest.
“Come,” he said. “Allow me the opportunity to change your opinion.”
You placed your hand into his and permitted him to lead you toward the back portion of the establishment where shelves lined with jars and tins occupied the walls. The younger women there greeted him with visible delight before moving aside to grant him access to the preparation space, clearly accustomed to this intrusion.
“Do you do this often?” you asked while watching him roll the sleeves of his shirt slightly higher.
The fabric gave way to forearms exposing elegant lines and the faint rise of veins beneath golden skin. It took you a while to tear your gaze away before you forced yourself to follow the movement of his hands instead.
“Often enough that they have stopped questioning it,” he answered, sounding rather pleased with himself as he reached for a bag of beans.
“I cannot decide,” you said, stepping closer to the counter and folding your hands behind your back, “whether that reflects well upon your skill or poorly upon their judgment.”
He glanced over his shoulder at you, and pressed a look of mock grievance into his expression. “You wound me before I have even begun.”
The remark drew another soft laugh from you. He turned away shortly after, though not before you caught the fleeting brightness crossing his features.
“Shall I be of any help?” you asked, leaning lightly against the counter’s edge.
Beomgyu set the grinder down and turned fully toward you, raising his brows in consideration. He then snuck a glance briefly toward the woman at the far end of the room before motioning toward the stool set with a tilt of his head, the corners of his mouth already betraying him.
“My lady,” he said, lowering his voice into a murmur meant for you alone, “only needs to sit pretty for me.”
For one treacherous instant, your mind abandoned you entirely.
You lowered yourself onto the stool with far more composure than you truly possessed, one hand curling against the edge of the wooden seat. A small lopsided smile touched your mouth in spite of every effort to contain it.
My lady only needs to sit pretty for me. Such shameless words, spoken beneath his breath.
The remark had already entered your chest with ruinous effect, carrying that infuriating mixture of sweetness and confidence he seemed capable of summoning so deftly whenever he chose to turn his attention wholly upon you. He just created a dangerously intimate air.
You turned your face away under the pretence of examining the shelves beside you, though the aim proved entirely futile once you caught sight of him again from the corner of your vision. The faint curve still threatening his mouth from your reaction alone conspired against your attempt at indifference with astonishing success. Beomgyu looked thoroughly pleased by his own effect upon you.
He selected the beans himself, inspecting them with surprising care before pouring them into the grinder. Morning light poured through the nearby window and scattered across him in fractured bands of gold, catching against the dark fall of his hair when he moved around. The rich fragrance of freshly ground coffee slowly wafted through the room, enveloping you little by little while Beomgyu continued his work with visible fondness for the task itself.
Watching him in such a setting — attention devoted wholly toward preparing a simple cup of coffee for you — awakened a longing you scarcely recognised. It was not excitement, nor infatuation, nor any of the foolish sentiments novels delighted in exalting. It was the sudden desire to preserve the moment exactly as it was and return to it whenever the world became unkind.
Beomgyu added milk and sugar only after pausing to ask how you preferred it, and when you answered that you trusted his judgement, his fingers faltered briefly against the spoon. You pretended not to notice. He pretended equally hard.
Then, at last, he poured the hot liquid into a cup and set it before you. The anticipation upon his face nearly made you laugh. You lifted the porcelain carefully and took your first sip.
The coffee carried none of the bitterness you had long associated with it; instead there came a depth to the flavour that unfolded gradually upon the tongue, mellowed by sweetness and softened further by the warmth of milk he had added for you. It filled you from within in a manner strangely comforting.
"Oh," you said.
It was not your most eloquent expression of sentiment. It was, however, entirely sincere.
"Well?" Beomgyu asked softly.
You stared down into the cup for another moment before looking back at him with open astonishment. “Lord Choi, this is extraordinary.”
Relief flooded his features so swiftly that you nearly laughed again. “Is that approval I hear?”
“Approval?” You chuckled softly before taking another sip, savouring it without the slightest attempt to disguise your delight. “I think you may have altered the course of my life.”
The younger woman arranging cups nearby covered her smile behind her hand at your reaction, though you scarcely noticed her. Your attention was held by the rich taste of coffee, which had far more depth than any of the ones you had previously endured out of courtesy during formal visits and social calls.
“I am glad it is to your liking,” he replied, watching you with such transparent fondness that it became difficult to look anywhere else for long. “You sounded displeased by bitterness, so I thought—”
“No, you do not understand,” you continued, stepping closer without realizing it. “I have never tasted coffee this good before. I shall return home intolerably dissatisfied with everyone who attempts to prepare a cup thereafter.”
“I would gladly make it for you myself,” he answered at once.
You looked at him and found that he had, at some point, abandoned any pretence of attending to his own cup. He was watching you — had been watching you — so thoroughly gratified by the simple fact of your reaction that it surpassed, by some considerable distance, anything you might have readied yourself to receive. He looked at you the way a person looks at something they have long wished to share with someone, who has at last been granted the occasion.
"You are not even drinking yours," you observed, glancing pointedly at his cup.
"No," he agreed, without a shade of contrition.
“You won’t be able to enjoy it once it loses its warmth.”
“Watching you enjoy yours appears to satisfy me far more.”
You smiled into the rim of the cup before lowering it again, entirely incapable of concealing your pleasure.
And standing within that humble little kitchen, surrounded by roasted coffee and morning sunlight, Beomgyu found himself thinking that he would willingly spend every remaining day of his life chasing that look upon your face if only to witness it again.
The remainder of the morning passed beneath a gentler pace.
You stayed far longer than either of you had planned, seated near the open window enjoying the cool breeze as you carried on conversations. At some point, Beomgyu suggested venturing further into town while the festivities still endured. Before your departure, you asked the elderly shopkeeper what precisely the occasion celebrated.
Spring, she had told you warmly. Renewal. The casting away of winter’s dreariness in favour of brighter days ahead.
You found the sentiment rather lovely.
The town had grown even more animated with the advancing afternoon. Children darted between merchants with sugared fruits clutched in their hands while musicians occupied crowded corners with fiddles and drums, their melodies spilling through the streets amidst merchants calling out to passing patrons. The crowd of people pressed nearer with every turn through the market, enough that Beomgyu’s hand remained securely around yours from the moment you stepped back into the thoroughfare.
You noticed that he no longer appeared startled by the contact.
In truth, it was you who kept drawing nearer whenever the crowd thickened while the two of you wound between stalls laden with flowers and embroidered ribbons. Every now and then a vendor would greet Beomgyu by name, and each greeting only deepened your fascination with the life he possessed beyond society and scholarly distinction.
You kept getting reminded how beneath the open sky and amongst townsfolk who adored him without reservation, he appeared touched by a brightness that made him painfully beautiful to behold.
“You are very loved here,” you remarked softly after yet another merchant pressed free sweets into his hands despite his protests.
Beomgyu glanced toward you, faint embarrassment touching his features. “They are merely generous people.”
“No,” you replied, tightening your hand around his. “They are generous to you.”
Deeper colour touched the tips of his ears immediately thereafter, though salvation arrived in the form of a nearby fruit stall before either of you could dwell within the aftermath for too long.
“Wait here,” he murmured.
You watched him exchange a few coins with the vendor before returning moments later with a pear resting within his palm; golden-skinned and ripened beneath the season’s warmth to the point where droplets of juice already gathered near the stem. He wiped the fruit against the sleeve of his shirt and held it toward you expectantly.
“For you.”
You looked from the pear to his face, then smiled slowly before inclining your head forward and biting directly into the fruit while he still held it.
The skin broke beneath your teeth with a soft crack. Sweetness flooded your mouth instantly, rich and sun-warmed, and a thin trail of juice slipped carelessly down your chin before you could stop it. A startled laugh escaped you at that.
“Oh, that is wonderful—”
You lifted your hand toward your chin, though he caught your wrist gently before you could wipe the juice away yourself. His thumb brushed beneath your lower lip in one slow motion, collecting the droplet there before releasing you entirely.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” he asked, voice lowered by a tenderness that rendered your pulse uneven.
You could only nod.
Then, still holding your gaze, he lifted the pear and bit into the very place your mouth had touched.
You blinked as your breath caught so abruptly at the sight that it did not escape Beomgyu’s notice, the corner of his mouth curving faintly around another bite.
“You appear scandalised, my lady,” he mused.
“You are behaving scandalously,” you returned, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed any attempt at reproach.
Right then, a burst of applause erupted from somewhere farther down the street, followed almost immediately by the lively sweep of fiddles and tambourines. The interruption arrived with merciful timing. You turned toward the source of the commotion while several townsfolk hurried past in excitement, and Beomgyu released a soft breath through his nose that suggested he, too, recognised salvation when it presented itself.
“Let us go,” he said, glancing back at you over his shoulder and catching your hand. “I wish to see what has gathered such enthusiasm.”
The street opened into a bustling square awash with performers and festival-goers. Everyone clapped along to the music surrounding them, skirts swirling across cobblestones as partners spun one another beneath the bright spring afternoon. Whenever a step went poorly, the offender merely laughed harder before beginning again.
Everyone appeared so radiant in their carefreeness. You could not stop smiling as you watched.
Beomgyu watched you instead of watching them. “Do you like it?”
“How could I not?” you replied, gaze wandering across the square. “There is far more life here than within half the ballrooms I have attended.”
He hummed, crossing his arms. “Nobody here cares whether their footwork impresses a duchess.”
You laughed, gosh — how many times had he already made you laugh today? Beomgyu relished every second of that sound before extending his hand toward you.
“Come here.”
Your brows lifted instantly, taking his hand. “That is hardly a proper invitation.”
“You refused my last proper invitation,” he reminded you, stepping closer. “I saw little benefit in repeating myself.”
Memory returned at his words; the winter ball from weeks prior, the hand he had offered then with the hopes of a waltz with you. You hadn’t indulged him back then. Instead you had given a vague promise of next time.
Since the formal approach failed last time, this was Beomgyu trying a different one now.
Your smile curved slowly afterward. “You remember that?”
“I remember nearly everything regarding you.”
You felt comfort in knowing that your passing remarks did not vanish into the ether when spoken to him. He appeared intent upon remembering you.
Appreciation had always existed as a distant and complicated thing within your life; admired beauty invited possession, admired intelligence invited challenge, admired status invited ambition. You were desired endlessly, yet so few had ever looked upon you with genuine regard for the woman standing before them rather than the advantages attached to her name.
To be cherished without demand had remained foreign to you for far too long.
With Beomgyu, that foreignness dissolved so naturally that you could no longer recall its absence. He simply looked at you as though your happiness alone possessed the capacity to enrich his world. Somewhere along the way, affection had ceased feeling like a bargain awaiting its price. In his company, it arrived freely and remained freely given. The wariness that had accompanied tenderness for so many years found itself slipping away piece by piece until trusting him felt no more difficult than turning your face toward sunlight.
Your gaze drifted back toward the dancers circling the square, your smile softening faintly at the sight of them.
“I am not certain I could do that,” you admitted after a moment, watching one particularly exuberant couple stumble into laughter after missing several steps entirely.
Beomgyu followed your line of sight before turning back toward you with raised brows. “You believe yourself incapable of moving in a circle?”
“No!” you laughed. “I meant—the dance steps. I do not know the steps.”
A low laugh escaped him. Beomgyu stepped closer and lifted your joined hands between you, giving them one small encouraging sway to the music drifting through the square.
“You need not know the dance,” he said. “As I have said, nobody here does.”
“That is hardly reassuring.”
“It should be.” His smile deepened. “Look around you.”
You did.
A little girl stood atop her father’s boots several feet away while he guided her through clumsy turns. Of course it was not perfect, but they were happy. Nearby, two elderly women clapped along to the melody without even attempting the steps, and one poor gentleman had nearly collided into a flower cart moments prior only to receive applause for the effort.
The entire square overflowed with joy untouched by embarrassment. That was the radiance you had admired just moments prior. Your uncertainty had no moment to resurface after that.
Beomgyu gave your hand another gentle pull. "All you need to do is follow my lead."
He began simply at first, coaxing you into the beat of the music without surrendering fully to the dance. One step. Then another. A turn barely deserving of the name while he guided your movements with slow encouragement.
“There,” he murmured once you managed the timing correctly. “You are already succeeding.”
You gave a sardonic roll of your eyes, chuckling. "You need not lie."
“I am being truthful.” He smiled.
Gradually, laughter found you again. It slipped free without reservation each time you missed a step and Beomgyu caught you before you could stumble into disaster, and every burst of mirth from your lips appeared to affect him profoundly that he basked in his own delight.
All of a sudden, he stopped altogether and winked. Before you realised his intention, Beomgyu drew you fully into the dancing circle.
A startled laugh escaped you immediately when he spun you beneath his arm, your free hand catching against his shoulder for balance. “Lord Choi—”
“Hush,” he murmured, pulling you nearer amidst the swirl of dancers before leaning close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. “No titles today.”
The intimacy of his voice sent a shiver licking up down your spine. You bit your lip because you weren't sure what you would have said anyway. You weren't sure you were capable of forming language at all right now. So you let him lead you through the dance, pretending his words hadn’t set flames through your veins.
There existed no graceful structure to the dance itself. It took several attempts before you found the tempo hidden within the music, and even then you frequently stepped where you ought not, though neither of you cared in the slightest. The mixed informality made the moment far more intimate than any waltz performed beneath chandeliers could have achieved.
Breathlessness overtook you quickly beneath the exhilaration of movement and music, your chest rising rapidly while delight coursed through you with almost intoxicating force. Your skirts swept against his legs whenever he drew you nearer, and every time laughter escaped your lips, Beomgyu felt an absurd desire to gather the sound and keep it.
You had not realised joy could feel so boundless.
Strands of your hair had loosened from their arrangement during the dance, and when the wind carried them across your face, Beomgyu tucked them gently behind your ear. It was such a small act of care, easily forgotten by anyone else. But you found yourself wishing for the moment to lengthen, if only by a few heartbeats more.
The earlier exuberance surrounding the square had mellowed into a slower melody carried by violin strings, while pairs gradually abandoned spirited turns in favour of swaying movements beneath the lanterns now glowing overhead. Your pulse had yet to recover from the dance, and every muscle protested pleasantly from exertion.
His gaze dipped toward your hands and remained there for a brief moment before returning to you. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted one of your hands and guided it upward toward his shoulder. Then the other followed, his touch so gentle that you almost melted beneath the tenderness of it. When your arms settled loosely around his neck, Beomgyu did not hold you immediately afterward.
His eyes searched yours, the remaining space between you diminishing inch by inch under the sway of music. He simply wished for your willingness to meet his own, restrained only by the final thread of permission he sought from you before surrendering himself fully to the moment.
By then, you had begun to understand him far too well.
Your smile was his answer — and Beomgyu’s breath visibly faltered at the sight of it.
His hands settled at your waist at last, and the movement carried such care that it nearly distracted you from the realization that he had drawn you closer. Amid the slow turning of dancers around you, your awareness became occupied by one curious detail.
Beomgyu looked almost dazed by you.
His thumb moved faintly against the fabric gathered at your waist while your fingers brushed against the hair at the nape of his neck, and for several precious moments neither of you spoke at all. Words would only diminish it. Slow dancing, wearing smiles of soft wonderment of two souls discovering, perhaps in a long, long while, how lovely it felt to be cherished without fear.
By the time the sun had begun its gradual descent across the western hills, the jubilance of the festival no longer possessed the feverish exuberance that had greeted your arrival that morning.
You spent the remaining time with Beomgyu visiting through dockside markets where fishermen shouted over one another beside crates of silver-scaled catches still glistening beneath the sun, and through narrow craftsmen rows crowded with pottery, embroidery, and tiny carved trinkets suspended from strings overhead. Eventually the clamour of it receded behind the two of you altogether.
The road drew the two of you away from the town’s centre, where sound gave way to open air and the press of bodies thinned into scattered footsteps along the edges of quieter lanes. Wild grass leaned in from either side of the path, and trees rose in loose clusters overhead, their branches shifting with the passing breeze. Beyond them stretched rolling fields bathed in molten gold, and farther still stood distant hills softened beneath a pale spring haze.
You were content purely to walk beside one another while your footsteps scattered softly across the dirt road beneath.
"You know," you said, nudging a loose stone from the path with the tip of your shoe, "I was convinced this town was rather charming before today."
The remark caught him, and he glanced toward you with a small furrow between his brows — genuinely concerned, turning the words over as though searching them for whatever had soured your opinion. “Before today?” he repeated. “That sounds suspiciously ominous.”
You merely continued walking.
“My lady,” he pressed, falling half a step closer, “have I somehow managed to diminish the reputation of this town within a single afternoon? That would be a devastating indictment of my abilities as a guide.”
A smile threatened at the corner of your mouth.
“I was biased,” you informed him with impeccable seriousness. “It appears considerably more charming when viewed beside you.”
You had all the time to enjoy your success before it became plainly evident upon his face. Beomgyu laughed — which was a short, fractured sound and he turned his face partially away, rubbing the back of his neck while doing a remarkably poor job of concealing how flustered he was.
"You," he said, still laughing beneath his breath, "live up to your reputation as a weaver of words, my lady."
You had spent the better part of the day subjected to Choi Beomgyu's relentless talent for rendering you speechless. Witnessing the favour returned proved deeply gratifying.
With the most earnest expression you could produce, said, "I meant it."
He released a breath through a helpless smile as he looked briefly skyward in what appeared to be a wordless appeal for fortitude.
"Thank you," you said, after a moment, "for showing me your world."
Beomgyu lowered his gaze back to you, and his expression gentled almost imperceptibly. He let you talk instead of sharing his words.
“I only now realise that I never truly allowed myself to exist among these people during my visits here.” A faint laugh escaped you then, touched by self-awareness more than embarrassment. “I observed them endlessly. Their joys, their griefs, the indignities they endured—I carried all of it home and turned it into ink upon paper. Yet I remained apart from them all the while.”
The breeze swept loose strands of hair across your cheek. You tucked them back absentmindedly, turning toward him as you did.
“Today felt different.” Your smile softened. “So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for bringing me here and teaching me how to live within moments such as these.”
“You say as if I accomplished a great feat,” he said at last, exhaling a faint laugh. “I merely wished to spend time with you. The fact that you enjoyed yourself already feels reward enough.”
Your smile deepened at that, coaxing him to mirror it. He was so, so helpless.
“How long have you been coming here?” you asked. “The people seem remarkably attached to you. That grandmother nearly pushed her own grandson aside to embrace you.”
A reluctant grin crossed his face. “I suspect she likes me more than her grandson.”
“Oh, she absolutely does.”
Looking at him stirred another thought within you. Beomgyu had only returned from his studies abroad the previous autumn. Barely months had elapsed since he first appeared within your world, and yet he moved through these streets with an affection so thoroughly at home in him that it seemed to predate his arrival entirely. You wondered whether this attachment had begun only recently or whether the inclination toward places such as these had lived within him far earlier than you realised.
“It truly has not been very long,” he admitted. “Do you remember when I told you I used to teach children?”
You nodded.
“After returning here, as you already know, I found society rather…” He paused briefly, searching for a charitable description before abandoning the attempt altogether. “Suffocating.”
You let out an utterly unidentified sound — a snort — behind your palm before clearing your throat. With a lingering smile, you passed him a little, “Sorry.”
“I knew you would understand, my like-minded ally.” The title rolled from his tongue with unconcealed pleasure. “One can only survive gentlemen reciting dreadful poetry and debating inheritance disputes for so many evenings before seeking refuge elsewhere.”
You hummed, indulging him with a very serious nod. “So this became your refuge?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He glanced toward the distant fields. “I began spending time here whenever obligations allowed it. One visit became several. Eventually the people stopped treating me as an outsider and started forcing food into my hands whenever I appeared.”
“That explains breakfast.”
“You have not yet witnessed Mrs. Han during winter.”
“But how did you even find the time?” you asked in wonder, still smiling. “You tutored my brother, attended every social gathering the ladies insisted upon, and somehow still managed to build an entirely separate existence beyond all of it.”
At this, Beomgyu cast you a sidelong glance touched by boyish satisfaction.
“I had my ways.”
You slowed your steps before narrowing your eyes at him. “That sounds suspiciously evasive.”
“Does it?” His smile widened further. “I had hoped it sounded mysterious.”
“You sound incriminating.”
Beomgyu laughed, lowering his head — and you found yourself thinking that perhaps no place in the world had ever suited Choi Beomgyu half so beautifully as this one.
The two of you had barely reached the narrower end of the path when an elderly shopkeeper peeked out halfway through the doorway of a cramped little bookshop. “Beomgyu? S’that you, son?” His spectacles slipped low along his nose as he called toward Beomgyu in relief. “Come look at this for me before I lose what remains of my eyesight.”
Beomgyu glanced toward the worn pages being waved impatiently through the air before turning to you with an apologetic smile.
“I shall only be a moment.”
You looked past him toward the shaded area beside the shop where ivy climbed the old stone walls in thick cascades, the cobblestones dappled beneath the sway of overhanging branches. You decided staying here would serve you far better than following him.
“Go ahead,” you said. “I will wait here.”
He studied you for another second regardless. He was entirely unwilling to depart without making certain you truly did not mind, before finally relenting and stepping into the shop at the old man’s urging.
Left alone, you wandered farther into the lane at a leisurely pace, fingers brushing lightly across the ivy as your gaze traveled absently across the sunlit road ahead. It was then that a fragment of conversation drifted toward you from farther beyond the bend.
“…found her body only days ago, they say.”
It caused a drop so sudden at the pit of your stomach that you stood motionless for a moment. Your attention honed instantly.
Two older men stood down the adjoining path with baskets hanging from their arms, their voices subdued beneath the rustling of leaves. They seemed unaware of your presence.
“They found her near the riverside,” the first spoke again with a sigh heavy with age and sorrow. “Poor child vanished weeks ago only to return home dead.”
You moved nearer quickly, stopping beside the protruding stone wall of a nearby building.
“Aye,” the other replied gravelly. “And after all that, the physicians claim it was merely disease that took her.”
“Well, what else would it be? There were no signs of harm upon the body. Fever, perhaps.”
A missing girl.
No marks.
No explanation beyond illness.
These were the very details you remembered hearing from Taehyun before; women disappearing without trace only to be discovered afterward beneath circumstances too peculiar to dismiss outright. The resemblance fit too neatly beside the next for coincidence to feel entirely convincing. Could this girl have been one of the victims tied to the very matter Taehyun had been investigating? This could be your opportunity to uncover a lead.
You remained where you were for another moment, listening carefully in hopes that one of the men might reveal further particulars worth remembering.
“You heard about Sol, did you not?" One of the men lowered his voice further, though not enough to escape your hearing. “She keeps insisting the physicians overlooked it. The girl has convinced herself her sister was murdered.”
The other shook his head with a weary sigh. “Grief has driven her toward madness, that is all. Folk do not think sensibly after burying their own blood.”
But footsteps approached behind you then, forcing you to turn away from listening further. Beomgyu emerged from the bookshop carrying faint traces of ink upon his fingers, entirely unaware of the tension gathering beneath your composure.
“My sincerest apologies,” he said upon reaching you. “It required more time than I anticipated.”
“It is quite alright,” you assured him seamlessly, offering him a small smile untouched by suspicion. Your gaze drifted briefly toward the men still standing conversing beneath the trees.
“Do you wish to head back home now?” he asked, earning your attention.
“The cobblestone paths here are rather lovely,” you remarked lightly. “Would you mind walking through the alleys with me for a little while?”
Beomgyu followed your gaze down the path. He gave a little nod. “I could hardly refuse you after bringing you all this way.”
Unfortunately, by the time you guided Beomgyu toward the adjoining lane, the two elderly men had already drifted apart, each disappearing toward separate corners of the town until no trace of their conversation remained behind save for the unease now stirring within you. A faint disappointment settled across your thoughts at losing the trail so swiftly, though you still carried one valuable fragment away from the exchange.
Sol.
Your next venture into this town under borrowed anonymity would no longer concern manuscripts or observation. You would find this Sol yourself, and perhaps through her uncover more of the truth concealed beneath these strangely bloodless deaths.
The subtle change in your bearing from being deep in thoughts did not escape Beomgyu. His hand found your elbow with a gentleness that made no demand of you, and his voice had dropped to match it. “Are you alright?”
The touch drew you from your reverie. You looked up at him, startled by how swiftly he had discerned the alteration within you, and inwardly reproached yourself for allowing your mind to wander so visibly in his presence. Of all things, the last thing you wished was for him to believe you had ceased enjoying the day after every ounce of care he had poured into it solely for your happiness.
You released a breathless laugh and shook your head lightly. “I am positively alright,” you assured him. “I was merely thinking… I think I shall miss today rather terribly once it ends.”
“My lady.” Beomgyu ducked his chin, searching for your eyes. “I see no reason for remorse, then.”
You blinked. “No?”
“We can return together whenever you wish,” Beomgyu spoke in the same gentle cadence, lifting his hand to caress away a leaf stuck above your ear. “If you desire to see the town outside your work, I shall accompany you. If you wish for more dreadful coffee from my hands, I shall make it for you again. Whatever you ask of me, I will do it.”
His words were sobering. It swept aside the earlier unrest within your thoughts so completely that for several moments you could only look at him in silence, overcome by the simple enormity of being regarded with such wholehearted devotion.
“I know,” you murmured, not shying away from his touch. Your gaze fell briefly from his face afterward, though the smile remained. “I think…”
“Yes, my lady?”
A small breath escaped you. “I like the word together when it belongs to you and me.”
Beomgyu felt the words hit him somewhere with no name for it. Every yearning thought he had spent months concealing now surged violently beneath his ribs, flooding through him until even the tips of his fingers ached with it. Your name filled his mind entirely; he was choked with tenderness for you and there existed no room for anything beyond you.
You.
Always you.
He stopped walking so abruptly that you nearly collided against him before catching yourself, your brows lifting in surprise at the sight of him standing utterly motionless in the middle of the lane. The breeze stirred through the branches overhead, scattering fractured light across his face, yet Beomgyu scarcely appeared aware of the world surrounding him anymore.
Your name slipped from his lips in a voice touched by reverence so naked that it stole the breath from your lungs little by little.
His hand twitched faintly at his side before curling inward upon itself. He was just about to speak —
— and then your attention darted past his shoulder.
Every trace of warmth vanished from your expression.
At the far end of the lane, two mounted officers stood beside a flower-lined storefront engaged in conversation with the shopkeeper stationed outside. The sight itself should not have troubled you. Law officers wandering the town warranted no alarm.
But one of the men was none other than Kang Taehyun.
Your cousin sat scarcely twenty yards away from you. He had the exact capability of dismantling every fragile layer of anonymity surrounding the two of you within seconds if his gaze merely wandered in your direction.
You cursed under your breath.
The sheer agitation you showed was so wholly unlike anything Beomgyu had witnessed from you throughout the day, that it alerted him almost right away. He followed your gaze and turned around in search of the cause of your distress. Instinctively at the same time, he stepped before you to shield you from whatever danger he thought you sensed.
It took him only a few seconds to understand why you reacted that way.
“We need to hide,” you said quickly, pulse thundering hard enough to make your voice uneven.
It was so unlike you to have your rational thoughts abandon you under pressure. Whenever complications arose, you were the person others relied upon to remain composed. This, however, was a catastrophe of an entirely different nature. The consequences of being discovered here were not danger, scandal, or social disgrace.
The consequences were Taehyun's interrogation method.
Endless questions.
Questions layered upon questions until one felt tempted to fling oneself into the nearest river simply to escape them. Because there existed no force upon earth more relentless than Kang Taehyun after discovering information he believed himself entitled to know.
"Hide?" Beomgyu repeated, looking a bit mortified.
"Yes, hide." Your fingers closed around his wrist. “If Taehyun sees us here, I shall never hear the end of it. Do you understand how many questions he will ask? How many conclusions he will draw? I refuse to endure that conversation.”
A reluctant smile threatened the corner of Beomgyu's mouth. The urgency written across your face prevented it. You were entirely serious.
Turning sharply, you surveyed the opposite side of the lane, only for fresh frustration to seize you. The road stretched far too openly ahead, stripped of any meaningful cover, and fleeing now would draw precisely the notice you wished to avoid. They possessed a considerable advantage with their horses over fleeing pedestrians besides. It would take very little for Taehyun to notice.
You looked back at your cousin’s direction again and saw that they exchanged farewells with the shop owner.
"Oh, for heaven's sake."
There was no longer time to weigh possibilities, nor to devise an elegant solution. Acting upon pure instinct, you seized Beomgyu by the arm and pulled him after you, your eyes catching upon a narrow passage concealed behind several wine barrels and a haphazard stack of wooden crates wedged between adjoining houses.
Cramped stone walls pressed inward on either side while creeping ivy descended from above in tangled curtains, swallowing the street's brightness beneath a canopy of green. What had appeared from the street to be a convenient refuge revealed itself, upon closer acquaintance, to be hardly large enough for two people to occupy comfortably.
Unfortunately, you discovered this only after dragging him into it.
Beomgyu stumbled after you with scarcely enough room to regain his footing, and in the same breath his hand braced the wall behind your head to prevent the both of you from colliding with the stone. The action happened so swiftly that neither of you possessed the opportunity to reconsider it, and when the rush of movement finally settled, there existed no worthy space between your bodies.
The front of your dress brushed against his shirt with every breath you drew. Even the slight rise and fall of his chest had become impossible to ignore within such constrained quarters that only seemed to shrink with every passing heartbeat. His hand still remained trapped within your grasp, and somewhere amidst your frantic concern over Taehyun, you failed to notice what that proximity was doing to the poor man before you.
Beomgyu felt perilously close to losing every sensible thought he had ever possessed.
Throughout the course of the day there had been stolen moments he had treasured beyond reason. Even during the dance you had stood close enough for him to count the gold flecks hidden within your eyes and when he had held your waist as you swayed, he believed he would return home convinced no greater trial could possibly exist than that.
What extraordinary arrogance.
That had been entirely nothing compared to this.
This — with your breath warm where it grazed the open collar of his shirt and strands of hair displaced by the hurried retreat still framing your features in gentle disarray. He was a gentleman and he possessed honour to act with propriety regardless of circumstance — but the smell of jasmine reached him.
It had always been jasmine, that fragrance which clung to you and which had tormented him for days on more than one previous occasion, proving sufficiently disastrous for his peace of mind. He believed himself afflicted already. Now he understood he had merely been receiving warnings.
In this cramped plae with no air between you worth speaking of, it was not a threat so much as an accomplished siege. It overwhelmed him entirely, filled every corner of his senses until he could not think past it, could not locate the edges of his own good judgement through the dizzy, lightheaded daze of it. His honour, he noted distantly, was hanging upon a very single and very insufficient thread.
Outside the alley, hoofbeats sounded against cobblestone.
Both of you stilled instantly.
Beomgyu took advantage of that opportunity to look over his shoulder toward the opening while keeping himself wholly before you, shielding you from view beneath the cover of his body and shadow. But you caught his face in both your hands before he could complete the motion.
It brought him back to you entirely. Face to face, so close that the dim light caught the precise arrangement of his features and held them there before you with an intimacy so abrupt that the air went out of your lungs. You realised, in the same instant he did, what you had done. The nearness left no refuge from the intensity gathering within his gaze now. Your hands dropped from his face at once and you turned your eyes away.
Beomgyu remained frozen exactly where your hands had placed him, looking down at you and — oh, you were divine — that was the only word his mind produced and it produced it with damning conviction, divine in the half-dark with ivy shadows crossing your face and your eyes averted and your breath still uneven against his throat.
He could not look away.
He needed to look away.
"I must apologise," you whispered, your eyes still carefully directed elsewhere. "I had to act quickly."
His gaze dropped to your lips as you spoke. It was involuntary and it was catastrophic and he wrenched his eyes heavenward with an exhale that did not come out nearly as collected as he required it to. He stayed there, jaw tight, staring upward at the tangle of leaves and the narrow strip of sky beyond it.
From this distance — and it was not a distance, it was nothing, it was the mere suggestion of space between two people — anything could happen if any of you just leaned in a bit. His thoughts were getting out of hand and he exhaled again, shakily, and continued to look at anything that was not you. His heart was beating wildly.
"No need to be nervous," you said softly, and he heard the effort in it — heard that you were furnishing words into the silence because the silence had become a living thing between you and required managing. "My brother is not so frightening as all that."
They were empty words and rang hollow even to your own ears. Because it was not your brother that had reduced your thoughts to scattered, ungovernable things. It was the warmth of him — so deeply comforting that you feared you were about to be addicted to it. How thoroughly you already wished to.
"Yes, my lady," Beomgyu said, and his voice had abandoned him almost entirely.
He closed his eyes. Kept them closed for a breath, and then another, and then opened them and looked down at you and did what he had to do — he took your hand from where it had come to rest against his chest, and with painstaking care brought it down to your side and held it there.
He could not bear your touch upon him right now. The jasmine was already more than sufficient to unravel what remained of every sensible intention, and your hand against his chest was a trial he had not the resources to endure.
In spite of all the warnings his better judgement could produce, Beomgyu leaned forward.
Your eyes went wide and every word you had been reaching for dissolved entirely. You could not move, watching him close the distance between you with an expression so stripped of its usual composure that you barely recognised it —
— then you felt the whisper of his hair against your cheek, the barely-there graze of it, and the eventual weight of his forehead coming to rest upon your shoulder.
You went entirely still beneath him. The exhale that left you was entirely involuntary.
He was breathing in shallow increments, not even daring to inhale a chestful of your scent. The hand he had braced against the wall beside your head curled tighter against the stone. The solidity of it was the only negotiation available to him.
Another set of hoofbeats sounded beyond the alley entrance.
"Are you—" you began, keeping your voice to barely a breath of sound. "Is it the confined space? Is it too much?"
His fingers found your lips before you could draw another word. The touch was feather-light, the tips of his fingers resting against your mouth with a gentleness that managed nonetheless to silence you. He still had not lifted his head from your shoulder.
"Please," he said. Then, as though the word alone had not sufficiently conveyed the full measure of what he was asking — "Just allow me this. Only a moment."
You stood perfectly motionless there in the shdaows and did not speak, because there was nothing in you that wished to deny him. The pressure of his fingers against your lips vanished shortly thereafter, hand falling to his side with a limpness like some bones have fallen off from their places.
From beyond the alley came Taehyun's voice as he issued instructions to the officer accompanying him. But within the shelter of barrels and tangled greenery, you heard only Beomgyu's breathing and it began to eclipse everything else. One bewildering thought, however, continued to circle through your mind.
How, precisely, had you managed to find yourself here?
With your cousin only streets away, your heart racing for reasons that had very little to do with being discovered, and Choi Beomgyu hiding his face against your shoulder as though the mere sight of you had become too much for him to bear. In a way, you had brought this upon yourself. If only you had thought of a better solution, you wouldn’t have put yourself in this position — or him.
Time passed in a strange haze thereafter. The voices outside gradually diminished, until the sound of departing horses finally carried through the lane and dissolved into the broader noise of the town.
Beomgyu remained where he was for another fleeting while, gathering whatever composure had abandoned him, before at last drawing back and lifting his head.
Colour had risen high across his face. He seemed wholly incapable of meeting your gaze, choosing instead to stare at a weathered crate whose existence suddenly seemed to fascinate him greatly.
“I believe,” he said eventually, clearing his throat, “your cousin has departed.”
You looked toward the mouth of the passage before returning your attention to him. Your lips curved despite yourself.
“How fortunate for us.”
“Quite.”
Your entire body still carried the imprint of his nearness; the heat of him remained beneath your skin, refusing to relinquish its hold no matter how fiercely you attempted to reclaim your composure. Some traitorous part of you noted the precise distance between your hand and his, seized by an almost absurd desire to reach for it and close the space between you again.
But Beomgyu still looked dazed — whatever battle had transpired within him had plainly not concluded. For that reason alone, you thought better of your own desires for his sake, and kept your hands where they were.
“We should leave,” you said at last.
Beomgyu nodded immediately, perhaps a shade too quickly.
He emerged first, casting a glance along the lane to ensure the way ahead remained clear. Only when he gave a small nod did you step out from the shadows. You felt the spring breeze greet you and renewed the air in your lungs, drying the sweat that had clung to your skin.
Somewhere overhead, the wind moved through newly awakened branches and sent a scattering of petals adrift across the afternoon. You followed their descent before your gaze returned to the man standing before you, who had not moved far, who stood at the edge of the road with the breeze moving through his hair and the same dazed quality still present in his eyes when they met yours.
Though you could not have named the exact moment it happened, winter no longer seemed capable of reaching you.
serene, what if beomgyu's the type that when you're having a good time and you're moaning and whining he kinda clowns you and moans in a fake high pitch and when you smack him he just cackles, says he can't help it and proceeds to hammer into you harder just to make you go louder :) (i'm not ok)
the inspo, bcs what was that beomgyu?¿
wait holdon,, i might wanna write something on this….
complying to a request <3 and also bcs i want to experience how this translating-my-own-work shit works... here... now, i give you everyone's infamous toxic ex: beomgyu !!!
warnings: toxicex!gyu + fem!reader. drunk!gyu. bigdick!gyu. dubious consent. oral (f. rec). nipple play. pet names (baby). dirty talk. piv sex. unprotected sex (for the nth time, no). begging. cervix kissing. themes of cheating (only an assumption!).
1:59 AM.
It was the time in your clock when you heard a sudden loud bang from your dorm's door. You nearly thought it was for your dormmate, but she had already left the shared space before rush hour strikes. The harsh knocks subside for a while, but it came back sooner than you expected—now with a soft whisper from someone who is strikingly familiar.
"Baby... Open the door for me, please..."
Says the person from the other side. A heavy sigh immediately left your lips when you finally confirmed who it was. It's him again. Your one and only ex, Beomgyu, who can not live without an alcohol in his system. And, for the worst of all, can not leave you all alone, too.
You internally decided to let him be, to just get back to whatever you were reviewing before he decided to bother you for the nth time, but a sudden thud caught your attention. With worry bubbling on your chest, you opened the door for him—who is now with flustered cheeks due to alcohol and doe eyes gazing at your body that is covered by his oversized sweater. As if you are flaunting that you miss him, too, even if he looks like a dumbass all curled up in the side of your doorway.
"Just go home, Gyu," You muttered quietly, minding the sleeping neighbors you might disturb. "You won't get anything from me." His black orbs are now pleading the moment you push him away, again.
"Why are you still calling me Gyu?" He retorted without any doubt. Refusing to back down, he shakily stood up from the ground. "Don't you love me anymore? Are you seeing someone else?"
You gently looked at him, unable to answer his question even if you knew what the exact words were to tell him. But Beomgyu? He wholly believes in silence means yes. So, he initiated. Moving a step closer with his eyes earnestly begging for the truth.
"You don't want me anymore?" Beomgyu urged, fear evident in his broken voice. He tried to read your figure. Heavy breathes noticeable in your chest the moment he steps in your space. Eyes is unable to look at him directly. Of course, he knows what those mean. He had you memorized ever since. And, he never forgets.
"Why can't you shove me away?" You made a sharp inhale when you felt his arms circled around your figure, pulling you into his body. The rusty smell of whiskey apparent in his breath, one of his favorites. Heat crawled up in your neck due to the unmeasurable proximity between you two, one palm in his chest just to at least keep a tiny amount of distance.
Yet, his hand wrapped itself to yours. With a last longing look with no protest, his lips found yours, briskly moving out of impatience. You softly moan at his eagerness, tongue forcing itself between the plush gap of your lips until he finally shared to you the bitter taste of the whiskey he had been drinking.
Beomgyu slowly waltz your bodies inside your room, closing the door with his hip. Your hazy mind caught the loud knack of the closed door, now able to bring yourself back to reality that this is wrong; everything involving him is unjust. Thus, you gather up the last inch of your self-control just to separate him from you.
"Leave." You ordered sternly. But, his figure blocks the way out, an annoying smirk tugging in his lips. "Why? You don't like my kisses anymore, baby? You used to love them." He playfully asked, "Does your new boyfriend kiss you better?"
You scoffed at his words, unable to logically comprehend what he is implying. Realizing that he is just drunk, you decided to force him out of your doorway to finally throw him far away in your sight. But, with your grip in his arms, he effortlessly pulled you, your face now planted in his chest. His warmth enveloped you once more, caging you in his body near him.
"Is he better than me?" Beomgyu whispered on your ear, making your guts shiver. "Can he eat you for hours until your cute little cunnie goes numb, hm?" Another moan left you, feeling his wet tongue glaze within the smooth skin of your earlobe.
"And, you are also wearing my favorite sweater," Beomgyu snickered, his fingers now toying the hem of the fabric you are wearing. "Won't you admit that you miss me, too, baby?" He added, his hand now inside your inner thighs, traveling upwards until he reached your wet panties, now caressing it carelessly.
You haven't formed a reply, unable to say no when he kissed you again, torridly swaying his dry one into yours. This went on until he brought you into your bed, the sweater long gone before you even reached the room. Now, his face is buried in between your legs, proving his point by worshiping your soppy pussy all ready for him.
The noise coming from your throat became louder, grasping in the pillow beneath your head every time the tip of his tongue played with your needy hole. "Gyu... Holy shit, don't stop—" You choked up a moan when he laughed with his mouth on your pussy lips, bringing his stare to your uncomposed state just to piss you off. "I thought you want me to leave?"
Shaking your head into his question, you bit your lip in pleasure, shutting your legs closer just to prevent him from leaving. Another wave of sensual feeling hit you when his tongue swiped through your slit, moving in one satisfying direction. With Beomgyu's remaining strength, he brought himself back up to face your fucked-up feature. Sticky translucent essence clinging in his lips down to his chin.
Beomgyu gave you a peck before he went down to the parts of your neck, making his way further to your breast. You felt his tip enter your hole at the same time his teeth bit one of your nipples. Shouting his name was unhelpful, as the pain of his thick cock stretching your walls mixed with burning pleasure. It was never easy to fit him in one go, your whole body having goosebumps by just how his veins graze inside you.
"I am still better in dicking you down, no?" He taunts whilst his face is pressed on the middle of you chest, "My cock is bigger than him. I am the only one who can stuff you full like this, right, baby?" His words goes past beyond your ears, unable to think—not when you can feel his cockhead knocking in your cervix.
Your weak hands moved on their own, going to his sweaty back just to grasp him. Beomgyu smiled at your attempt before snapping his hips harder—enough for his tip peek below your abdomen, reaching deeper parts of your tight cavern.
"You also wanted this, baby," He reminds you, thursting at a much faster pace than before, palms now massaging your tits with ease. "I know how you miss my cock inside this hole, i can't barely move by how your cunnie is hugging me," Beomgyu continued, causing your toes to curl.
Drowned in pleasure, you dumbfoundedly nod at his words. Your nails digging on his pale skin just to cope on the delicious feeling he is giving to your core. Every second, his movement goes a bit hastier, the slapping sound of your flesh echoing in the air. Your room that is once cool and clean now smells stale and feels heavy with a thick humid of sex. More so, you are now chasing his hips in your own accords. Because whether you deny it, Beomgyu is right.
You love how he fucks you, and the cock of your irresistible ex is impossible to compare with other by how good it makes you feel.
Exactly. My body needs to be massaged and feel pleasure....not stressed out. People who cause you stress are exhausting and suck the energy out of you.
𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ In Strawberryland, where all the people are happy, and a little fruity; Little Apricot finds herself drawn to the only thing the village seems to resent. — For in a lonesome house by the far end of the valley, where the sun never seems to shine, and the grass never seems to grow, lives a boy who was once as peachy as one could be.
Nowadays, he's grown somewhat of a hermit, and should his sharp glares not be enough, his harsh words certainly will be when he fends off any visitors that may dare come his way. No one knows what happened to the boy. Though one thing was clear; every peach Beomgyu touched quickly turned rotten. ⸝⸝
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 16k ་༘࿐
𝓹airings peach!beomgyu x little apricot!reader (f)
𝔀arnings heavy grumpy x sunshine trope, fairytale themed (kinda goes in threes, at least in the beginning), mean beomgyu, naive/gullible reader, longing/yearning, unprotected sex, creampie, little apricots cum is described as a jam-like texture, cum eating, oral (f. rec), overstimulation, beomgyu is fuzzy (cause peach fuzz), lot of kissing, loads of sexual tension..
#serene adds ✎.. hello!! I'm so so excited for this fic you guys seriously have no idea, imagine my current excitement and then bump it up 100x! I've worked so hard on this fic, but most of it felt so natural when I was writing, everything kinda just flowed? I hope that shines through!! ahh, and I can never shut up so here we are at 16k when my target was 7k but oh well.. oh but I would love to hear your thoughts on this!! merry christmas!! consider this my gift :3
THIS FIC IS A PART OF AN EVENT, GET REDIRECTED TO THE EVENTPOST !
The sun rises early in Strawberryland, its warm rays casting the plump little houses in an orange glow. It’s quiet, for the colorful meadow has yet to wake up. The birds are still sleeping soundly, the deers hidden in the treeline as they huddle close to one another. All that can be heard is the soft rippling of clear water as it runs along a small stream. Everyone is asleep, all except for one. — Little Apricot rises just as the sun, and she does so with excitement.
Pots and silverware clank together, creating a chaotic atmosphere in your tiny kitchen as you shuffle about. The soft hum of a foreign melody dances across your lips, your hands working diligently as they alter between stirring the jam that was cooking on the stove, and onto unscrewing the lids of the many jars you’d prepared. An outsider would think something big was coming, that this might’ve been a special day indeed.
And it was. For Little Apricot at least.
“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty…” You point to each neatly secured jar, filled to the brim with creamy orange jam. They’re topped with a matching ribbon, tied nicely around the plaid and orange lid. And they’re now all ready to be handed out. — “Forty-nine…” You trail off, gaze lingering by the last jar, “Fifty…”
With pursed lips, your hands hover above it, debating on whether to shove it in the already full basket alongside the rest. In the end you do. And with your bright orange coat pulled over your body, you step outside, letting the warm sun caress the soft skin of your cheeks, causing a smile to spread across your face. Today was a good day.
Your steps are light and cherry as you skip down the cobbled road that takes you through Strawberry village. The happy song of the melody you sang rings out into the air, and you only tune it down to a soft hum as you approach the first door of the day. — With a gentle knock, you wait, swinging back and forth on two legs as you balance the heavy basket in your hands.
The blue door to the little hut swings open and you’re greeted by a mess of hair as bright and blue as the sky itself. Blueberry Kai greets you with a smile, his sapphire like eyes sparkling in the sun as they land on the basket in your hands. “Hi Little Apricot!” He almost sings the words and you refuse a giggle as you coyly avert your gaze.
“Hi Kai, I brought you one of these..” You reach for one of the jam filled jars, handing the boy it as you await his verdict. — Kai’s smile widens as he takes the jar from you, and it seems small in his large hands. “You’re too good to us Apricot”, he says, though doesn’t refuse your kindness but rather thanks you with the promise of bringing a fresh blueberry pie in the following days.
You continue like that, happily skipping down the road that looped around the village. And for each house you stopped by, the grin on your lips only grew, as did the warmth on your face and the love that filled your chest. Gradually your basket emptied and got lighter, and once you’d delivered Lemon Drop Soobin his jar, all that remained was one.
The bright and orange little jar looks lonely as it rocks back and forth by the bottom of your now comically large basket, and with a small frown you glance toward the forest line. “Hmpf”, you huff, shaking your head sharply before turning on your heel and marching toward the dark trees. You had made enough jam for everyone in this village, and you’d make sure to deliver it as well.
..Suppose you had underestimated the dark and menacing nature of the woods just slightly. But it wasn’t like the forest in Strawberryland was always this…scary, it just so happened to be the part where one individual resided. The youngest of the village speculated that his presence is what caused the nature around him to turn dark, that his vile and evil ways killed everything around him. You didn’t believe such nonsense, yet you found yourself gripping the basket tighter in your hands as you carefully trudged forward.
You’ve been walking for a good twenty minutes, following a sparse dirt road as you peer through the thick tree trunks, when a small cottage suddenly floats into vision. Your heart beat immediately picks up, thumping loudly against your ribcage as you with hesitant steps approach. — The small hut looks just like the others of the village. Or at least, it used to.
The white paint on its sides had been dirtied by nature's force, vines climbed the walls and tangled around the windowsills where the peachy paint had chipped. The roof was a round and once warm shade, though now, it looked just as lifeless as the rest of the house. You wondered how anyone could possibly live like this.
A small wooden sign is shoved into the ground, it is just as battered as the rest of the place and reads the words, “Keep Out!” A flicker of uncertainty passes you by, but you ignore it. It was probably just something he had put up to scare any kids that dared come this way despite their mother’s warnings.
As you heave the steps up his front door, you try to remember what he’d looked like. You don’t think you have seen him for quite some time now. For he only ventured into town when he needed something, and judging by the state of his small cottage, it had been a while. Still, you figured that he deserved a jar of jam just as much as anyone else. It wasn’t like he was a criminal or anything of the sort…He was just, well… Him.
The knock you deliver to his door is just as soft and cheerful as the others had been. Though this time you have to remind yourself to smile, it didn’t come naturally when your heart was palpitating at a near alarming rate. — You wait another minute, nearly two, but there’s still no answer. With a small frown you try your luck again.
Another soft knock.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” You call out, the shaky edge to your voice coming off a lot stronger than you’d hoped. But you hadn't come all the way out here for nothing, and you would be damned if you didn’t get this last jar off your hands. A few moments later, you hear it, the soft rustling of something, of someone, moving on the other side.
And much to your delight, the door swings open mere moments later. Though the sight you’re met with does little to ease the agitated beating of your heart. A tangled mess of unkempt dark brown hair, paired with fierce and menacing eyes and a nasty scowl that stretches across his pale lips. — Peach Beomgyu looked ready to beat you bloody.
Your words get caught in your throat, and as much as you try to swallow, not an ounce of saliva will go down. Clearing your throat, you readjust the basket in your hands, wordlessly extending it in front of you. Beomgyu’s gaze falls on the lonesome jar before snapping back up to you. His brows furrow, twisting his face into even more of an accusing look as his eyes narrow on you.
“What’s the meaning of this?” His voice has got a clean cut edge to it, sharp and impeccably demanding. Suddenly, your usual lines all diminish into nothing, your brain melting into a pile of jam as your mouth goes dry. “I… I brought you some-” — “I can see what it is, do you take me for an idiot?” He snaps, effortlessly cutting you off as he shoves your basket back with a look of sheer distaste.
Your mouth opens and closes, like that of a goldfish mindlessly swimming around in its bowl. “Y-Yes but you see I”, you swallow, “I made it myself.” And though you knew your words to be true, they were hardly convincing as you stumbled over them. Beomgyu’s brows rose on his forehead, but he did not look surprised, merely lightly interested. You counted the win anyway.
With trembling arms you extend him the basket once more, encouraging him to retrieve the jar. But he only looked at it as though it would jump up and bite him in the face. “Well you’ve wasted your time then”, he grunts, averting his gaze as he urges you off his porch. You won’t budge, feet clamming to the old wooden boards as you stubbornly present the jar for him.
Beomgyu scoffs, running a hand through his dark hair, and you’re surprised when his fingers don't catch onto the mess of strands, in fact the brown locks looked almost…soft. You shake your head, blinking twice as you pick the jar up, shoving it against his hard chest as you peer over at him with a determined expression, your lips pressed together in a firm line.
“I’m sure you can reconsider”, you probe, much to little avail as Beomgyu’s scowl only grows. You were sure you’d overstepped for good this time. — But he doesn’t shout, nor does he tell you to get the hell away from his house. He chuckles. And though it’s far from an actual laugh, it’s something other than the tired and displeased groans. It makes your stomach flutter in an unfamiliar way.
You almost expect him to wipe a half-hearted tear from his eye. To maybe condole you on your gullibleness or your overbearing kindness. Well, and a small part of you hopes he might actually accept the jar. — He does none of those things, instead he takes a small, almost unnoticeable step back. And before you know it, the door is slammed shut in your face, leaving you alone in the dark and menacing forest once more.
With a petulant huff, you glance toward the window by the door, just in time to see him drawing the peach colored curtains in front of the glass, blocking him from your view. “Bastard”, you mutter as you step off the porch, kneeling down in front of it to place the jar down, “I’ll just put you right here…”
As you trudge down the dirt path leading from his cottage and back to the village, you can feel his lingering gaze on you, peeking through the light and peachy curtains. You smile to yourself, feeling accomplished despite his refusal, for you did not take his cruel words personally. — At the end of the day an angry person will always be the angriest with himself.
⸝⸝
It quickly becomes somewhat of a habit for you to make fifty jars instead of forty-nine. At first you had told yourself that the number was just much more satisfactory in itself, and that it was easier to make five full batches rather than four and then some. But you could only lie to yourself for so long. And when you find yourself on Beomgyu’s doorstep a third time in the span of two weeks, you know that the extra jar is more than just a number.
He doesn’t answer you when you call for him, but you know he’s there, listening, even though he doesn't want to, because he can’t help himself. And each time, you place the little jar on his porch. The orange jam is a stark contrast to the dull forest all around, and is easily spotted. — You keep returning, not because you fancied being ignored outside his shut door, or because you enjoyed the muddy walk to his little house. But because whenever you returned, the jar from last time would be gone.
And when you for a fifth time find yourself on his porch, swaying back and forth as you hum along to a quiet melody, you’re surprised when the door actually opens. He’s frowning, lips tugged into what you presumed to be a permanent scowl. You wondered if he ever smiled. — Beomgyu gives you a quick one over, his gaze undoubtedly lingering by the jar in your basket.
He clears his throat, “What the hell are you still doing here?” His question catches you off guard and you blink as your attention returns to the present moment. “Huh?” Is all you can muster, the response coming out as a question of your own. — Beomgyu scoffs, rolling his eyes as if he’d just asked you the most obvious thing. “You’ve been out here for twenty minutes, what the fuck do you want?”
Twenty minutes? Had it really been that long.. You would admit that you usually lingered for a minute or two before placing the little jar and returning back home. It wasn’t like you were waiting for him, well… You might have been. Suppose that today your mind had travelled a little too far, even for your own liking. But to think that you’d spent a whole twenty minutes in front of his door, lost in thoughts..
“I… Well I..” You bite the inside of your cheek, your brows creasing into a confused frown. You open your mouth to speak, but what comes out is not a coherent response, rather… “Your hair is brown.”
Beomgyu looks taken aback for once, his own frown deepening tenfold as he regards you with confusion. “So?” He retorts, folding his arms across his chest. — You don’t think it had ever occurred to you, but the unkempt and wild mess atop his head was a dark shade of brown, nearly black. It suited him, sure, it made his already sharp features and dark eyes stand out even more. But you couldn’t help but wonder why…
All of the people in Strawberryland had cheerful and bright colors. You thought of Blueberry Kai’s bright blue hair, Lemon Drop Soobin’s warm yellow and Yeonjun Sorbet’s striking red. Yet Peach Beomgyu had…brown hair? It didn’t make any sense. — Beomgyu looks almost insulted as he waits for you to respond, impatiently tapping his foot against the threshold.
“Isn’t your hair supposed to be…peach colored?” You say, pointing a curious finger to the mess on his head. Beomgyu frowns, reaching a hand up to run through the dark locks as he waves you off, huffing in dismay. “What’s it to you?” He tsk’s, his attention flickering down to the jam in your basket once more, and only when his gaze meets yours do you register the silent question behind his eyes.
“O-Oh, right I brought you more jam!” You force a small smile, the least you could do was be polite. You were determined to make friends with him, one way or the other. And as you hand him the glass container, Beomgyu takes it. It’s a huge first step, and you feel your heart swelling at the action. He twists the jar between his fingers, studying it like it might explode on him any second now.
At last, he gives a small hum of approval. — “It’s good, right?” Your question comes out too cherry, already celebrating your small victory. Beomgyu quickly shoots that bird down with a sneer. “I’m being polite, there’s a difference.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his eyes taking over your hopeful frame once more. “Though I’m sure you couldn’t tell the difference even if you wanted to.”
The door slams shut on your nose.
Suddenly, the forest is cold again, the heat falls from your face, the fire coursing within you being drowned out by a bucket of cold water. Well, there goes that. You wait by his door for another five minutes, but the small cottage is silent. The curtains are drawn, shutting you out, just like he did everybody else.
With heavy steps you climb off the porch, cringing at how the old and withered boards creaked under your weight. Your sigh echoes against the tall trees that loom above you, and you slowly make your way down the muddy path. You had noticed on your second visit that flowers didn’t seem to grow here, any sign of vegetation seemingly drowned out by the nearly unbearing anger and resentment that lingered in these woods.
Had Beomgyu really caused all of that?
You think back to your brief encounter with him, with Beomgyu. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind seemed to get caught on his brown hair, you couldn’t quite shake it off. You only knew one other brown-haired individual here, and that was Gingerbread Taehyun. But Beomgyu and Taehyun were far from alike, and you shake your head once more.
Something was wrong, very clearly so. For the way Beomgyu had disregarded the matter, shoving it aside like it pained him to be reminded of… You longed to know what could have caused it. And you find yourself imagining a different Beomgyu, a Beomgyu that smiled. With light and peachy hair, a pink blush coating his soft cheeks, warming his pale face up. You imagine a Beomgyu with dimples that dented into his skin hard from laughter.
You imagine a happy Beomgyu.
The fantasy makes your steps return to their usual light skip, and by the time you re-enter the lively village, you feel happy again.
⸝⸝
With your basket filled once more, you head down the cobbled road, taking you around Strawberry town. Today you were in a particularly good mood. You don’t know if it had to do with meeting Blueberry Kai out by his berry bushes, or if it had to do with the little rabbit you saw in your garden this morning. But you were determined to make this day a perfect one.
In fact, you were in such a joyous mood that the dark clouds crowding the village did not bother you as you went knocking on each and every door. For each smile you received, for each jar you handed out, the love beating within your heart only seemed to grow. — When you turn off the large road, and venture onto the muddy path taking you deep within the forest, you’re filled to the brim with love. And if there was one person in Strawberry village that needed it, it was Peach Beomgyu.
You think you’re about halfway there when the first droplet lands on the tip of your nose. The cold water makes you frown as it slides down your face, catching on your bottom lip. Sticking your tongue out to taste it, the sweet flavor fills your mouth. After that another one follows, then another one, and another one. It’s not long before rainfall is pouring down over you, clinging to the leaves and splashing against the forest floor in dramatic effect.
Blinking the droplets from your eyes, you scurry forward, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you hurry. Mud clams to your orange shoes, dirtying them in disgraceful shades of brown. But you carry on, relief flooding your chest as the familiar little house floats into vision. You do not stop to consider who’s door you were actually knocking on when you slam your fist against the weathered wood.
Today, you have no time to wait outside for another five minutes, you have no time to bicker with the grumpy man over his doorstep and you certainly don’t want to turn on your heel and endure the unpleasant walk home. There was little that could diskindle your spirits, but rain and mud were definitely two of them.
Much to your immense relief and surprise, the door glides open a mere minute later, revealing a confused looking Beomgyu. The smile stretching across your lips only seems to make his scowl grow. Yet you persist, giving him your widest and most pleading eyes as you silently beg for him to let you inside. — Beomgyu’s harsh gaze flickers from your wet coat, clinging to your body and the adamant look on your face before shifting to the heavy rain that battered against his porch.
With a displeased groan he steps to the side, allowing you to skip inside the small cottage. Your excitement as you enter his home is followed up by a small squeal, your gaze darting around as you take in the unfamiliar surroundings. — Beomgyu’s house was unlike anything you had ever imagined, not to say that you had spent a deliberate amount of time trying to figure out how he lived, you had merely been…Curious, so to say.
From the peachy curtains to the matching sets of creamy pink pillows that adorned his small sofa, everything seemed to follow a peachy theme. The fireplace sparking in the middle of the room draws your attention and you quickly find yourself huddling in front of it as you rub your cold hands together.
Your quiet ‘woah’ as you pull your orange coat from your wet body rings out into the silent house. The kitchen by the corner looks to have been used recently, a small pot of something placed on the stove. Amazed by the fact that Peach Beomgyu lived like any other resident in Strawberry village, your jaw hangs open as you remain frozen in place.
Somewhere behind you, Beomgyu emerges from the hallway. He stops a good distance from you, leaning against one of the crowded bookshelves pushed up alongside the wall, his arms folded across his chest. You send him a bright smile, “Thank you”, you say, not knowing how else to show your gratitude for his hospitality.
Beomgyu rolls his eyes, a small scoff passing his lips as he averts his gaze, his dark eyes lingering on something you couldn’t quite catch. A brief silence follows, it’s almost awkward.. You’re not exactly sure what to say, what he would appreciate hearing, if anything even suited those pesky ears of his.
So you hum, quietly rocking back and forth on your feet as you glance at the decorations above the fireplace. They were nothing fancy, and most of the tiny figurines looked old, perhaps he’d inherited them. Come to think of it, you don’t remember ever hearing anything about a family member of his. The thought sadeness you for reasons you cannot understand. It wasn’t like Beomgyu was opposed to the solitary life he lived, he’d chosen it for himself, hadn’t he?
Yet you can’t help but purse your lips at the thought of living like this, no matter how cozy his quaint little cottage was, it still lacked the warmth of love. — “It is a lovely home you’ve got”, you say, trying your best to show interest in the way he’d decorated the space. But Beomgyu doesn’t seem to buy into the mundane compliment. He merely shrugs, letting out a small grunt as his dark eyes flicker back to you.
“Why were you out in the rain?” It’s the first time he’s ever asked you an actual question, the first time he’d even seemed moderately interested in anything that regarded you. Your smile only widens, and you can see the way his face twists in distaste at your ever so cheerful attitude. “Well why do you think? I was delivering jam!” The exclamation immediately makes you jump as you come to your senses and you reach for the basket you had discarded on the floor.
The small jar is wet and you wipe it against the sleeve of your shirt before skipping over to him in order to hand him it. Beomgyu’s arms remain stubbornly crossed as his gaze flits between the orange jam and your hopeful grin. With a small groan he relents and plucks it from your waiting hand, shoving it onto the shelf next to him as he averts his attention elsewhere.
You wondered if your presence made him uncomfortable. Judging by the way he stood, the greater portion of his body turned as far away from you as possible, and his jaw clenched, you would guess it did. Then again, was there anyone Peach Beomgyu liked? You did not take his grumpy demeanor or his shortcut responses personally. Still, there was an unmistakable opportunity at hand, and you would be a fool not to take it.
“Mind if I take a seat?” You ask, but you’re already approaching the small couch. Beomgyu’s lip twitches, but he gives a small nod, his arms returning to their crossed position over his chest. His sofa is oddly comfortable, allowing you to sink into the cushion as you lean back slightly. The warmth of the fire caresses your cold face, slowly melting the layer of metaphorical ice that had built around you. No amount of fire would be able to melt the harsh ice block surrounding Beomgyu, you thought with a small grin.
He remains unmoving and unspeaking, quietly watching you from his spot by the corner of the room. You did not insult him on his lack of manners, he had actually allowed you inside his home even as you showed up unannounced, perhaps that was more than enough. — Your attention falls on your muddy shoes and a pang of guilt flares through you. “Oh, sorry, I should’ve taken these off!”
Beomgyu opens his mouth to speak but is quickly interrupted as you kick the pointy orange heels off your feet, scurrying toward the door as you place them right in front of it. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, don't worry!” You say as you dart for his kitchen. Quickly disoriented, you tug open drawers and pull cabinet doors in search of anything to clean the stain you had left on his floors. “Where do you keep your towels?” You ask, so caught up in trying to resolve the mess you’d unintentionally caused that you didn’t even notice him creeping up behind you.
“Here”, he says as he hands you a peach colored rag. You freeze, for his voice came from just above your ear, his chest nearly pressed against your back. The scent of fresh peaches made you nearly drowsy as you blink before gingerly accepting the cloth from him, trying your hardest to ignore the way your fingers brushed against one another, the tingle that the soft fuzz coating his skin left. “I… Thanks”, you coyly mumble, desperately wishing he wouldn’t catch on to the stammer of your voice as you round him in the small kitchen, quickly slipping away from his intoxicating presence.
What was that.. You think to yourself, brows knitted together in a confused frown as you find yourself on the floor, scrubbing the muddy stains away. The sounds of his approaching footsteps make your eyes widen, and you refuse to turn your head in his direction. — “It’s really not necessary”, he mutters, the usual grumpiness to his voice replaced with something akin to guilt. But you firmly shake your head, scrubbing even harder at the old wood. “It’s fine, no problem! I caused it!” You chirp, ignoring his small huff as you continue to clean.
When you’re done you gingerly rise to your feet, clutching the now dirty rag between your fingers as you bite the inside of your cheek. Beomgyu reaches for it again, but you quickly pull back, you don’t think you could bear feeling his skin against yours a second time. “I’ll put it away!” You quickly say, plastering on the biggest of grins you could muster, “Where do you want it?”
Beomgyu’s expression is unreadable as he studies you for a moment. It looks almost as if he’s about to say something, but he stops himself, shaking his head once as he points down the hall. Quickly nodding, you follow in that direction, the sounds of your feet padding against the floor ringing in your ears.
Finally away from his intense gaze, you exhale a sigh of relief as you turn to relocate yourself. The dark hallway had led you to what you presumed to be a small washroom, racks of clothes crowded the vast majority of the space, and you found a small sink as well. You place the dirty cloth in the hamper before turning to head back. But before you can even get as much as another step in, a door to your left catches your attention. It’s slightly ajar, letting on to the bed inside.
Quickly glancing down the hall once more, you dare a small peek inside. Beomgyu’s bedroom did not match the rest of the house. It lacked all the peachy colors, instead it was crowded from head to toe in… books. Sure the bookshelves in the living room had caught your attention earlier, but just as the old figurines, you’d figured that it was something he’d inherited. Now you can’t help but wonder if Beomgyu actually enjoyed literature. While the prospect did indeed seem odd, it wasn’t entirely out of place either. There was only so much entertainment out here..
But before you get the chance to investigate further, the sounds of floorboards creaking pulls you from your brief trance. Sharply turning on your heel, you make your way back into the living room where Beomgyu was waiting for you. — The rain was still pouring down outside, and you had little clue of just how long you were going to be stuck here.
As your gaze falls on Beomgyu, you feel your breath getting caught in your throat. You don’t know what it was, but something had changed. Something that made you so impeccably drawn to him in a way you could not fathom. You tried to reason with yourself, you tried to shift the blame onto the weather, onto the clumsy mistake of waltzing inside his home without as much as a second thought.
But as your eyes linger by his dark ones, the narrowed gaze he still held, you find that it’s none of those things. Suddenly you know why you keep returning to this small hut, why you bother with the twenty minute walk back and forth, why you face rejection on his doorstep each time. — You felt empathy for him, perhaps even pity. You pitied Beomgyu, the lonely boy who lived all alone out in the forest, with no one to come visit.
And perhaps that was naive of you. To even think that he cared about something as trivial as a bit of company. Yet you couldn’t find it in you to take his mean and cruel demeanor to heart. Because no matter how harsh the bark was, he never seemed to bite. He had let you inside his home, in spite of your persistent nagging on his porch for the past weeks. He hadn’t minded when you dirtied his floors, and even now, he didn’t seem to want you to leave.
So were you really that naive to think that what you were doing was right? That what you were doing was appreciated by him, even if he didn’t show it. You want to think so.
“Do you want me to make you tea?” You chirp, breaking the thick silence that had filled the small living room. Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow at you, but merely shrugs. You weren’t even sure if he had the ingredients to make tea, you had just assumed… It was something everyone had, no?
Ignoring his nonchalant response, you walk past him and into the small little kitchen once more. It wasn’t at all like your big one at home, but then again, you doubted that he spent his days making fifty jars worth of apricot jam. — He doesn’t follow you, and part of you is relieved. His absence allows you to work casually as you still tried to figure out what about him had made you so nervous all of a sudden.
You take your time as you bring out a pot, setting it down on the stove as you fill it with water from the tap. Once it’s slowly boiling, you rummage around to find yourselves a pair of cups to drink from. Pulling drawers upon drawers open, you cough as the smell of dust invades your senses, some of these looked to have been kept shut for years.
As a last resort, you tug the cabinet door above the fridge open. And your eyes immediately widen as they fall on the empty jars stacked inside. All of them are cleaned out, the glass reflecting in the dim light of the kitchen. Your gaze lingers by the orange lids, and the silk ribbons you’d tied around them still intact. A small smile tugs at your lips, your heart warming at the sight. He even kept the jars.
Quickly slamming the cabinet shut when he approaches, you turn to him with a flushed expression. “Where are your cups?” You squeak, the surprise in your tone evident, not having expected him to reappear so soon. — Beomgyu leans against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest as he nods toward the one drawer you had yet to open. Mentally slapping yourself, you turn to it with a tight smile as you pull it open.
As you prepare the herbs for the tea and check on the water, you try to make plain conversation. You ask him about the weather, about what he does during the days or if he has any upcoming plans. You find that he’s a very concise individual, and you’re never able to pull more than a short sentence from him as he begrudgingly responds to your persistent interrogation.
Still, he stays in the kitchen until you finish pouring the cups. Whether that was because he didn’t trust you around his house or because he wanted to be there, remained unknown to you.
The tea is boiling hot against your tongue, yet you insistently bring it to your lips, taking small and hesitant sips as you desperately avoid his gaze. For someone so short of words, he seemed to have no problem staring at you. You told yourself that it might have to do with his lack of social interaction. But his unyielding gaze slowly chipped away at your resolve, making you all the more anxious as you glanced out the window, wishing for the rain to let up soon.
It still felt so surreal, standing in Peach Beomgyu’s kitchen, drinking tea from his cups, as if this was just another Thursday afternoon. But his prolonged silence made the growing tension between you feel anything but mundane and ordinary. Did he really not have anything to say? You had tried every approach imaginable, there was nothing that would get him to utter more than a small hum.
As your eyes peer out the window, and over what you imagined to once have been a garden, a new question surfaces. — Your attention flickers back to him, still by the door frame, he’s gripping the cup in one hand, barely having sipped his tea, he seems far too preoccupied with watching you.
“Don’t you grow any peaches?” You ask, letting your head fall to the side as you take your turn in studying him. Beomgyu’s unreadable expression morphs into a small frown, and he ponders your question for a moment. When a whole minute passes, you think he might not reply at all, it wouldn’t be completely unexpected, for he had little manners as it was. But then he suddenly shifts his weight over to his other leg, readjusting his hold on the cup.
“No.”
He states firmly, finally bringing the peachy mug to his lips as he takes a sip of his tea. It’s your turn to frown, your gaze dropping to the brown mixture swirling in your own cup as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Why not?” — Everyone in Strawberryland tended to their fruits, so why didn’t he?
Beomgyu shrugs, appearing more than disinterested in the conversation taking place. “I don’t like them”, he says, the nonchalance in his tone taking you aback as your eyes snap to him. Don’t like them? But he was Peach Beomgyu, was he not supposed to love peaches? You want to ask him what he means by that, what made him so resentful of the one thing he represented. But the closed off look on his face made you waver. You did not want to blindly push and prod at buttons which you had no clue of.
You remain silent, awkwardly sipping your tea as you avoid his burning gaze.
And as your cups emptied out, the rain stopped.
⸝⸝
Peach Beomgyu did not like visitors. In fact, he detested them. Much so that he had gone to the quite extreme length of putting up warning signs in front of his house. And while the signs did their job at keeping nosey little kids out, they seemed futile on that persistent ball of joy that would skip past them as she neared his cottage.
Beomgyu could not understand what made Little Apricot come back over and over again. He could not understand what kept you in such a jolly mood and he could certainly not fathom the reasoning behind the little jars of jam you would leave behind. — It irked him in a way that was beyond explainable. And every three or four days, he would be pulled from whatever book he was reading by two curt knocks to his door.
Internally groaning he would shake his head, ignoring the fierce ray of sunshine on the other side. But you just wouldn’t leave. The sounds of you humming along to a light melody would slip through the cracks of his shut door, it would creep inside his house and dance across him, taunting him with its sickly sweetness. Beomgyu would swat it away, pressing his nose further into his book as he desperately tried to ignore any signs of your presence.
You would always leave after a few minutes, taking your light and cherry song with you as you did. And Beomgyu would always sigh out in relief, ignoring the small tug at his chest when the silence enveloped him once more. — He would get up, carefully pull the curtains to the side as he watched your bright orange coat disappear into the thick forest of trees.
Then he would open his door, stopping in his tracks as his gaze flickered down to the little jar you’d left behind. When it first occurred he’d slammed the door shut. Ignoring the jar for a good twenty minutes before ripping the door open again with a frustrated huff, finding the jam still there, its bright orange color stinging his eyes.
For some reason, Beomgyu had picked it up, he’d turned it in his hands and opened the lid. The creamy jam smelled just like you, the soft and sweet aroma of apricot prickling his nose in a most unfamiliar way. And he’d taken the jar inside, stubbornly ignoring it for a whole day before he finally caved. — It tasted just as delicious as it smelled, as delicious as you smelled.
Beomgyu finished the jar in half a day, and when it was all empty, he found himself staring at the clean glass with a confused frown. It was just jam. He scoffed as he shoved the empty jar into a cabinet, blatantly ignoring the fact that he had yet to throw it away, telling himself that he might find use for it in the future.
When you returned mere days later, he ignored you, yet he found another jar, just like the first on his porch. It would go on like that, and for some reason, Beomgyu found himself listening after that sickeningly cheerful melody you always sang. And everytime you knocked on his door, his fingers would itch to reach out and open it, for reasons he could not understand, and did not want to.
But on your seventh return, you did not give your usual curt knocks, you did not hum along to any melody at all. At first, Beomgyu didn't even believe it to be you. But as he opened the door, and found Little Apricot on his porch, drenched from head to toe, he found himself unable to move. Not even when you pleaded with him so nicely did it register what you were asking.
And suddenly you were inside his home, the place he treasured so dearly and had sealed off to the rest of the world. Yet you had managed to worm your way inside, and the feeling that bloomed within his chest was like no other. — You were everywhere, the same sickeningly sweet scent of your apricot jam now filled his entire home. It clung to the walls, soaked in the carpets and dusted off on the furniture. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t block it out, and you occupied his mind and body fully. It confused him.
You quickly made yourself at home, and Beomgyu noted that you were just as dutiful about any other task as you were your jam. Rushing about even though you barely found your way, tugging cabinet doors and pulling drawers open as you made the two of you tea. — He doesn’t know why he lets your eager hands wander over his belongings, why he drinks the tea you make him or why he even bothers to answer any of your invasive and prying questions.
He feels nearly dizzy in your presence, it’s a strange and uncanny feeling, a feeling he hasn’t felt in years, if ever. And Beomgyu doesn't know if he should fear the warm and fuzzy feeling that spreads within his chest as he looks at you, or if he should give in to it completely. Though if he did, he feared that you wouldn’t ever look at him the same.
Oh but Beomgyu likes the way you look at him. With big and hopeful eyes. You don’t seem to understand just how messed up he is, or perhaps you do, and in that case you had to be stupid to ignore it. Naive. That was probably the right word. Gullible, sweet, and far too kind for your own good. Did you not know not to trust everything you see? He shakes his head at the thought.
Still, there’s an odd feeling of comfort in the way you embrace him, with your kind words and quiet care as you deliver him jam. He doesn’t want to let go of that feeling just yet, though if he ever tries to pursue it, he thinks you might crumple in front of him. — It has him torn. And as he lies in bed that night, the smell of apricots linger around him, pressing in on him with a demanding force.
He groans as he turns over, burying his face in the pillows. But all he can see is you, your bright orange coat, and he can smell you, you’re everywhere, plaguing his body and mind. He twists uncomfortably, stubbornly ignoring the heat pooling in his stomach, refusing to let his hands wander as he tries to block out any thought of you.
Beomgyu wishes that you won’t come by his house again. He knows he won’t be able to stop himself if you do.
⸝⸝
The soft knock to your door makes you tear yourself from the empty jars you were currently wiping down, discarding them on the countertop as you make your way over to the entrance. Your steps are light and cherry as you skip over, fingers twisting the lock, an excited grin already plastered across your face. — “Blueberry Kai!” You squeal when you’re met with the sight of the blue haired boy, his tall frame looming over you as he gives a shy nod.
“Hi Little Apricot!” He says, his face flushing in an adorable shade of blue. Your gaze drifts to his hands, clutching a blue box tightly. “I uh..” He sends you a coy smile as he extends the box, “Got you this.. As a thank you, for you know.. All you do.”
It’s with wide eyes that you happily accept the gift, feeling its weight in your hands as you gently pluck the lid. Your attention falls on the freshly baked blueberry pie and the sweet aroma immediately fills your nostrils. With a wide grin, you glance up at him, “You’re the best Kai!”
The two of you settle out in your garden, amidst the many apricot trees you had planted, all blooming with ripe and orange fruits. Hungrily wolfing down the pie Kai had brought, you barely make time for conversation as you focus on savoring the flavors on your tongue. And when you for the fifth time exclaim, “It’s delicious!”, Kai can’t help but chuckle.
Once the wave of desire has cooled off, and your stomach starts to feel full, you lean back in your chair as you regard him with a questioning expression. It looked like something was bothering him, for his usual lopsided smile was nowhere to be found, and his brows furrowed across his forehead. — “Is something up?” You ask him as you wipe your lips on the corner of a napkin, gently placing it down as you twist in your seat.
Kai’s head snaps in your direction, and he gives a sheepish look, as if you’d caught his drift of mind. “Yeah I just..” He trails off, as if unsure of how to word himself properly. You wait, your legs swinging back and forth as your bare feet drag through the wild grass, the feeling tickling your sensitive skin.
“Have you been seeing Peach Beomgyu?”
The question was not one you’d expected, and you feel your face heat up as you turn your gaze back to the blue haired boy. “I deliver him jams, just like everyone else!” You say, plastering on an even wider grin as you try and brush past the topic. But Kai doesn’t let it go, his brows creasing even further as he leans forward. “Why? I mean, it’s not like he’s done anything for you.. And I’m not saying I don’t think it’s kind of you”, he takes a breath, slowly letting it go. “But what if he’s just using you, Apricot?”
Your frown makes him immediately continue as he says; “I mean, he’s not exactly friendly.. I’m just afraid you’ll end up getting taken advantage of, your kindness is something many of us take for granted…” — His words made you think, your chin jutted out as your mind traveled back to the visits you’d paid Beomgyu. You recall the many times he’d slammed the door in your face, and the times in which he hadn’t opened it at all. Suppose Kai might have a point…
But you also remember that rainy day not too long ago. You remember the way his gaze lingered by you, the way your heart fluttered at his mere presence. It couldn’t possibly be what Kai was implying, could it? If he was really taking advantage of your kindness, why did your heart beat so quickly at the thought of his name?
“I think he deserves the jam just as much as anyone else in Strawberryland”, you state, nodding to yourself as you sink back in the chair, arms spread on the armrests. Kai bites the inside of his cheek remaining quiet, though the look on his face told you that he wished to intervene further.
“I talk to him”, you shrug, acting as if the matter was nothing short of common for you. — “He is actually quite an interesting person, if you give him a chance.” You send Kai a small smile, but the blue haired boy doesn’t seem to buy it as he runs a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know Apricot… There’s a reason he lives out there..” — “Like what?” You cut him off, leaning forward in an instant with an almost challenging look on your face.
Kai opens his mouth to speak, then he stops himself. You watch as he battles with himself for a moment before finally sighing. “Well he’s…Different.” — “Different how?” You knew you were pushing him now, and that he soon would be caving, but you didn’t care. For a small part of you, a part you had tried to ignore for long, felt the need to defend Beomgyu, even if you hardly knew him, it felt like your responsibility. Because if you didn’t, then who would?
“You don’t know?” Kai suddenly asks and your face falls for a moment. Didn’t know what? Kai shifts in his seat as he glances around your flourishing garden, as if checking for witnesses, and when he speaks again, it's in a hushed whisper. “You know… About the peaches..”, he murmurs, swallowing as he holds your gaze.
“The peaches?” You repeat, a little too loud for his liking as he winces. “Yes”, he mutters between sealed lips. “He can’t… I mean, he says he doesn’t like them, but the truth is he can’t even grow them.” Kai leans back up as soon as he’s uttered the words, hurriedly checking his surroundings once more before shrinking back against the backrest of his chair.
Your face contorts into a confused grimace, “Can’t grow peaches?” That’s ridiculous, everyone in Strawberryland grows their own fruits, what could possibly make him so different? Kai slowly nods as he fiddles with the spoon discarded on his empty plate. “I mean, I’m sure he doesn’t want to either, but even if he did, he physically can’t”, he shrugs before continuing, “That’s why he moved out there, so that the rest wouldn’t have to know how much of a failure he was…” He says the last words with a hint of sympathy, and you couldn’t help the way your chest churned at the thought.
“You’re saying I should stay away from him?” It’s not a question but a statement, you didn’t need an answer because Kai had already made himself clear. Yet he gives a firm nod, letting the silverware drop back onto the plate. “Yes”, he says, “I’m worried that whatever curse lingers around him might transfer onto you…Besides, who knows what he’s capable of..”
It hurt, hearing him speak so negatively of Beomgyu. Suppose you had grown a small attachment to the grumpy peach, so what? Delivering him some jam every now and then certainly didn’t harm anyone. You failed to see Kai’s reasoning, failed to see the worry laced within his words. Still, you did something most uncharacteristic, you lied.
“I won’t go see him.”
⸝⸝
Your basket isn’t as heavy as usual when you skip down the cobbled road. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that you had only brought three jars of jam today, and they were all meant for one person. — Throwing a final glance over your shoulder, you venture off the main road, emerging into the thick treeline as you begin the journey to Peach Beomgyu’s house.
Not only had you brought jam, but you’d put in the effort of baking muffins as well. They had come out slightly burnt, their edges a refined and dark black but you didn’t mind, they tasted just as sweet and you were sure they would go well with the jam. — To thank him, that was the goal of today, you told yourself. To thank him for his hospitality as he let you stay last time, and enough jars of jam to last him well over two weeks.
As you near the now familiar house, you can’t help but feel a sense of excitement. It flutters in the pits of your stomach, swirling around as your heart beats steadily within your chest. Had you not been so focused on the task at hand, perhaps you would’ve noticed the way the trees seemed to sway, the leaves rustling despite the lack of wind and the eerie silence that fell over the woods on this particular day.
But you don’t, and soon enough, you’re making the steps up his creaking porch. Your soft knock somehow seems to ring out like thunder in the thick and quiet air. — Glancing around, you prepare for the inevitable wait as you sway back and forth on your feet. But to your surprise, it is mere moments later that the door is ripped open, revealing a disheveled Beomgyu on the other side.
Immediately you notice the subtle flush across his normally pale and cold cheeks. His dark hair stands in all directions, and you frown as your gaze flickers over his dark eyes, his pupils widened to an extent that nearly concerns you. Was he sick? Had you come at a bad time? Your attention falls on the way his chest heaves with each jagged breath he takes, and it trails along his arm, finally landing on the way his fingers bore into the wood of the doorframe to steady himself, knuckles turning white at the sheer force he used.
“Beomgyu, is everything okay?” You ask, blinking the shock away as you readjust the grip on your basket. He doesn’t say anything, and you were just about to suggest coming back another time when he suddenly lurches forward. — You barely have time to realize what’s happening, but the feel of his vice-like grip around your wrist makes you wince as he yanks you inside.
The door slams shut behind you and the smell of peaches suddenly infiltrates your every sense. You don’t think you have ever smelled anything like it before. It was strong, sweet, almost sickly so. It felt far from the citrusy tang apricots carried and you frown as you glance around the area. His living room looks the same, kitchen too, where was the smell coming from? — A chill runs down your spine as you pick up on the sound of a lock clicking behind you. Beomgyu’s harsh exhale is hot against the back of your neck, and it makes the hairs there stand tall as you freeze in place.
When he places an equally warm hand on your shoulder do you realize that the smell is coming from him. He’s practically radiating it. And along with the thick layer of heat that coats him, it pulsates off of him with steady rhythm, slapping you across the face as you squint up at him. Just what was going on.. “Beomgyu..?” He doesn’t answer, and you fervently search his gaze, only to find that he’s looking at something completely different.
You cover your mouth with a trembling hand, a confused and alarmed frown painting the rest of your face. He must have caught something, a virus of some sort, something that made his body flare up like this, something that made him smell so…So truly divine. You shake your head, screwing your eyes shut as you take a step back.
He still hasn’t said anything, not a single word from the moment he ripped his door open. And when he takes a step forward, you find yourself immediately faltering backward. He chases you, with deliberate and long strides, and you don’t stop until your back hits one of his overcrowded shelves, the books and figurines on it rattling as you do. You turn your head in surprise, only to feel his hot fingers on your chin as he steers you back his way.
Beomgyu pries your hand from your lips, his breath audibly hitching in his throat when his eyes fall on your open mouth once more. He looks ready to swallow each shaky exhale you emit, and before you can protest does he slam his lips against yours. — Your eyes shoot open, your hands flying to his shoulders in an attempt to push him back. But Beomgyu was strong, scarily so, and he easily shoves you up against the shelf.
The small noise of surprise gets drowned out by his harsh groan, his hands gripping at your waist as he shoves you against the stacked books. — “B-Beomgyu wait- This isn’t…” You manage to gasp when he parts for air. His face is flushed in a light pink, and the mess of dark brown hair lays in uneven sections across his hungry eyes as he pants. It didn’t make any sense, none of this did.
Your basket had fallen to the floor due to all the commotion and one of the jars had rolled onto the hard wood. Beomgyu didn’t even seem to register the chaos he was creating as he pressed his lips back on yours. He kisses you with a need best described as insatiable, leaving room for nothing but his demanding ways as his tongue shoves past your parted lips, slipping into your mouth with urgency.
The shock slowly begins to wear off and you realize what’s actually going on. Peach Beomgyu was kissing you, well, he was damn near eating you. It didn’t… You didn’t… Your thoughts seemed to cut short, any sense of semblance slipping through the cracks of your fingers as you helplessly chased them. — You should push him off, you should yell at him and ask what in the world had gotten into him.
Because Peach Beomgyu didn’t make friends, and hell, he certainly didn’t kiss people. This was completely unwarranted and you deserved more than an explanation for his near outrageous actions.
For some reason, you find yourself pulling him even closer.
It barely registered at first. Your fingers moved on their own as they clutched the shirt he was wearing, tugging him against you with a force just as strong as his. You couldn’t explain it, the need to be close, the need to give in to every single thought that yelled for you to back away. — Kai’s words linger in your scrambled mind when Beomgyu’s hands go to the back of your thighs, hoisting you into his arms, forcing a proximity that was dangerously close.
Perhaps you should’ve listened to him when he’d told you to stay away. When he’d warned you about Beomgyu. Something was not right with him, you knew that, every fiber of your being told you that this was a bad idea. Yet your mind couldn’t seem to overpower the fire that spread inside your heart, clutching it tightly in its grip, pulling you towards Beomgyu.
You have always followed your heart. You followed it when you delivered jam, because it fluttered when the others appreciatively accepted their jar. You followed it because it beats extra hard when someone smiles your way. You followed it because it made you happy. Even now, you followed it, you followed it through the thick and dark trees, through the wilted flowers and the eerie silence that led all the way to his house.
You followed your heart all the way to Beomgyu, until you finally found yourself in his arms.
A noise of surprise rips from the back of your throat as he walks you over to the couch, setting you down amongst the peachy pillows. He stares down at you for a moment, his tongue swiping across your plump lips, and you find yourself mesmerized by him. In the dim light of the fireplace, he didn't look at all like his cold and mean self. Beomgyu looked warm, flourishing and alive.
The strong scent of peaches radiated off of him in waves, making your eyes flutter as you got a whiff of him. — Your mouth opens, you want to say something, you want to confirm that this moment is real, that this is just not a figment of your imagination and that you are actually here, that he’s actually here and that he’s… Him.
“You smell good.” His voice is gruff, and you can barely make out his dark eyes as he leans down, for his brown hair covers the majority of his flushed face. — You squeal when his lips drag across the juncture of your neck, when his hot tongue presses against your skin. “Like apricots..” He murmurs, as his nose nudging against your collarbone, “But better.”
He inhales sharply, the groan he emits going straight to your core and you feel a strange wave of desire build in your stomach. It felt weird, though not unpleasant, and certainly not unwelcome. — Still, you shriek when his fingers reach for your orange coat, insistently tugging it from your body. Beomgyu doesn’t even seem to register your bashful exclamation as you try to cover yourself, instead he tugs at your blouse, flicking the first few buttons open as his eyes rake across your warm skin.
“Fuck”, he grunts and you would be ashamed to admit that the small slip of his tongue made you throb. — “Do you like this?” He asks, his hungry eyes suddenly latching onto yours. Your face was practically on fire as you nodded, and Beomgyu’s smirk grew wide. “I can tell”, he then adds, making you jump as his hand slides up your inner thigh, stopping all the way under your plaid skirt, his fingers inches from the lining of your panties, “You reek of it.”
“I…” You did not know if that was a compliment or not. But you meekly tried to close your legs, only for Beomgyu to pry them apart again as he pushed your skirt up over your hips. — His breath is warm, much warmer than the fire sparking next to you. It makes your skin flare up as it caresses you.
“Please”, he murmurs, the words barely audible as his head drops down between your thighs. “I need to taste you, just once.” — You weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but the strange flutter rising in your stomach had become almost impossible to ignore and out of sheer desperation you nod, breathing out a small, “yes.”
Beomgyu doesn’t need to hear it twice. Two of his long fingers slip around the hem of your panties, tugging the garment down your legs, though giving up halfway when his impatience got the better of him. The sound of cotton ripping fills your ears, making you dizzy as he exhales against your bare cunt, nearly panting against it upon eyeing the orange cream that your arousal had built up.
Your eyes fly open when he first licks a stripe along your core, a surprised moan leaving your lips as you peer down at him. Fingers digging into the plush and peachy couch, you swallow, your gaze training on his brown hair as it buries between your legs, longing to reach out and touch him. — The first, almost hesitant taste he’d gotten only seemed to make him spiral even further and you choke on a small gasp as the bridge of his nose presses against your clit, his tongue dwelling deep inside your cunt as his hands grab at your waist, sliding down your thighs.
His eyes flutter in ecstasy, the creamy taste of apricots overwhelming his taste buds as the acidic sensation floods him. He quickly realizes that he needs more, and a lot of it. “W-Wait, wait, Beomgyu–” The tingling feeling bubbling within you felt like it was about to implode on you, it made your thighs tremble and your head spin as you fought to stay somewhat composed.
But it’s like he’s on a different planet, nothing you said mattered when you were so perfectly spread before him, your warm and inviting cunt just waiting for him to completely devour. Your soft whines and silent pleas made his head spin, and he knew he needed more, as much as possible.
Your head tips back when his fingers suddenly slide between your soaked folds, digging into your quivering cunt as he curls them. — “B-Beomgyu..” His name leaves your lips a mere whimper, though you’re not sure what you’re even asking of him. You want to say something, to convey the heat inside of you, the feelings swirling within your chest and the fierce beating of your heart. But the words get caught in your throat, your eyes screwing shut as pleasurable vibrations course through you.
Beomgyu moans at the taste of your release on his tongue, greedily lapping up every single droplet of creamy apricot as he tugs you closer. He doesn’t seem to worry about breathing, and his chest heaves dramatically against the couch cushion, his hips stuttering as he shudders. — The feeling of his tongue against your clit suddenly goes from overwhelming to overbearing, and your thighs clamped around his head as your hands push him back.
“N-No more!” You gasp, your face flushed in all shades orange as you blink fervently. Beomgyu groans when he separates from your cunt, a displeased look flashing across his desire-filled expression. The lower half of his face is coated in a thick layer of something dangerously close to the apricot jam he’d been feasting on for weeks. He blatantly ignores your gawking stare as he wipes the mess from his cheeks, stuffing his fingers into his mouth, his eyes already searching for more as he attempts to spread your legs once more.
You whine, rubbing your thighs together in embarressment, resisting a shiver as his hand runs across your knee and down your calf. “One more”, he says, and though his voice is masked by a layer of determination, you can still decipher the silent plea as his dark eyes search yours. — Biting the inside of your cheek, you shyly avoid his gaze as you let it wander across his body.
With a slightly shaky hand you point to the shirt he’s wearing. “T-Take it off..” You murmur, the small sentence nearly inaudible. The uncharacteristic smirk he’d been wearing since your arrival quickly finds its way back to his lips and Beomgyu complies as he tugs the garment over his head, discarding it on the floor as he turns back to you with a look of expectancy.
Admittedly so, you had been craving a closer look at him since the day you’d first found yourself on his porch. Something about him pulled you in. Perhaps it was the subtle pink flush of his face, one that had intensified right now, making him almost glow. Or it was the soft fuzz that crawled across his skin, it feels ticklish under the tips of your fingers as you trail them along his naked chest. Peach fuzz, you think to yourself with a small smile. — Beomgyu shudders, but bites back another comment as he watches you with dark eyes.
Your attention flickers to his hair, dark and unkempt. His hair left a lot of questions, some which you had spent more time pondering than you’d like to admit. Your hands card through the surprisingly soft locks, giving them a gentle tug and Beomgyu groans, his head immediately falling forward as he wraps an arm around your waist.
He pulls you onto his lap in seconds, making you straddle his hips, ignoring the way you wince as your sensitive cunt makes contact with the rough fabric of his pants. — Your gaze drops to the not so subtle bulge straining against the fabric, your hands tentatively palming him through the material, carefully gauging his reaction.
The strands of his dark hair tickle your neck as he leans forward to press languid kisses along your shoulder. His teeth drag across your skin, and for a moment you thought he might actually try and take a bite out of you. It was like he was trying to merge with you, to envelop you fully, like that was the only way to extinguish the fire burning within.
He helps you with the zipper, swiftly tugging his hard cock from the confinements of his pants, giving it a few deliberate strokes as he directs kisses to your blazing skin. — You can’t help but eye the way his fingers wrap around his shaft, noting the way he presses his thumb against his slit, shuddering against you as he does. Eager to do the same, you reach out. Beomgyu freezes when your hand joins in on top of his, but makes no move to brush you off.
Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of light and pink precum dribbling from his flushed tip, it perfectly matched the flush of his face. Beomgyu chokes on a strained moan when your fingers swipe across his slit, gathering the sticky and sweet substance on your hand as you bring it to the lips. — He tastes sweet, like peaches, ripe and perfectly harvested. You sigh at the euphoric taste, your eyes fluttering as your tongue darts out to lick at the remnants that had spilled down your chin.
Beomgyu’s throbbing cock twitches at the sight and he doesn’t hesitate as yanks you forward. “Don’t do that”, he breathes, “Please. Don’t do that.” It sounds as if he’s using all his willpower to hold back. You didn’t want him to. You wanted to see him just as he was, every last bit of him, you wanted to see it all, to familiarize yourself with everything that was him.
“You taste good”, you say, the compliment coming out a little breathless when he presses the tip of his cock against your overstimulated cunt. “Yeah?” He asks, pushing past the tight rim of muscle as he eases his way inside, bringing you back onto his thighs. “You do too.” — His words barely register in your mind, for it’s far too clogged up on the feeling of him, throbbing and alive, inside of you.
His hands are on your waist again, pulling you forward as he sets you in motion. You gasp at the way he brushes up against every bundle of nerves, soft eyelashes hitting your cheeks as your eyes flutter. — With trembling fingers you reach for his face, you wanted to kiss him again, you wanted it more than anything. In this very moment you felt greedy, selfish almost, your body moving on its own accord as you sought out pleasure.
You had always considered yourself a selfless person, always giving and giving, never expecting anything in return. It felt strange, you had never desired anything the way you desired Beomgyu right now. The feeling scared you. Was this what Kai had warned you about? Should you have listened. — Even if you wanted to, you don’t think you could ever stop now. It was too much, he was everywhere, all at once. Yet there never seemed to be enough.
Your lips crash against his with urgency, somehow the kiss turns out sweet. It’s soft, gentle, caring. Beomgyu hums into your mouth, the taste of peaches and apricots mixing with one another. It tastes sweet, refreshing, and exciting. — Your combined moans echo out into the small cottage, the fire burning alongside your already blazing bodies, intensifying the raw and intimate moment.
Suddenly you know what you’d been longing for all this time, what had been missing in your otherwise mundane but joyful life. Delivering jams wasn’t enough, the warm smiles only eased the loneliness in your heart to an extent. No, this, this was what you needed. Another warm body against yours, someone to devote yourself entirely to, someone who acted without expecting anything in return. You would like to think of Beomgyu that way, even though you know you probably shouldn’t.
“Fuck, you’re so perfect- I..” Beomgyu cuts himself off as he pulls back from the heated kiss. Sweat slides down his forehead and you lean in to press a small peck between his furrowed brows. His jaw slacks as he lets ragged breaths pass his parted lips, his hips jerking up to meet yours. — Large hands slide down the sides of your trembling thighs, running over the curve of your ass as he squeezes the soft flesh there.
“D-Don’t know how much longer…I’m..” You stumble over your words, foreheads pressed against one another as small wordless sounds of pleasure rips from your throat. Beomgyu hums, his fingers creeping up your spine, dark gaze trained to your tits, catching the way your perky nipples strained against the cotton of your blouse. — “Fucking perfect.” He grunts, repeating himself over and over, enjoying the way it sounded on his tongue.
His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing it in gentle motions. The action makes your teeth latch onto your bottom lip as tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. With a small cry you feel your orgasm course through you, your cunt desperately clenching around his cock, pulling a string of curses from Beomgyu as his head tips back, exposing his flushed neck and bobbing adam's apple.
The peach cream is warm as it sputters from his twitching cock, spreading throughout your belly when he finishes inside of you. It’s unexplainable, the closeness, the intertwinement, you feel almost bound to him in that moment. — His body feels electrifying against yours, the soft fuzz tickling you when he pulls you to his heaving chest.
It feels idyllic, being so close to him. He doesn’t feel at all like the Beomgyu you had acquainted yourself with. This feels raw, it feels real. The weeks you’d spent carefully peeling the layers back had led you here, a place in which you never would’ve even considered finding yourself in. — And when you peer up at him, you find it hard to ever look away. He looks dazed, half a smirk plastered onto his face as his arms tighten around you.
You did not know if this had been a mistake or not, you did not know if you would come to regret this the following day. But right now it felt just right, just perfect. — You wish to stay like this, if just a moment longer.
⸝⸝
You found that Beomgyu liked to sleep in.
As usual, you had woken along with the sun, rising as the first rays cast upon you. Stretching out with a small yawn, you freeze when your feet hit something hard. Cracking a groggy eye open, you find your toes stubbed against the armrest of a peachy couch. Shaking your head as you blink the sleep away, you glance around. — You were in Beomgyu’s living room.
Your gaze falls on the fire, it had since long died out, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Then onto the discarded basket, tipped over on the floor a few paces away. And then to your bright and orange coat, thrown on the cream colored carpet. — At last, you settle on him. Beomgyu lays sprawled out on the sofa, taking up the vast majority of it as he forces you into a compromised position somewhere between its backrest and him.
With a small grunt you ease yourself into a sitting slouch, steadying yourself with a hand on his naked chest. The pink flush had gone down, and he no longer looked as if he were on fire. In fact, he looked almost peaceful like this. Blissfully asleep as he takes slow and steady breaths through his slightly parted lips. His eyes move behind closed eyelids, lashes fluttering, as his nose scrunches.
You reach out before you can even stop yourself, fingers carefully carding through his dark hair. Memories of your previous night together flash before you, replaying themselves in crisp clear quality. You remember his warm hands on you, his fuzzy skin against yours, his lips, the way he tasted, the way he made you feel. — Your body tingles all over at the mere thought.
Mindlessly your hands wander, not stopping until they reach a peculiar little mark on his ribcage. At first glance, it looked nothing out of the ordinary, and you would have probably brushed it off as a birthmark, had it not been for the way Beomgyu flinched when you pressed against it. — He groans, rolling over on his side, now facing you as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him as his face nuzzles against your stomach.
“Too early..” He complains, his voice muffled and laced with sleep as his hands clumsily grab at your hips. Pursing your lips, you reach for the mark once more, pressing the tips of your fingers against it. Beomgyu groans as he attempts to swat your hand away, persistently ignoring your advances until you finally speak up. — “What’s that?”
“Hm?” He raises his head, blinking against the bright sun before his attention shifts to where you’re pointing at. A small scoff passes his lips, his expression morphing into one of recognition and distaste, like you’d just reminded him of something he’d been trying to forget. — “It’s nothing”, he grunts, heaving himself into a sitting position as he stretches. Your eyes trail his figure with far less shame than you would’ve liked to admit. But as they do, you encounter several marks of the same kind.
“Beomgyu, there’s one here too”, you point to the reddish hue on his forearm. How had you not noticed these yesterday? Then again… Your cheeks flush as you recall the events of last night, quickly shaking your head as you try to rid yourself of such thoughts. — Beomgyu huffs, waving a dismissing hand your way as he tries to brush the topic off. “Don’t they hurt?” You quire, pushing the conversation further.
Beomgyu sighs, running a sleepy hand through his disheveled and dark hair. “Yeah, sure”, he mutters but doesn’t seem too bothered by the admission. — “Had them for as long as I can remember”, he then adds with a small shrug, “something about peaches bruising easily.”
You don’t question him on the topic again, he didn’t seem keen on talking about it. And you respected that. Yet you couldn’t help but get lost in thought as your mind pictured the dark spots. Were Kai’s words true? Had Beomgyu himself began rotting?
⸝⸝
You visit Beomgyu the next day, and the day after that, and even the one to come. He doesn't question your sudden appearances. And you no longer have to wait outside his shut front door, for he opens it right away, even if he lets you inside with nothing but a short nod or a small grunt.
The two of you don’t do much. You drink tea, sometimes you eat biscuits with the jam you brought. Other times he allows you to scour his crowded bookshelves, you use him as your own library, picking a book and returning with it a few days later. — Beomgyu will often sit on the couch, you by the warm fireplace as you ramble on about the book, sharing your thoughts excitedly. Often it felt as if you were conversing with yourself, but you knew that he was listening. You could tell by the way his lip twitched, or the way he rolled his thumbs over one another.
Neither of you bring up that night, the night where you had.. It’s buried, buried beneath the small talk. Buried beneath the tea and the biscuits, beneath the silence of just enjoying each other’s presence. — Beomgyu never tells you to leave, but you do so anyway. And though your heart yearned to spend another night in his house, you were not so sure that it was a good idea. You had yet to tell anyone about it, not even Blueberry Kai knew. The secret burdened you, in a way.
Beomgyu never mentioned the bruises again, so you didn’t either. Sometimes you would catch a glimpse of them, when his shirt slid up as he reached for a book on the top shelf, or when he rolled his sleeves up to do the dishes. If he ever caught you staring, he’d make sure to cover himself again. The sight pained you, and you wished there was something you could do. Anything.
When you weren’t at his house, you spent your days researching, as silly as it might sound. In the short span of a week, you had learned everything there was to know about peaches. From their soft and fuzzy outsides to their pink and creamy insides. You read about growing peaches, about harvesting peaches, you read about which seasons they thrive in and which they don’t. — Safe to say you confidently called yourself an expert.
Yet there was one peach you couldn’t quite seem to figure out.
Beomgyu was nothing like the peaches in the books, with the exception of the soft fuzz that coated him and the pink flush of his cheeks whenever he got flustered. And as the night drags on, your tired eyes follow along the written liens on the page before you in a lazy manner. With your head propped on your hand, you stifle yet another yawn as you blink the sleep away.
No, this wouldn’t do. All answers were not in books, and certainly not answers about Beomgyu. With the quick shake of your head, you slam said book shut, and with newfound determination you rise to your feet. — If you couldn’t ask him about it, then you would simply have to work with what you’ve got; and that was a whole bunch of newfound knowledge on peaches.
⸝⸝
The next morning you leave home before the birds wake. With nothing but a short blink of sleep but energy to feed an army, you march down the cobbled road. You don’t have to look for the small pathway that leads off the main street anymore, your feet take you there on your own, allowing your thoughts to wander as you dwell into the thick forest.
Beomgyu’s familiar house makes your chest swell, and your pace quickens as you approach. — The knocks you deliver to his door are sharp, demanding and slightly impatient. With the small click of your tongue, you glance around the silent woods, tapping your foot restlessly against the old porch. A minute or so later, the door glides open, and you’re met with a freshly woken peach.
“Do you know what time it is?” Beomgyu retorts, though his voice lacks its usual bite, he’d stopped using that with you. “It’s almost seven”, you chirp as you brush past him and into his homely living room, having already made yourself more than comfortable within his house. Beomgyu’s protesting groan becomes a faint background noise as you settle the heavy basket you were carrying onto his dining table.
It’s just now that he seems to notice it, his eyes scouring the items stacked inside, neatly concealed with a plaid blanket. — “What’s the meaning of this?” He mutters as he nears you, his chest brushing against your back as he reaches past you to peel the blanket off. You freeze, swallowing a small gulp as you blink a couple of times. Beomgyu had started doing that.. Being so close, you mean. It was as if the matter of personal space didn’t occur in his mind. Not that you minded, however it reminded you of your night together, and that was something you did mind.
“Peaches..!” You chime, trying your hardest not to let on to your flustered state. Beomgyu, on the other hand, goes silent behind you. His warm breaths are slow and steady against the back of your neck as his fingers fiddle with the handle of the basket. “What for?” He asks, his voice gruff and unreadable.
Hesitantly, you reach for one of the smaller bags, holding it up as you show him the tiny seeds inside. “They’re not peaches yet..” You murmur, and you’re thankful that he can’t see your face as it twists in embarrassment. — “I thought we could plant them together”, the proposal comes out a mere whisper, the words getting caught in your throat as you avoid glancing behind you to get his reaction.
Another eerie silence follows.
It drags on for nearly a whole minute before Beomgyu finally shifts behind you. “No.” He firmly states, the abrupt refusal washing over you like a bucket of ice cold water. This time you can’t hold yourself back from twisting on the spot, coming face to face with him. — “Why not?” You press, your brows furrowing as you grip the small bag of seeds.
Beomgyu leans forward, restricting the already confined space between the two of you. The back of your thighs press against the dining table, and you find yourself leaning backward when his nose nudges against your own. — “Because I don’t like peaches.” His expression is painted with distaste, as if the word itself spread a bitter taste on his tongue. However, you refused to back down, and with a small huff you shook your head; shoving him back as you grab the basket and head for the smaller door that leads out into his garden.
The fresh morning air is soothing against your burning skin, still tingling where his warm breath had caressed. You take in a deep breath, savoring the cool air as it slips down into your lungs. As you do, you survey the garden. While it wasn’t in horrible condition, it looked like it had been left unattended for the greater part of its existence. Yet you march forward, finding a nice open patch of grass as you sink to your knees.
You rummage through the basket in search of the small shovels you’d brought. Then comes the process of tearing up the ground beneath you. It’s a tedious process, but one that you find to quite enjoy. A familiar sensation of calm and peace washes over you as you work just like you would in your own garden; shoveling the soil into a pile next to you.
The sun is warm against your back as you work, yet its rays don't quite seem to reach the lonesome cottage, for the dark forest surrounding you shuts it out. — Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you find yourself completely engrossed in the task at hand. Much so that the sound of the door being opened and closed passes you by unnoticed.
Beomgyu’s steps are heavy as he slowly approaches your hunched over form. You feel his presence before you see it. The way his gaze tears holes through the back of your neck, dark and piercing eyes locked on your every move. He stops a pace away, maintaining a safe distance, as if the seed itself were to jump up and swallow him whole.
It’s quiet, neither of you saying anything as you let the tense air speak for itself. You can feel him watching you as you shovel more dirt, having made a decent depth to the hole. Briefly, you consider the fact that this might’ve been a mistake, that you had overstepped once and for all, and that this time, he wasn’t just going to brush it off as insistence. — When you reach for the bag of seeds, he suddenly speaks up:
“Why are you doing this?”
You hadn't expected him to ask that. Quite frankly you had expected him to drag you away. To shut his door in your face and tell you to never come back. His question makes you waver, fingers hovering above the opening section of the little bag as you freeze mid-action. Why were you doing this? To say pity felt derogatory, for you didn’t think Beomgyu longed for pity, if anything he repelled it. So what was it?
“Friendship”, you finally say, your hands resuming their work as you shake a few seeds out onto your open palm. “It’s what friends do”, you add as you turn to peer up at him. It was hard to make out his expression, the sun behind him momentarily blinding you. But his scoff is loud and clear, and you catch the way his fingers twitch as he resists the urge to clench them into fists.
He mutters something under his breath, the words inaudible to your ears. Then he crouches down next to you, the action taking you by surprise. A small, almost unnoticeable smirk is tugged across his lips, it's a strange look on him, one you don’t think you’d ever seen. — “Friendship?” He echoes as he glances toward the bag in your hand. You nod, rolling the seeds on the flat of your palm, “Are we not friends?”
Beomgyu pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze trained on something beyond your line of sight as he peers out and ahead. “I don’t know..”, he murmurs, his eyes briefly dropping to his own hands, splayed out in front of him. — “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend.” The admission is followed by the soft flush of his neck and cheeks, the light pink radiating on his skin.
His words make your chest tighten, the corners of your lips falling as your face drops. Never had a friend? You’d always assumed that Peach Beomgyu liked it better that way. Perhaps not, perhaps he was just as lonely as he looked right now. — Placing the bag of seeds down, you reach over, clasping his hand in yours. The small seeds linger within your intertwined palms, enveloped in the warmth simmering between you.
Beomgyu’s brow twitches, his dark eyes lifting as they lock with yours, a silent question lingering within them. — “I can be your first friend”, you smile, even though your stomach is fluttering with nerves. He looks slightly taken aback, like he hadn’t expected for those to be the words to come out of your mouth. His lips part, only for him to close them soon again, silently nodding.
Your heart was practically ablaze.
Only when his hand squeezes around yours do you seem to remember yourself as you shake your head. “Right”, you say as you point to the little hole you had dug, “Let’s plant these!” — Beomgyu seems hesitant at first, his eyes flickering between your intertwined fingers and the soil patch. Still, he reluctantly gives in as he lets you guide your joint hands toward the hole.
You make sure to gently pat the little seeds in, taking a moment to lean back and admire them before motioning for Beomgyu to cover them with dirt. He complies, gingerly scooping some into his palms as he covers the hole back up. Together you flatten it out, your hands bumping into one another as you do. It’s impossible to ignore the way his fingers flare up in pink whenever they touch yours, and you smile at the discovery.
When you’re finally done, you lean back up, placing your hands on your knees as you regard the small patch with pursed lips. “Now we wait”, you huff, realizing that even with the help of Beomgyu it would take a good couple of months before these were even close to being done. To wait and for so long for something was awfully boring.
With a reclined sigh, you begin collecting the tools you’d used, shoving them back into the basket. Beomgyu had gone awfully quiet next to you, quiet even for him. You pay it no mind, far too busy with re-organizing yourself. It’s not until his warm fingers suddenly grasp your chin, his touch feathery light yet scorching hot, that you react.
Your wide eyes barely manage to meet his upon turning your head before his lips press against yours. The sudden kiss takes you by surprise and you blink a couple of times before allowing your shocked eyes to fall shut. — It didn’t feel like it had that night, this was slow, timid almost, and Beomgyu was far more hesitant this time around as his hand went to your waist. It was cute, you thought.
And when he finally pulls back, there’s a warm pink covering the entirety of his face as he clears his throat into his closed fist. “Do..” He begins, quickly trailing off as he avoids your gaze. “I mean, is that something friends do?” — You frown, mouth opening and closing as you think of an answer.
“I don’t…I don’t think so. I think it’s something that more-than-friends do…”, you shyly admit, watching as the color that had just begun fading off of his face resurfaced once more. — Beomgyu grunts, shaking his head once, as if banishing the embarrassment from his mind, his dark hair falling in uneven sections in front of his eyes. “Then..”, he puts on a more stoic expression but you catch the nervous fidget of his fingers as they play with a strand of grass, “Then I want to be ‘more-than-friends’ with you.” — “If…If that’s okay?” He quickly adds, his face falling for a brief moment.
You can only nod, a grin stretching across your lips so wide that the corners of your mouth hurt. “I would like that very much.” — Beomgyu exhales a heavy sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping slightly as he peers at you through dark strands of hair. You awkwardly clear your throat, feeling your own face heat up at the request you were about to make:
“Can you…do that again? The kiss I mean..”
He chuckles, and you think it was the first time you ever heard him even remotely laugh. — “Without a doubt.”
⸝⸝
Things became different with Beomgyu after that. But it was a good different. It was different because he had started coming to you. — It had shocked you at first, when he’d knocked on your door, and you had opened it, expecting anyone but him. Even more so when he’d willingly accompanied you into town. Though he didn’t say much, he still followed along as you browsed the different stands, humming a quiet yes to whatever you found interesting.
People cast glances your way, but he didn’t seem to care for them. And neither did you, for the warm feeling of your hand in his washed away any other thoughts. — He even met Blueberry Kai once, though their first meeting was stiff and beyond tense, you couldn’t help the way your chest swelled at the accomplishment.
Beomgyu was polite, at least when he wanted to be. He stopped to hold the door for others, picked up a lost purse and returned it to its owner, and he carried your basket when it became too heavy. After a while he started accompanying you when you went out to deliver jams, and the faces of others as they opened the door soon grew from shock to recognition as Beomgyu slowly made his way back into society.
Still, you preferred to spend quiet and lazy days at his house. Away from everyone else, just the two of you, basked in a different kind of tranquility. Sharing soft kisses on the couch, long mornings in bed, reading out in the garden, and having tea in the kitchen. — It was a simple life, a life that had been right under your nose all along.
And the peaches soon bloomed, much to everyone’s surprise. The first ripe fruits, hanging off the tree, pink and plump. Beomgyu watches as you reach for one, plucking it from its branch as you turn it in your hands. — “Perfect, no?” You say as you let your fingers glide over the familiar fuzz covering the fruit.
Beomgyu hums as he, too, reaches for one. The shirt he wore rides up his stomach, exposing his flushed skin to you. But there were no bruises this time, they had faded months ago. And none of you questioned it, though you were certain you knew why. — Beomgyu brings the peach to his nose, inhaling its sweet scent as his eyes flutter. A small smile splayed across his face, that was also something different.
Your gaze lingers on his frame just a moment longer, fixated on the dark hair on top of his head. Only… It wasn’t dark, not anymore. — You reach up to card your hand through his soft locks, fingers catching one a strand by the very top. You run it between your thumb and index finger, its peachy color glowing under the sun.
To think that a little bit of love was all someone like him needed to bloom.
