[lov-gyu]

not even the memories are immortal…

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Lou, twenty, she ♌︎ ˊ˗

⤷ I write mostly for txt (mainly beomgyu <3) but may occasionally write for enha, bts, or whatever I am currently into

⤷ MASTERLIST, RECS, HOW TO REQUEST

⤷ everything i post is a work of fiction and does not reflect the true lives or personalities of the people i write about, this is all for fun.

[lov-gyu]

CRUSH † index.

playlists. his. hers. ACT I. ACT II. ACT III. ACT IV. ACT V.

pairing. beomgyu x reader

tags. coming of age, road trip, ethel cain inspired

anticipated WC. 60-70k

I’D REACH INTO YOUR BODY / AND FIX YOU IF I COULD

WILL I FEEL LIKE THIS FOREVER?

You don’t know Choi Beomgyu but you’ve seen his face on your TV. Older, scarier; black and white mugshot of a father he looks just like. That’s the only way you’ve ever known him and he hates that. He hates you—people like you. The kind that stare. The kind that assume. They whisper behind his back about how he reminds them of him. About how similar they are. About how much they hope Beomgyu’ll be different. That he’ll be better. Some twisted up, morphed version of him lives inside their heads and he hates it. Whatever they want from him he’ll give them the opposite.

Choi Beomgyu doesn’t know you, but he’s seen your father’s face in the obituary section of the local newspaper. He’s read the story you wrote about him at a mere fifteen, about a love so strong you could feel it in your bones. He’s seen you in your cutoff denim shorts batting your eyelashes at the world. He’s seen the way you act with boys, like each one holds that secret; that secret that’ll show you a love so strong you can feel it in your bones. Your dad used to say you’d find that sort of love anywhere—because it came from God. You found out quick that it wasn’t true. You searched for it everywhere you went.

Maybe that’s what made it so hard for Beomgyu to believe you.

He doesn’t know about the disappointment. The exhaustion. The repetition, the mundanity of it all. He doesn’t know that you don’t even remember what that love feels like. That you’ve forgotten what you’re looking for. That you can’t even find it within the four walls of that damned cathedral. Now you’re left with nothing to do but destroy yourself. It’s the same old habits; the same dumb laughs and twirling your hair between two flirty fingers because some attention is better than none. But the truth is that it’s not.

He wants out. You need out. Who better to run away with than each other?

✎ AUTHOR’S NOTE, Sooooo new series incoming... Honestly, while I was planning this one out I was imagining it like a movie. I am a film major after all, I hope the vibe comes through. It's heavily inspired by Ethel Cain's Crush and honestly plenty of her other songs. ESPECIALLY Waco, Texas (as per the above quote) and Thoroughfare. Gut wrenching. It's Ethel's world we're just living in it... Also sort of inspired by Bones and All. I’ve given both of the MC’s very tragic backstories because I’m evil and in charge. These two are my very damaged, very toxic, babies. I think I've attempted this type of fic about three separate times and the unfinished drafts are collecting dust in my google docs... I guess sometimes it takes a few tries for an idea to stick. I've split the story up into five acts. Five parts. I've been reading a lot of Shakespeare what can I say... I'm inspired. Lucky me, inspiration strikes right around finals season. Lovely. As always, thanks for reading!

[lov-gyu]

Ok in the process of yet again writing another Ethel Cain inspired BG fic … nobody asked for it but i’m so #excited ok

[lov-gyu]

A Little Bit Dramatic, C. Beomgyu

I’ll Keep You My Dirty Little Secret . . . Choi Beomgyu was hopelessly, totally in love with you. The issue? You hated his guts. You made it a point to humiliate him any time he so much as looked in your direction. But Beomgyu was no quitter, when he wanted something, he didn’t stop until he got it—even if it did take three whole years.

pairing, loser!beomgyu x popular!f!reader

tags, rodrick x regina inspired, uni au, non idol (ish) au, beomgyu is in a band, mean reader, mean beomgyu, head over heels beomgyu, yuna & karina mention, emotional slow burn, reader is deep in denial... sort of unresolved feelings at the end

warnings, cocky!gyu, switch!gyu, switch!reader, dacryphilia, voyeurism, loud!gyu, handjob, fingering, oral (f!receiving + m!receiving), sixty-nine...

wc, 13.7k

✎ Author's Note, an increase of rodrina edits on my fyp is the cause of this... thinking about a part 2? Lowkey not proofread. Mentions of a lip ring but i kind of forgot about it i am so sorry

Choi Beomgyu could still remember the first time he ever asked you out. 

Freshman year, it was a Wednesday. After class he practically cornered you at the end of a hallway, confident as always. He could still remember how sweaty his palms were, how fast his heart was thumping. He’d never let himself show it. He held his head high, voice smoothed over you. He was so sure you’d give him a chance. He’d always been so delusional. 

Even when you laughed in his face; his mouth just shut into a thin smirk, charcoal lined eyes narrowed to watch you. Your thin fingers went to swipe your bangs away from your face, like you needed a better look at him to determine whether you thought he was truly serious. Your malicious brows teased him as they rose. He took a quick glance at your glittery lip gloss and swallowed hard. 

“You’re kidding—your head tilted, confused—right?” your tone lingered inches from disgust. 

“Oh baby, you know I’d never lie to you,” He leaned coolly against the wall. He tried to stand tall, the way your big eyes fluttered at him made his shoulders drop only slightly. But you were like a viper the way you pounced on him at—what he argued was—his only sign of weakness. 

“You’re funny,” hot-pink acrylics went to swipe his chest, almost like you were dusting something off of his shirt. “Let’s be realistic here, okay? This isn’t one of your little wet dreams,” but he was watching you so intently, and your tone was sweet enough to nearly convince him you’d accepted. He couldn’t believe it. 

In a sharp moment of pure shock, he took a grounding step back. Or maybe you pushed him away, your hand delicately suspended in the air, big glimmering bracelets clanking as they rolled up your wrist.  

He turned and watched you walk away—he wanted to memorize the pleats of your mini skirt, the way the baby pink of it complemented the hue of your skin. 

You had definitely pushed him.

Everybody could still remember the second time Choi Beomgyu asked you out. 

Only two weeks later. 

It happened in a coffee shop, the coffee shop he worked at. You had become a regular, he had your drink memorized. He wrote his number on every inch of the cup, personally walking it over to you. 

The shop was on campus and naturally full at every time of day. They all watched the boy as he walked with a pip in his step up to the doors of death. You were only a freshman, but your university was small and word got around. Especially about someone as cruel as you, they had all learned to admire your brashness. It probably had something to do with how pretty you were. And they knew you well, they knew you wouldn’t like Choi Beomgyu within four feet of you. It only took one look at him—one look at you to spot the difference. 

With the way your perfectly crossed legs started bouncing impatiently underneath the table everybody could tell that you were fuming. 

You didn’t even have to look at the cup to know his intentions. 

Your eyes scanned the boy from his scribbled-on converse to the top of his messy head of bright red hair. You scowled and took the drink from him but held it like the plastic was diseased. You stood up, your posse following your lead and you poured the entirety of it over that thick head of hair. 

“Oops,” Your sharp eyes met his dazed ones, little drops of coffee hanging off the edge of his long lashes. He didn’t even twitch at the clank of the cup as you tossed it onto the floor. 

His heart hammered while the world watched. He slightly cringed at the wet cling of his uniform shirt to his chest, but still, he stood. At least the coffee was iced, he thought. 

The pattern lived on for another two years. Two entire years of rejection, but who’s counting? He’d certainly lost count of how many times he’d asked. He would still say not enough. 

Beomgyu would argue that now was the perfect time to capture your heart—everything blooms in the spring time. Just the other day he passed by a field of blooming wildflowers, an ocean of yellow-gold, pink and violet. They were beautiful, so he picked some of the rosey ones for you. It didn’t matter that you wouldn’t take them, they reminded him of you. He kept them on his nightstand to remember you by. 

Because you didn’t know it—he was sure, but this would be his last springtime with you. He had never cursed his intellect until the moment he realized he would be graduating without you. He would be leaving you prematurely. There were only six more weeks left of his junior year, and then he would never see you again. 

He remembered waking up every day since he’d picked those flowers with a knot in his throat. He couldn’t have that, he refused. He earnestly believed these final weeks would give him the power, the strength, to finally convince you to go out with him. If not out of love, then maybe out of pity. Maybe a little goodbye kiss as you parted ways. 

He hoped to god that your memory of him would not dry up and wither just like the flowers beside his bed. 

There was also the fact that he knew he was close to getting you to crack, he could tell. He was so sure. There were tell-tale signs that your cold heart was giving in. 

Like the fact that sometimes when he would admire you, he would catch your little glances. Sometimes you didn’t even look away immediately. His record stood at about two full seconds of eye contact before you rolled your eyes and forcefully jerked your head away. 

Sometimes, you would even speak to him. Faintly, quickly, looking around to make sure nobody would see when you asked him for homework answers. Sometimes he was in your way and you demanded him to move. Other times, he was simply a source of your rejection. But he’d take any attention you gave him, so it didn’t even hurt as long as you were talking to him.   

But the most obvious sign, and the most conflicting, that you were deeply in love with him was the fact that he’d caught you at his band’s shows, not once, not twice, but several times. It was the only one he didn’t have an explanation for. Maybe his band was popular, but he knew in his gut (he didn’t, really, he was guessing) that you were going because of him. 

He remembers the first time he saw you at one. Even blinded by the spotlight he could always find you in a crowd. The face he thought about before he slept and the second he woke up—of course he had every inch of it memorized. You were with your friends, and though it was voluntary he could tell you all were miserable. Up on stage he almost lost his pace on the bass as his heart skipped a beat, you caught his eye and he shot you a little smile. But it was one of those moments where you pretended you couldn’t see him. 

You always looked upset, but maybe that was just your neutral expression: a scowl. He didn’t mind it all that much, you were cute no matter what your face scrunched up into. 

Tonight was another one of those nights, but you were being so obvious. You even beat the two second record, by a landslide. It felt like you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, and he wasn’t even imagining it this time. 

He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you under the purple neon lights of the after party. Your friends trailing behind you—you had always been a leader. 

“Pinch me,” He told Yeonjun, who stood next to him over the kitchen island, cracking open a beer. “Yeonjun, pinch me.” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes when he noticed where Beomgyu was looking, then smacked the boy across the back of his head. 

“Fuck!” Beomgyu rubbed his head, it was throbbing slightly, “I said pinch me not murder me.” He smacked Yeonjun’s hand as it reached for the beer he’d just opened. Then Beomgyu picked it up and began to chug. He’d need it. 

Yeonjun gave him a light smack to the stomach. Beomgyu sputtered at the force, a trickle of beer dripped down his chin. “You look pretty alive to me.”

If he wasn’t so ecstatic he would have glared at Yeonjun, maybe even smacked him too. But his eyes didn’t seem to want to listen, they stayed planted on you and your pretty face. 

“I may not be after what I’m about to do,” Beomgyu finished off the last of Yeonjun’s beer, “Give me another one,” he motioned to Yeonjun. 

“I’m not your damn maid,” He scoffed but still handed a fresh one to Beomgyu, even going as far as opening it for him. 

“Okay,” Beomgyu nodded his head, “I’m going in.”

“Oh god,” Yuna said from your left, her arm secure around yours, “He’s coming over here.”

Karina rolled her eyes from your right, “What a loser,” as the three of you turned your heads toward Beomgyu. 

His cheeks were spread into a wide grin, smudged eyeliner glittered under the blinding colorful lights. His outfit—a thin wife beater and some baggy ripped jeans made your face twist up again. He looked sweaty and gross, strands of hair stuck to his face. 

The three of you watched the boy walk over, doing your best to make your frowns loud and invincible. 

From a distance you could hear him speak faintly, “Fancy seeing you here,” but it was almost inaudible with the music blaring from the speakers. His tone was embarrassing and it made you cringe despite expecting it. 

You scoffed, letting go of Yuna and Karina’s arms just to cross them over your chest. You could see him ogling you, too. His eyes momentarily dropped to your chest. 

He stood directly in front of you, “Ladies?” He looked over at Yuna and Karina, you didn’t let your glare fall off of his figure. Beomgyu nudged his head as though he were asking for a little privacy with you. 

But they shook their heads and stood their ground. He gritted his teeth, “Such lovely friends you have, my love,” under his breath. Your grip on your arms tightened at the petname. 

“What do you want, Beomgyu?” You said unamused. He loved it when you said his name. 

He was caught up in it for a moment, letting the loud silence of the background speak before he did. His eyes scanned your face, from your delicate hair-do to your glossy lips. 

And then he shook his head like he was urging himself to remember where he was—who he was in front of. 

“I brought you a beer,” As he extended his arm, you noticed the sweaty sheen of his skin, “Your hand looked awfully lonely from over there.”  

Your eyes dropped to the drink, to the silver metallic rings on his fingers, “I don’t take drinks from strangers, thanks.” You shook your head, you began to tap your foot on the sticky floor as you ripped your eyes away from him.  

“Strangers?” He pouted all dramatically, big eyes sparkling, “Oh baby, that can’t be what you’re calling this,” he motioned between the two of you with a finger. 

Your head snapped back at him, eyes rolling, “Jesus…” You muttered, “Are you really going to do this now?”  

“Do what?” a little smirk played on his lips. 

“Stop wasting my time,” you spat, “Whatever you’re going to ask, just get it over with.”

He gasped, your friends slightly jumped at it, “Are you saying what I think you are?” A dramatic hand to his chest. 

Your eyes narrowed, “Tell me, what is it that I’m saying?”

Beomgyu took a step forward, you were almost toe to toe, converse to prada. He swallowed hard at the sight of you looking up at him through thick, fluttering lashes.  

“Isn’t it obvious?” He tilted downwards until you were face to face, and you flinched when he lightly gripped your chin, “You’re waiting for me to ask you out, aren’t you?”

Your skin tingled where he held you. A deep frown set up on your face, he’d never touched you before. But the frown wasn’t wholly for him, more so for the fact that you didn’t immediately tug yourself away.  

You tilted your head to better look at him, “You’re ridiculous.” 

This eye contact was viscous, sharp and snake-like. 

“Oh, am I?” a low chuckle, it almost made you shiver. You could smell his breath, the beer on it. “Tell me, sweet thing, how many of my shows have you been to now?” You scoffed, “Was it three, or four? Maybe even five?” 

His thick voice rang in your ears, his truth was malicious and humiliating all the same. 

You were finally able to shake his grip, delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged. 

You rose a brow, “You’re a cocky one, aren’t you?” 

His eyes jumped to where you held him, then back to you. 

The silver metallic of his lip ring glimmered at you, like it was making fun too, “I’d say I’m allowed.”

Your laughter was absent of joy, “Really? Were you hiding your crowds of screaming fans tonight, then?” you clicked your tongue, stood a little taller in your silver kitten heels. “I didn’t see many of them out there.” You mock pouted and his knees almost buckled. 

He exhaled through his nose while he bit his lip. It was like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. They were lies and you knew it, too. 

“Oh yeah,” He nodded a little, a genuine smile overtook him, “I couldn’t make my girl jealous.” 

You scoffed again and let your eyes fall over him. You dropped his wrist where you were still holding it, and he let it fall to his side because he knew he was winning. 

But you took that same hand of yours and gripped his face in your fingers, your long nails poking into his cheeks. And his face was all distorted now, lips squished hard enough to hinder his ability to speak. You liked him better when he was silent, if at all. 

And Beomgyu could feel his stomach churning, his chest held his last breath. He felt like you’d take your hands off of him if he moved at all. So he didn’t.

“You’re pathetic.” 

He had to fight away a whine that he could feel inching its way up his throat. And you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it hard. It deepened your scowl. The only thing that stopped you from downright spitting in his face was the fear that the sick freak would like it.

And Beomgyu thought you were so cute when you were pissed off. You almost stomped your foot on the ground like you were about to throw a tantrum. It made his heart flutter all erratically. 

You looked at him; at that starry look in his eyes, the pink on his scrunched up cheeks, and practically threw his face away from yours. 

Your fingers touched as you ripped the beer out of his hand and took a long swig. With your free hand, you motioned in another direction. Your friends followed as you began to walk away, shooting him glares and scowls. 

But you never looked back, you let him watch. 

God, Beomgyu knew he was delusional, he knew it. He couldn’t trust his mind, especially now, because he was sure your hips were swaying a little more than usual, he was sure your skirt had ridden up a little higher than before. He could almost see the bottom of your ass. 

And his heart thumped and thumped, he just stood there with his mouth open and nearly drooling. He needed you bad. 

Beomgyu had been too entranced to notice the friend at his side, “She say yes yet?” Yeonjun nudged his ribs. 

But Beomgyu didn’t even flinch, “Almost.” 

Though it was only the end of April, you could feel the edge of summertime with your fingertips. You could taste it with every inhale of warm salty air. It had been especially hot this week, enough to make your skin tacky and your head all foggy. Though it was only a Tuesday and you had classes to attend, you and your girls had determined that a beach day was in demand. You argued that even if you went to school, your time there would be worthless because you ‘couldn’t possibly think in this heat’. 

So to the beach you went, all three of you. 

And the moment your feet dug themselves into the soft warm sand, you knew you had made the right decision. The sound of waves nearly rocked you to sleep as you lay on your back under the sun; the heat enveloped you like a blanket. 

Yuna sat on her towel beside you with a slice of cold watermelon in her hand, the juice was dripping down her wrist. It made you grimace. 

“You’re so gross,” you lowered your sunglasses so she would see the pointed look in your eye. 

Yuna’s shoulders sank only slightly, almost unnoticeable to the untrained eye. But you had known her long enough. You rolled your eyes. 

“Whatever,” she spoke far too late, “I’m going swimming,” She set the fruit on her sandy towel and you stared at it like you would a spider on the wall, “Karina?” 

Karina shifted in her seat, looking in between the two of you. You could see a bead of sweat drip down her brow, “Go,” you said, nudging your head in the direction of the salty ocean. 

But she denied you, “No, the sun feels nice,” she sunk further into the sand and turned to look at Yuna, “I’ll meet you in a bit.”

The girls nodded at each other, but you looked away from them. Something else had caught your eye. 

In the distance, a group of five boys was setting up a little area in the sand. Laying out their long beach towels and lawn chairs. One of them, the short one, was struggling to dig an umbrella into the ground. Others were struggling to get their food out of the sand. And the bane of your existence, you could tell even when he faced away from you, was pulling sand castle building tools out of his bag. 

“Adult men bringing toys to the beach,” you scoffed, “This is hell.”

Karina laughed from beside you as she too lowered her sunglasses and looked in their direction. 

It was clear as day that this group of boys was the one you always tried your best to avoid. You could tell by all of their funky hair colors, funky hair styles. By the way they shouted and laughed like nobody could hear them. It was starting to give you a headache; their disregard for public etiquette.

“I think you’ve got a stalker,” She said, her voice playful as she looked at you. You could tell she was trying for a reaction. 

She was always trying, but you had a wicked poker face. Even then, you looked back at the group and like clock work, there he was. Tall and mighty and staring right at you. Shirtless. Sweaty, glistening. A little easy on the eyes, maybe, but you didn’t let it show. 

Your stomach felt a little bit strange in that moment. It was hot, in that burning, eager way. So you turned onto your front and let the sun hit your back, so sure the heat was the cause. 

“I think I’ve had a stalker,” You stared at her, face unphased, “He follows me wherever I go.” 

Karina raised a brow, flipping onto her front, too. She was always following your lead, “You’re telling me you don’t like it?” She put her chin in her palm and started to fake ogle. You knew it was a ruse, she was as disgusted by the group as you were. She let her sunglasses hang on her nose so you could see exactly what she was looking at. 

Beomgyu shifted to sitting on a beach chair laughing with the other boys. It wasn’t just a little chuckle, no, it was that boisterous, hear-it-from-a-mile-away type of laugh that you could always recognize him for. It was annoying. He was annoying you. The way he was sitting there, legs wide open. Shirt off. 

“Not one bit,” You turned down your brows. You were so annoyed. 

“Really?” She pushed, you could tell she was pushing. She was such a bitch. “I mean—she tilted her head and smiled like he could see her, like he was looking at her—he is kind of hot. Don’t you think so?”

You fake gagged, “I think,” you dramatically turned to look at her, “I’m going to vomit if you keep speaking.”

She was always the person to ceaselessly remind you that you had caught some loser’s affection. Yuna was as grossed out as you were by his constant attention, Karina thought it was funny. 

Because Beomgyu was so not your type in a way that she knew humiliated you. It's like when an old guy asks for your number in public and you feel ugly at the thought that he really believed he’d have a chance. It reflected badly on you, that’s why she loved it. 

Karina giggled, “I mean, take away the loser traits. Closed mouth, nice clothes, a haircut. Imagine it. He’d be so hot.” 

You shook your head at the thought, disgusted, “You’re such a bitch.” 

She laughed again and licked her lips, “At least you’re almost rid of him.”

You sat up slightly, letting your elbows carry your weight, “What are you talking about?”

Her mouth dropped into a little ‘oh’ of surprise, “Oh, you don’t know?” She had you now, she could tell. 

“Know what?” You didn’t like how she knew something you didn’t. You hated being left in the dark. And you knew she had done it on purpose. 

Yuna and Karina were your friends, but it took a certain type of girl to be friends with you. The only time they wouldn’t tell you about some juicy sort of gossip was when they knew it could be used against you. You weren’t sure what her goal was yet. Yuna’s was usually revenge. But Karina had always been in it for the love of the game. She used everyone for her own entertainment. She was almost as cynical as you were. 

“He’s graduating this year,” She nodded matter-of-factly. “Apparently he even got this big job in the city, I heard he starts as soon as school’s over.”

Her eyes kept on your face. She was waiting for something. But you were never one to please. 

You looked at him now, laughing with his friends. Making memories he’d only be able to keep in the pocket of his big boy pants wherever he was going to work. 

“I didn’t know.” You snapped out of it quickly. You shrugged. You let that disinterested look seep into your face but you felt your heart race like you’d just made a mistake. 

Karina beamed, her smile singed your skin like it was coming from the sun itself, “So…” she nudged your arm, you flinched. 

“So, what?” you snapped, you were back to your usual tone. 

“How are you feeling?” Her sing-songy voice made you dizzy as it danced around the air. Jesus. She was annoying. 

“About what?”

She rolled her eyes, “So, you’re not like…super depressed or something?”

“About what?” Your tone sharpened. Your face twisted in disgust, she knew you well. The fact that she thought this would phase you at all made you feel slightly disappointed. Slightly disgusted, in yourself. Like the old man and the phone number. 

But she didn’t respond and that honestly made you feel worse. Instead, she smirked. She was a vicious little bitch and you couldn’t believe she was getting to you. You straightened your brows to hide your embarrassment. 

You let your eyes close behind the sunglasses, dipped your head into your arms and laid down flat. Without her instigation, the setting felt nice. Her presence drifted, a faint I’m going swimming now, that you might have imagined. And then silence. 

Your peace lasted no longer than a few minutes. 

“Funny seeing you here,” and you’d recognize that voice anywhere. You didn’t even have to lift your head. 

You didn’t like the way your breath caught from being startled like that, “Leave me alone,” you said. It was muffled and inaudible, just lips against the tacky skin of your wrist. 

You felt his looming presence even with your eyes shut, “What was that, gorgeous?” You lifted your head, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the light, “I couldn’t really hear you, mind saying it again?”

He was standing at the end of your towel, hands on his hips. You didn’t like having to tilt your neck so much to look up at him. The rays of sunlight shone against his head of messy black hair like a halo. It shaded in every crevice of his toned figure and you didn’t like it one bit. 

You frowned, “You’re blocking my sun, loser.”

He grinned, a single dimple popped out of his cheek, “Aw, maybe I’m just looking out for your health, sweet thing.” He pouted. 

You began to sit up on your elbows at the same time that he sat on the sand in front of you. Criss cross. Like a child. Your lips turned further downward, eyes narrowed at his face that blocked your view of anything else. 

You saw his eyes drop to your chest for a millisecond, his fingers went to play with the initial on your necklace before you smacked his hand away. 

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” soft fingers went to pinch your hot cheeks. Hot from the sun. You couldn’t admit that the cool of his rings felt sort of nice. 

You pulled yourself from his grasp immediately, “Who gave you that permission?” You stared at his hands like they were covered with dirt. 

He had the nerve to giggle. Like a school girl, eyes sparkling and all. 

“I just felt it in your loving gaze,” His grin returned close mouthed. 

“You’re delusional,” Your fingers played with the sand, picking some of it up and letting it run through, “And a stalker.” 

He tilted his head and lightly raised a brow. He was expecting worse, more gutting, specific, quips. The ones he loved you for. Your voice was still sharp, but it was quiet. 

And he didn’t hate it either, but he didn’t like that it made his breath hitch. He hated getting nervous in front of you. You could always tell, like some sort of humiliation bloodhound. 

It took him a second too long to respond, his voice not entirely sure, “Trust me, babe, if I knew you’d be here,” He looked down at the sand, too, “I’d have worn my speedo.” 

You groaned and made a face at him. He winked.  

“You’re so gross.” You almost laughed. You almost smiled. And then your stomach lurched. 

There was something wrong with you. You were sick. That had to be it. 

Some sort of virus that makes you engage in socially suicidal situations. Or that makes you speak when you don’t want to. A virus that makes you say only things you would absolutely never say, like: “Okay, health nut. Put sunscreen on my back.”  

And his eyes widened. Jaw dropped. Cheeks painfully flushed. If he was fighting nerves before he had surrendered entirely now. 

And then your brain caught up to your subconscious and you understood. You were calling his bluff. 

You had always been convinced that Beomgyu was only in it for the love of the game; the back and forth; the chase. He never actually wanted to have you, he just liked that he could keep trying. Like Karina, it was entertainment for him. Not to mention a status boost. 

Because you had sort of made him—you were the only reason people knew his name. 

And it was your fault, too, for entertaining it. 

You had the power to ruin him if you wanted to, you knew you could. You could be as firm with him as you liked, and you were always sure it would be a massive disappointment to say yes to him. 

Now was the time to find out, because he was leaving soon and if he was determined to bother you, maybe you could get something fun out of it too. After three years, you finally engaged. Game. Set. Match. 

You quirked a brow and let your lips fall into a venomous little smile. 

“Wuh-What?” He breathed it out through an exasperated laugh. He couldn’t believe you. 

“What? You don’t want to?” You shrugged. Your tone was mocking and ill-natured but his ears had learned to tune that bit out. 

You almost laughed at how quickly he shook his head, hair bouncing against his cheeks and forehead, “No–No. I’ll do it. Where’s the sunscreen?” He began to look around your set up, already scrambling to his feet. 

You laid back down, this time resting your chin against your arms instead of buried within them, “In my beach bag. It’s the big pi—”

“—Pink, glittery one. Got it.” He spoke quickly and eagerly. 

You rolled your eyes. The sand beside your abdomen dipped when he went to sit, the fabric of his swim trunks grazed your ribcage. 

He was breathing shallow, like he didn’t want to make too much noise. You felt his hands hover over you, seconds away from slipping along your spine. Then he realized he wasn’t exactly sure what to do, he’d never been in this situation before. 

And he could feel his cheeks blazing, he didn’t want to but he had to swallow his pride and ask, “What do I do?”

Your laugh made him twitch, he watched your body shake in your delightful entertainment. He really was such a loser. 

“Well, untie the strings of my top,” it was condescending, like he was stupid. In this moment, he truly felt he was.  

His eyes jumped to the back of your head in disbelief. He was a kid in a candy store and the clerk had just told him everything was free, “Ar-are you sure?” His voice cracked. 

Your head turned to look at him over your shoulder, annoyed. Beomgyu swallowed hard. You watched his throat constrict as it happened. And you kept your eyes on him, noticed how he looked shinier than before, pinker than before.  

You clicked your tongue, “Are you always this awful at following directions?” 

He silently shook his head, his mouth was still parted. And you’d never seen him without the cocky demeanor, it felt unlike him. 

His hands were still in place, “Are you going to do it or not?” you snapped. 

He let out a final breath, closed his eyes and nodded his head. He was confused as hell, slightly turned on. But most of all he was afraid. You were finally giving him something, he couldn’t fuck it up. 

His hands shook as he went to untie your top. For once it was like he was trying not to touch you. You could feel the strings lifted and moving. You could feel every time he paused, or every time a fingernail almost touched you. You could feel the hovering. The hesitation. The pace that was both agonizing and burning. 

He managed to untie both straps without grazing your skin at all. Neither of you said a thing. 

It was just waves and seagulls and the faint noise of distant laughter from both of your friends. Then a little squirt of sunscreen onto what you assumed was his fingertips. You let your face turn and sank your cheek into the back of your hand. 

You expected this to feel relaxing, you were finally getting some use out of the boy, at least. But the anticipation felt killer. Like your birthday did as a kid; slowly inching closer but never close enough. 

You shook your head in your hands at the thought. 

The anticipation chewed you up, your body was rigid and uncomfortable until the moment he began. Then it relaxed, your shoulders sank into your beach towel. 

You expected the cream to be cold, fresh out of the bottle like it always was. But you could tell he’d warmed it up in his hands before sinking it into your skin. You bit the inside of your cheek. 

He started with your shoulders, letting his thumbs linger over the base of your neck as his palms and fingers did the work. His movements were slow and unsteady, you could sense his own hesitation at how far to take it. 

He applied some pressure to your shoulder blades, sinking his skin into yours until the area absorbed all of the cream. It was glistening and smooth but he kept pacing his fingers back and forth like he didn’t want to let go. 

He had always dreamt of moments like this, usually in the dreams, he was naked too. You win some, you lose some, right? 

He looked up for a moment while he rubbed some fresh sunscreen in between his palms. He looked at his friends—who all were staring right back at him. He let a big smile settle, they did too. He could see little raised eyebrows and distant thumbs-ups. 

He went back in, this time towards your lower back. He knew what to do now, he grazed the line of your spine, the dimples on your back. His movements were more confident. Less strain, resistance, to them. His hands were at your sides, and he imagined what something like this would feel like in private. 

If there was one thing he knew about you it was that you always had an ulterior motive. But whatever it was now, he didn’t care. Not even if it was at his expense. 

You tried hard to act normal, but you were afraid he could sense the fact that your breathing was a bit too steady—too calculated. 

His index finger traced your spine before he flattened his palm against your lower back. His fingertips were teasing the edge of your swimsuit bottoms.

“Stop feeling me up,” You looked over your shoulder once more. 

He smirked at you, “Would you tell a fish to stop swimming? Shakespeare to stop writing?”

You sighed. He let his hands roam again. They traced your skin so softly. It tickled, you couldn’t shiver, you couldn’t laugh. So you held your breath. 

While his palms pushed against your ribs. While his big hands enveloped you inside them. While his fingertips began to move outward. They traced little shapes into your soft skin. He let them move to your sides, nearly grazing your breasts. 

But he stopped. He just let them stay there, he squeezed harder. 

“You can breathe, you know?” You could hear the smirk on his voice. 

You frowned into your own skin, “Fuck you,” You shook your head. 

“I can,” He squeezed again, “If that’s what you really want.”

You turned to look at him for a third time, disbelief written so plainly on your pretty face. 

He lowered his gaze, his voice. He let his eyes fall onto your lips for a flicker of a second, “Is that what you really want?” 

The silence was heavy and thick, you frowned at him. You were ready to tell him off before a smile graced his mouth, pearly white teeth shining, teasing. 

“You are so…” This was as close to humiliation you’d ever felt. It was repulsive enough to make you fake gag at him. You couldn’t defend yourself with anything but an eyeroll. 

And Beomgyu went back to smiling as he finished rubbing in the final layer of sunscreen. 

He didn’t take his hands off of you, though. Their presence was warm and you could almost hear the gears turning in his head; the only time he stopped talking was the rare moment he took to think. 

“Listen,” he started, “You know that midterm we’ve got in Miss Hirai’s class?”

You looked at him again, tucking your hair out of the way as he retied your top, “Duh.”

He nodded, “Can we… study together?” 

You groaned, letting your head fall back, “I knew it was coming.”

He shrugged. He tapped anxious fingers against the fabric of your towel. He tried to keep his face neutral, tried not to give you encouragement nor any sort of reaction. 

You looked away for a moment, and your gaze caught his group of friends. They all looked like they looked away right at that moment. You could have laughed. 

And you don’t know why, but you shrugged too, “Sure.” 

Beomgyu fell back onto his hands from his kneeling position. Once again, you left him stuttering and in shock. He was starting to like the feeling. At least you were giving him something—you were giving him more than something. 

So when he returned to his group of friends, Yeonjun asked him the typical, “She say yes yet?” 

He shook his head and looked down at his toes hidden in the sand. “Almost,” He looked up only when he knew his cheeks wouldn’t give him away. 

Because you told him not to tell, and so he wouldn’t. 

“Don’t you think this is a bit excessive?” Beomgyu asks, leaning against the frame of his door. 

You stood in front of him. A large black hoodie draped over your frame and the same sunglasses from the beach perched on your nose. You even made an effort to switch your school bag into a much more boring one. Your pink, bedazzled bag would make you far too recognizable. 

Beomgyu was grateful you seemed to be allergic to pants, though. Your hoodie covered it up, but he was sure you were wearing a skirt underneath. 

“Not at all,” you huffed, shoving into him slightly as you passed him to get inside. 

At least you began to take off your disguise. The hoodie was hiding all of his favorite parts. 

“You’re much cuter wearing those tight little outfits,” He shrugged as he looked you up and down. 

You frowned, rolled your eyes. It seemed like that was the only thing you knew how to do around him. 

Your voice was muffled as you slid the hoodie off extremely disgracefully, “Don’t be gross,” you warned. 

“Or what?” He took a step toward you. His long arm extended and ruffled your already messy hair. 

“Do you want me to leave?” You smacked him with one hand and used the other to smooth out your hair. 

“Do you want to leave?” He quirked a brow. 

A beat of silence. He knew you needed this a little bit more than he did. 

Literature had always been the subject of your struggle. You blamed it on your bad memory. Though you’d never ever voice that you even needed this help. He knew you’d never ask for it. 

You figured he’d have to be smart based on the fact that he was graduating a whole year early. A part of you felt sort of jealous—like he’d managed to beat you at something. 

He knew he’d won when you began to take off your shoes. Some high top black converse he would have never expected you to own. It seems you had the disguise down to a T. 

“You are insufferable, Beomgyu,” You shook your head, “How do you expect me to like you at all?” 

“I don’t expect you to like me,” a cheeky grin, “I already know you’re in love with me, it’s only a matter of time.”

His little dimple poking through again, smiling right at you. 

You furrowed your brows, “Before what?” 

“Before you realize it, silly,” he tapped your nose, you jumped backward, “Or maybe you already have, and you’re just not ready to admit it.” 

You shot him a wild look, “You’re actually crazy.” 

“Crazy about you,” he winked. You gagged. 

You took a few paces away from him, taking the time to look around his apartment. It was shockingly clean—at least for an apartment shared by two boys. And the realization hit you as you began to frantically look around: Oh right. He had a roommate. 

“Is Yeonjun…?” You turned to look at him. 

Beomgyu shook his head, “He’s not home. He won’t be for hours.”

You nodded. 

You continued to look around, it was decorated slightly. Musical instruments scattered across the living room, fairy lights strung behind the mounted television. 

“Are you sure?” You couldn’t shake the feeling. 

He let out an exasperated laugh, “Yes.” A little bit annoyed. 

“Okay.” You nodded again and looked at the floor, he’d never seen you any less than confident before. He decided that he didn’t like this look on you, “Should we study in your room, then?” 

But he loved his life regardless. He stepped past you and led you down a short hallway. 

“Right this way, m’lady.” 

You cringed. 

“Sorry,” he said, “It made me want to vomit, too.”

And you laughed. Not a full laugh. It was still restrained and under your breath. It was private. It was unsure. But to Beomgyu it felt sacred. 

You walked straight up to his bed as soon as you made it to his room. It was slightly on a platform, you had to hop up to get onto it. Beomgyu thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. 

And for a moment he just watched you look around. 

You took in your surroundings, your eyes paused at different momentums. His guitar. His paintings, some standing in columns between his desk and dresser, others already up on his walls. There were little star garlands hung on almost every inch of the ceiling. There was a shelf full of records, CD’s, and DVD’s. Knick knacks decorated the top of it; figurines from media you didn’t recognize. 

The room felt cozy, it felt warm. It felt like him. 

It all made you uncomfortable. You couldn’t sit in the silence.  

“You seem like a crafty person,” You looked up at him. You had a hard time shaking your usual tone so it sounded judgmental on accident. 

He shrugged, “I have a lot of time on my hands,” he held your gaze, “No girl to use up all of it.” 

He cleared his throat when you didn’t respond. Because you usually did. Now he felt weird. 

“Let’s get started?” He asked. 

You nodded. 

You were pulling books out of your bag when you felt the bed dip and he sat next to you. It made you stiffen, you don’t know why. 

“Start with Shakespeare?” Beomgyu asked and you just hummed in confirmation. 

This was going to be a lot more difficult than you expected. You hated Shakespeare. Maybe more than you hated Beomgyu. 

“I hate Shakespeare!” You sighed and dramatically fell back onto Beomgyu’s bed. His mountain of stuffed animals broke your fall. You took one into your arms, a bear, and screamed into it. 

He beamed, he was laughing at you. You could feel the bed shaking underneath you. You had been reading together for little over an hour. Though you had only made it through about half the amount of pages Beomgyu usually would if he was reading alone. 

You took your face out of the bear’s abdomen to glare at him, “It makes no sense.”

“It makes sense,” he said. 

“He’s speaking gibberish.” You frowned, squeezing out your anger into the stuffed animal, “I can’t take it anymore. I’m leaving.” 

Beomgyu nodded, looked up at the ceiling, trying to bite back a smile. “That’s fine. I mean…it’s your grade, not mine.”

“You aren’t looking at me right now, but I’m glaring at you,” You said. In a short fit of frustrated rage you found a smaller stuffed animal and threw it at his head, “You suck.” 

And he giggled. The adult man sitting next to you giggled. 

And you were used to his loud laugh. The annoying one. This one was softer, sweeter. Before you realized, you were giggling too. At him, at Shakespeare, at your disgust, maybe. You weren’t sure. 

You covered your face with the bear again in an attempt to hide it. 

“I wish I could go back in time and destroy every pen Shakespeare owned,” it was muffled under the fluff of the stuffed animal. 

Beomgyu leaned back to rest next to you. He wasn’t sure if you’d noticed. Maybe you would have fought him over it if you did. He looked over at you, your face still hidden away. 

“You don’t mean that,” You peeked at him over the bear’s big head, “Then you wouldn’t have your favorite movie, did you think about that?” 

“Oh yeah?” You rose a brow, “What’s my favorite movie?”

The corners of his lips poked at his cheeks in a shy smile, “10 Things I Hate About You.”

You sat up in a gasp, you threw the bear at him but he caught it swiftly, laughing, “You really are a stalker.” 

“I’m not!” He defended himself through laughter. 

Both of your laughters were slightly conflicted and unsure. Like neither felt safe enough with the other to really let it go. There was too much back and forth in your history to let the tension fall so easily. 

“Then how do you know that?” You crossed your arms, but you were being playful. It was new. It was slightly strange to him, but in the way that chocolate is strange if you’ve never tried it before. 

You didn’t know why you were being so openly not-uncomfortable with him, but it made you sort of uneasy. You had been dreading this moment ever since he pitched the idea, reminding yourself that it was out of necessity. 

But if it was purely need, why did it feel so easy?

Beomgyu scratched the back of his head, his cheeks turned pink with embarrassment, “Uh—he rubbed his hands on his jeans—sophomore year, intro to astronomy ice breaker.” 

You sat back on your hands, you didn’t know why they all of a sudden felt clammy, “You remembered that?” 

And his cheeks felt like they were burning. It was his turn to hide under the bear. With Beomgyu’s arms outstretched over his face, his shirt rode up enough for his stomach to flash you. Happy trail shining, sneaking past the band of his boxers. 

You bit the inside of your cheek once again. 

“Well,” you started, he’d never heard you so unsteady before, “What’s your favorite movie?” 

You don’t know why you asked. 

He laughed, and your chest hurt a little bit. You’d never been laughed at before. 

“Are you seriously asking?”

“Are you seriously not going to answer?” Your face settled into a deep frown as your tone returned to its usual bite. Beomgyu moved the bear away from his face just so he could look at you. 

“August Rush,” he said. 

You shrugged, “I’ve never seen it before.” 

“I have it on DVD,” he said, “Should we take a break?”

And you shouldn’t have said yes, but it was that or Shakespeare, “God, yes.”

He sat up and hopped off the bed, walking over to the busy shelf. He pulled the film out alarmingly fast and you wondered if he had it alphabetized or something. That sort of felt like something he would do. But you didn’t know him very well. The thought made your face fall before you could catch yourself. 

He looked down at his socks like he was thinking hard. His mouth opened once then closed like he didn’t know whether to say it and you were getting annoyed by his insecure pace. 

“Should I get some snacks?” He asked. 

You played with your fingernails as you hesitantly nodded, “Sure,” Your stare was blank as you were stuck deep in your thoughts, of course he noticed.

“You okay?” he asked. 

You snapped out of it. Your head jerked in his direction. “Yeah. Fine.”

Neither of you was entirely convinced. For some reason you decided to follow him into the kitchen when he left his room. 

He led you into the very tight space, it was so narrow it barely fit the two of you. You didn’t know where anything was, so you slipped onto the countertop to give him more room. Beomgyu would never admit to you how good it felt to have you look down at him like that. 

“Popcorn okay?” He asked. 

You were fiddling with your nails, “mhm.”

“Chocolate?” 

“What kind?” 

“Peanut Butter cups,” he pulled the bag out for you to observe. His face warmed when you nodded so eagerly, even with that annoyed look painted over it. He was enamoured. 

He hid his face behind the door of the fridge. 

“Okay… we have juice, soda, beer,” he looked back at you, and you made a funny face at the fact that you could only see his eyes from behind the door. They looked better next to the rest of his face. 

“What kind of juice?” 

“Orange?” 

You made a face.

“Gimme a beer,” you waved your hand like you expected it to come over to you magically. 

“Alcoholic,” he joked, closing the refrigerator after pulling out two beers. 

He liked to blame the narrow walkway, you blamed it too. When he walked over to hand you your drink, he stood in between your legs. You forgot you were wearing a skirt when you decided to sit like a man. Your fault. 

“Thanks,” as you took the opened bottle from his hand. 

He tipped his head to the side, a mischievous smirk playing on his plush lips, “I thought you didn’t take drinks from strangers?”

His hands went to hold either side of the counter. He pretended not to notice when your breath paused on its exhale, for your sake. 

You groaned, “Shut up.” 

You realized how close you truly were. 

To make matters worse, he brought a hand up to the ends of your long hair and twirled a strand between two fingers. 

“Or what?” You’d never noticed how low his voice was. 

The timbre of it rang in waves throughout your body. You would have pressed your thighs together had he not been in the middle of them. Instead you were left with this weird burning feeling; Insatiable and harsh. 

You exhaled through your nose as the corners of your lips pointed downwards, “What’s your goal here?” You whispered. 

Each breath heavy and full of some unspoken thing. He let it sit in between you before he spoke. 

“You know what I’m after,” and he leaned in enough for you to smell his minty breath. His harsh cologne. He smelled good. It was swallowing you whole. 

But before you could answer you heard the front doorknob jiggle. 

You felt yourself jump off of the counter at record speed. The only issue being that Beomgyu had been right in front of you. You stumbled onto him and had to sturdy the both of you before you made a run for it into his bedroom. He was right behind you. 

Not until you shut the door did you realize it was because you had dragged him with you; That you were holding hand. He sort of just looked at them intertwined as though it wasn’t his own limb he was in control of. Maybe it had something to do with your death grip on it. The one that loosened the more your fear subsided. 

You yanked your hand out of his as the fear fizzled into anger. An accusatory, hurt anger. Because of course you couldn’t trust him. He’d probably already bragged to the entire band. You could already hear the cocky lies he spewed, in that irritating low voice he had. You could hear them coming out of the mouths of everyone at school, of Karina in that I-told-you-so tone she always held over you. 

“You said he wouldn’t be home for hours?” Your whisper cut through the air thick with tension. 

Your reaction had Beomgyu on edge. From the moment his door slammed he could sense a fight. It wasn’t the first time he’d made you angry, no, you weren’t very hard to provoke. But this time, he could tell the anger was real. There was no disgusted tone to your voice, no stretching of your words, no smug response. 

So he was on trial now, and he’d need a hell of a defense in order to convince the skeptic. 

“That’s what he told me!” He whisper-shouted as you had done. 

Your glare sharpened, “For some reason—you stomped closer to him—I have a hard time believing you right now,” you poked a manicured finger right into his chest.  

Your tone was accusatory, he could feel it cut through him. And suddenly he was hurt too, because you didn’t trust him. And it felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. You didn’t like him, he knew that deep down. He knew. But he could feel it now, how little you knew about each other. It was as unpleasant as having your heart ripped out and stomped on could feel. 

So he got angry too. Because you’d never even given him a chance. 

“That seems like that’s a personal issue,” His voice shook slightly.  His fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull that accusatory little finger out of his chest. “Because I’ve given you no reason not to trust me.” Maybe it’s because he didn’t want you to feel how hard his heart was beating; how it was rattling around inside his ribs. He couldn’t tell if it was from rage or despair. 

His chest heaved almost as hard as yours. You looked down at the place where your skin met. Your brows sunk further on your face, your eyes narrowed. You took a step forward as he squeezed almost painfully. 

You were nose to nose, your palm flattened against his chest as you pushed through the pain. And you were no fool, you’d seen him enough to notice the muscles on his arms. You knew he was strong enough to hold you in place but he wasn’t.  

And the mercy, the lack of trying, was offensive. 

You scoffed, “Oh really?” You pushed hard until he started walking backwards, “Are you really that worm-brained, that delusional?” 

His feet stumbled on the carpet, he just kept walking backward. He needed to be away from you because you were setting him off. He let go of your wrist. He was breathing heavily in disbelief. At you or himself he didn’t know. He just knew something that had long simmered inside of him was boiling and ready to burst. His mouth opened and closed in his search for words that could cut you the same way you did him. The backs of his knees were grazing the edge of his bed.

But you just kept cutting deeper; you were twisting the knife. 

“I don’t know you,” you spat, “I don’t like you.” You shook your head hard to chase that thought away. Like the idea of it was too disgusting to let settle. “I never will.” 

His knees buckled, his dark hair bounced around his face when he fell to sit on the bed behind him. You were standing in between his legs, your palm shifted into a fist. Beomgyu’s lips were set into a frown, and his eyes were narrowed at you too. You gripped the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, because you needed to make it real clear. 

“And I don’t know what you’ve been telling those loser friends of yours,” his ears were ringing, your grip on him was singeing, “But if they blab to anyone about any of this—your fist loosened and that accusatory finger to his chest returned—I will. Ruin. Your. Life.” A hard poke to his chest with every word. 

“Jesus,” just above a whisper, “You really are full of yourself.”

His hand peeled your finger off of him this time, bringing your hand down to your side by the wrist. For good measure, he held your other hand down too. But your faces were centimeters apart. You could hear him breathing, the hard inhales and exhales. You could smell him, musky cologne, a faint hint of woody pomegranate. 

“You think I care enough to lie about you?” the corner of his lip twitched, his glower shifted, “Baby, we’re grown ups,” he squeezed you hard enough to hurt this time, “And the only reason you won’t take a chance on me is why? Because you’re scared of what other people think, is that it?” 

You scoffed. 

“Right,” he chuckled, it was full of malice, “And that’s the only reason, isn’t it?”

“Is not,” you bit back. 

“Oh really?” Your noses grazed, lightning hot searing skin on skin. 

“Yeah, really.” 

His hands let go of your wrists but gripped your waist, hard and heavy and unbecoming, “I. Don't. Believe. You.” 

His eyes dropped for a millisecond to your lips, you mirrored him. 

What came next was a mix of breathy desperation and anger, “Jesus, just do it already.” 

So he did. 

Your mouths met in the middle, hard and sloppy. Your teeth clashed and his grip on your waist moved to squeeze your ass under your miniskirt. 

And it was better than anything he could have dreamt about. 

Your hands went to hold onto his shoulders, fingernails grazing the base of his neck. Then upwards, to tug on his hair. And you pulled hard, hard enough to elicit a desperate groan from his pathetic lips. 

You swallowed it up, took the opportunity to shove your tongue into his mouth and he met it disgracefully. He sucked on it, like he wanted all of it to be his and more. You explored his mouth, lightly grazing his teeth, he let it explore him before he explored you. 

It was like a fight both of you were eager to win, the kiss was sloppy and wet, the sound of the smacks of your lips echoed across the darkened bedroom. Each of you shoving your faces into the other like a kiss just wasn’t enough; like your goal was to consume. 

His hands roamed the parts of you he didn’t get to the other day at the beach. His tight grip slipped past your skirt up again to your waist. He slid his hands under your tight crop top, A Little Bit Dramatic, it read. He remembered laughing when he read it. A little bit was an understatement. 

The text was distorted now as his hands gripped your breasts underneath. You would have smacked him for stretching it out if there was any part of you that could still think rationally. He squeezed roughly, pain soothing pressure and you found yourself leaning into him hard. 

“You’re so—as his mouth departed from your lips, it met the skin of your jaw—infuriating,” he was breathing sharply through his nose as he sucked. You fought hard against any noises that tried to make it past your lips. Your eyes watered at the intensity, and he could tell by your ragged breaths that you were losing control. 

He worked his way down to your collarbone and suckled on the skin there. He didn’t start softly. He was licking and biting hard enough to know that there would be love shaped bruises on your tight flesh soon enough. You let your lip slip under your teeth as your vision blurred. His oddly decorated wall meshed and blurred into splotches of dark colors. 

He let your soft gasps fuel his desire. He could already feel his jeans tightening. He wondered if this would be it—if you’d really let him.  

He ventured further down, his nose was in between your breasts and he began to plant wet kisses over the soft cloth. You let your head tilt back, you stared at the ceiling as you tried to shift your focus. You wanted a distraction, something to pull you out and remind you to compose yourself. Because the fabric felt constricting now, like it was too much in between the skin of your chest and the softness of his kiss. 

Beomgyu smirked into his kisses, his fingers left goosebumps in their trace when they fell back on your waist. They toyed with the hem of your shirt but didn’t dare walk past it. He was offering restraint, giving you an out. 

He could feel it in the way you pulled on his hair. Tugging and scratching but never pulling him away; the chance was right in your hands and all you had to do was take it. 

But he still held you and it was enough to make you forget again. And Beomgyu was not a religious man, but if there truly was a heaven, he was sure that this was it. 

Or maybe it was that moment when your grip shifted, nails digging into his scalp as you pulled his face back into yours. You knew what you wanted, you took the chance and it was the wrong one. You knew it was. 

But your lips were swollen, body tingling. Your core burned, that insatiable fire had returned and you were at its mercy. Whatever you did now was not yourself. It was something primal, an urge that you were too weak to fight off. 

Because the way he bit and tugged on your lips, sucked on your tongue, felt nothing other than natural. Inevitable. A weak whine escaped your lips in the second he pulled apart to breathe. His face lingered and your eyes were shut tight. 

You hoped to god that he didn’t hear it, but how could he not? When you were this close to him? When the only reason you were standing was because he was holding you up?

“There’s one thing,” you could feel his gaze, “About me that you should know,” He pecked your lips in one swift motion but it felt too quick before he was gone. 

You kept your eyes closed, afraid they might give you away. 

His mouth grazed that purple mark on your collar again. He licked it like he was trying to soothe. Then he moved to the other side of your neck, leaving a fresh bruise just under where your throat and jaw connected. You were biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste was sickening. He kissed the mark sweetly before continuing. 

“I’m never wrong,” he had the audacity to laugh. 

Finally, you opened your eyes. 

Beomgyu met your stare intensely, and you realized he could see how affected you were now. Your cheeks were blazing. Your lashes were wet, you could feel it. You were sure your makeup had smudged in all of the action and it became physical evidence of your weakness. 

He knew it too, you could tell by the way those honey-brown irises jumped around your face. 

You flinched as his hand met your cheek, thumb swiping the smudged mascara under your eye. You wanted to scowl; To scream at him. 

But you knew whatever came out of your mouth next would be incriminating. So you kept it shut. 

“Are you crying, pretty girl?” He mockingly pouted, a little crease formed between his brows. 

You frowned, shaking your head. Like trying to convince him the sky was purple. 

“Don’t worry,” he moved to tug your lip from under your teeth, he let his thumb rest there. The weight of it was teasing, “I won’t tell.”

You didn’t need to open your mouth to embarrass yourself, you realized it when a whimper slipped past. It stayed lodged in your throat, muffled but there. 

His head tilted as it came out, eyes dropping to your throat. The source of the noise was ill and battered, loved and cared for. He admired it, lashes fluttered against his cheekbones. 

And then he looked back up at you, at your sullen face, shiny nose, swollen lips, starry eyes: That dazed look told him everything he needed to know. But he liked to poke the bear, he liked the fun. 

He stuck that same thumb past your sharp teeth, “Go out with me?” 

Your tongue swirled around the digit, the taste, the texture, you felt it all. You kept your eyes on him as you let it fall further, right up to the knuckle. 

His face tilted, you knew he was painful in his jeans, but you couldn’t care less. You heard his breathing slow, saw how his chest ended its ceaseless rise and fall—then you smiled. Wicked and cruel. 

As quickly as you had taken him into your mouth, you pulled your face away, thumb freed from your lips with a swift ‘pop’. 

“No.” You wished your tone was more sure, less weepy, but you rolled your eyes to emphasize yourself. 

 You brought that manicured finger right up to his chest, tugging on the silver chain that embellished his collarbones. It was far too late for a rejection but you meant it anyway. This, whatever this was, was unsustainable. A one time mishap. A mistake never to be repeated. 

You pulled him in until your noses grazed, until your lips tickled his. Then, your finger became your palm, flat on his breast you pushed down hard. He fell back onto his bed, messy hair falling over his eyes and splattered against his pillows. 

“Take off your shirt,” you commanded, arms crossing against your chest. 

But he was still convoluted, he just stared at you. His hands fell to his sides, fingers twitching holding the seams of that battered band t-shirt. His jaw was open just a crack and you realized his heavy breath had returned furiously. 

You rested your knee beside his thigh, soft skin meeting his plush duvet in a heavy clash, “I won’t ask you again,” your glare was flaming hot. 

Suddenly he felt that the fabric was suffocating, scratching and ripping at his sweaty body. Suddenly his compliance was not that at all; it was a necessity. He obliged quickly and swiftly, doubtful fingers tugging at the cotton. He raised his torso to remove it and it gave you a clear sight of the tent forming inside his pants. 

His skin was glistening as he revealed himself to you. He bit the inside of his cheek while scooting backwards against his bedframe; all so he could see you better. His eyes were a darker shade than before, it seemed, as he took you in. 

A little smile as your eyes glazed over the sight, “Your pants, too.” A finger gestured towards his zipper. 

He met its eyeline, brows raising. Then he looked back up again, head tilting in defiance. 

“You do it for me,” he smiled back, tucking his hands behind his head, biceps bulging. 

You dug your knee further into the mattress, until the denim scraped the inside of your thigh. You pressed into his leg, letting him feel you for a moment. Leaning forward, you let the low cut of your shirt speak first. His eyes dropped for a moment before he looked right back into yours. A challenge. 

Your hand fell neatly beside his chest, holding you up as your body hovered. 

He fought a shiver as the ends of your hair tickled his skin, but the goosebumps were evidence enough, “Oh, baby, I don’t think that’s a risk you’re willing to take.”

His muscles tensed as your low voice melted his skin. Your free hand fell to the other side of his body, fingers gripping the sheets. You lowered yourself, your face, to his chest. Keeping your contact you grinned as you left an open mouthed kiss to his sternum; then as you licked a stripe upwards. 

His eyes shut as you began to suck hard. Your teeth nibbled on the area, one of your hands went to hold his waist. And he could feel your breasts squeeze against his stomach as you pushed your face deeper in. Breathing through your nose, trailing those same violent kisses and sucks up to his throat. 

He groaned loudly when your other knee came to rest between his legs, applying that sweet pressure to his cock. His eyes widened like he’d realized his mistake, soft cheeks burning with humiliating need. He went to bite on his lip but you kissed him before he could. 

He was whining into it, ragged, useless panting when your lips departed for breath. He tried to remove an arm from behind his head to hold you. But you met it first, your grip hard enough to leave marks on his wrist. 

Suspended in the air for a moment, his fingers twitched like they were useless if not touching you. You let out a shaking laugh, quiet and under your breath; like you couldn’t believe him. 

With your tacky palms glued to his skin he rolled his hips into your knee, chasing a high you were refusing to give him. You met him with an equal, painful pressure. You wanted to make it hurt, you were chasing that audible note of desperation. 

“You want it?” You forced his hand back onto the bedframe, voice shaking from rage or some unspoken thing. 

He did want it, badly. Badly enough to nod his head like a good boy in an attempt to make you forget what he had just done. 

You let your grip soften before you removed it completely. He kept his arm where you’d left it, fingers falling into a fist like he needed it to relieve the pressure. 

“So bad,” he didn’t care how hoarse it sounded, how his voice cracked when he said it. There was only one thing on his mind and it was twitching to life. 

Your expression shifted into a pout, it was inauthentic and evil, you were bad at biting back your smirk. He could see the corners of your pretty lips twitching, “Then take. Them. Off.” 

You lifted yourself off of him, standing on shaky knees. Again, you crossed your arms over your chest, your shirt was wrinkled and misplaced; your hair slightly frizzy. But he liked it this way, he wanted to see you more ruined. 

So, he did. His unsteady fingers fiddled with the delinquent button of his pants, then his zipper. The room was silent save for the rustle of the thick fabric moving down his thighs. 

His black briefs looked painfully tight as your hand held him, your thumb swiping over the wet spot just under the waistband. 

You laughed in that malicious way he loved, “You’re pathetic.”

And you didn’t come to hover over him again like he wanted, instead sitting at the edge of the bed where his legs hung over. He whined as you rubbed circles over the tip of his cock, the fabric doing nothing to ease the delicate intimacy that you were serving. 

He couldn’t even care that you were barely on top of him any more, not when your knee was pressing into his bare thigh. The feeling of your skin on him was intoxicating, even if it wasn’t the skin he needed. 

You pressed yourself into the mattress, your grip firmed on his length as you began to move it in a slow steady pace. You watched as he threw his head back, you hummed. As his breath tightened in his throat, you stroked him and let your thumb circle his sensitive head. He tried to swallow up the sounds, you saw his adam’s apple bob. 

You shook your head as your hand slowed to a stop, “Uh-uh,” quiet, “Let him hear you,” you said as you squeezed him. 

He whined, his thighs trembled, “Since you wanted him to know so bad.”

Beomgyu couldn’t think at all, his arms went to cover his face, wrists digging into his cheeks. He left his mouth uncovered, jaw slack, voice unbroken. When your fingers tugged the waistband of his briefs, when he sprang free of his confines, he let the moan out loud and guttural. Shaking and unsteady. 

His voice cracked again when he spoke but he had come to terms with the fact, “Baby, ple-ase.”

He only uncovered his eyes when he heard you shifting. He caught the sight of you spitting into your hand. That tight noise formed in the back of his throat, his mouth salivating with craving; he let it all free when you gripped him, slicked up and bare. 

He jutted his hips into your palm, his body moved on its own and he wanted to apologize for that involuntary disobedience. It wasn’t something he could risk. But it didn’t phase you, you only picked up your pace, you only encouraged him more. 

He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, he wanted so badly to close them but the sight was unbearably perfect. 

You with your hands on him. You with your thighs squeezing together. You with your sore lip once again between your teeth trying so hard not to want him. 

“I-’M sorry,” he cried, “Please, ‘m sorry.” 

His fingers went to grip the sheets like you had, knuckles turning white from the tight fists. 

You merely hummed, letting your hand continue relentlessly. Your eyes watching him twitch intently, like it was something you needed to memorize. You only turned your head when his fingertips reached the end of your splayed out skirt, but his arm was overextended and it was as far as he could go. 

So you shifted. You wanted to curse, you wanted to eradicate that weak flame inside of you because you wanted him too. You moved close enough for his hand to reach your thigh, for it to sneak under your skirt. For him to graze your aching core with careful fingers. 

He groaned at the wetness he was met with, he was sure you were into him now. You couldn’t even take your eyes off of him as his fingers traced your soaked through panties. But Beomgyu didn’t have it in him to tease you, not while he had you so deliciously. 

And he wasted no time, he tucked your panties to the side and let his fingers graze your slick hole. They slid easily as he spread the wetness along your folds. He liked the way your breath hitched, the way you rocked into his hand; chasing something only he could give you. 

Because you were at his mercy now too, it didn’t matter if you couldn’t admit it, it didn’t matter how hard you tried to quiet yourself. You were trembling and he could feel it. 

So you sped up in an attempt to distract him, and what you did next was shameful. Dirty, disgusting, you would have bullied yourself out of it had his fingers not begun to circle your clit. 

You leaned down, taking his head into your mouth. Your tongue licking along his slit before suckling on his tip as your hands stroked his shaft. 

He paused his movements for a moment, hips sputtering underneath you. 

“Oh baby,” he whimpered loudly, his tummy shaking as he tried to steady himself. 

You took your mouth off of him for a moment to let your tongue lick the underside of his shaft, his thighs twitched, legs trying to steady himself but falling absent of ground to hold on to. Free hand going to grip your hair, he held your head lightly, not pushing but embracing as you kissed his cock. 

But his movements returned steadfast as his dazed brain reminded him that you had given him permission. 

You were still grinding into his still hand, trying to ease your own wicked pain while you brought him heaven. He was determined to match your eagerness, middle and ring fingers going to play with your clit before they moved to touch you where he knew it hurt most. 

Your throat vibrated in a soft whine when he dipped steadying fingers inside you, letting you adjust to the length and slenderness of them before he removed them and slid back in. 

Your brows furrowed as you tried to hold back on him, but when his fingers curled and found that sweet spot inside of you, you took your mouth off of him with a pop; Hot cheek found solace on the cool tacky skin of his hip bone as you tried to use him to muffle your noises. 

Your hips betrayed you as they pushed his fingers deeper inside of you. Your need was rigid and demanding and Beomgyu used the opportunity. 

You whimpered at the loss when he freed you from his wrath, something you chased so badly but needed in a way that felt primal. 

With both of his hands on your needy hips he dug his fingers into your supple skin and dragged you over his own mouth. And you protested, you refused. But again, those damn strong hands forced you onto him, his mouth grazing the wet fabric of your panties. 

You were sitting on his face; he could die right now and not regret a thing. 

He kissed your core before pushing the lace to the side. Tongue against your soft folds, his throat hummed as he tasted you. He swiped it against your clit and you dug your face further into his skin, teeth biting at him like you didn’t know what else to do. 

You were breathing so heavily, heart hammering against your ribs as you took him back into your mouth. Past your lips, teeth, and into the base of your throat so that your hands would be free to claw at his thighs. 

And his gripped your ass tight under your skirt as he pulled you further into him, tongue poking at your hole like he wasn’t close enough. He sucked and he could feel a mix of your slick and his spit dribbling down his chin but he loved it all too much. He loved the way you rocked your hips into his face as you chased your high, using him like a fucktoy. 

The way your tongue was as eager as his as you worked on his cock like a woman starved. He could feel that thread in his stomach tightening with every new stroke, with every pump of his length down your throat. With every gag, a new vibration from his throat hit your core in a shaking wrath. 

Until you were both too dazed to feel embarrassed, both too loud to be subtle. You weren’t denying anymore and he wasn’t fighting back. It was just slick and spit, want and need. There was nothing more natural than that blinding white-hot pressure thread that snapped inside of you. 

Your toes curled as it struck, hands scratching bloody marks on his thighs as he painted your esophagus white. Hips sputtering into your mouth, making you gag but you were all the better for it. Your eyes were wet with tears, mascara running down your cheeks. Hair tangled and frizzed but you couldn’t care less. You swallowed every last drop. 

Until your hips and his stopped their seizing, until they slowed into a steady, satisfied rest. 

He parted his face from your core to breathe, smiling ear to ear. His grip on you was firm but he let you collapse beside him as you released him from your mouth. 

On opposite ends of the bed, staring at the ceiling. The only sound was the heavy, audible, exhausted breaths from both of you. It was calm, it was steady. 

From outside of his room you both heard that familiar sound of a door jiggle, then the door locking. You snapped your head towards Beomgyu’s bedroom door, then back at him. 

He was already staring at you, glittering eyes admiring your wasted state. 

His grin dropped into a teasing smirk, “Looks like we scared him away.”

Your head fell back into the soft mattress, your hands searching around for something to throw at him. The same bear stuffed animal that you found yourself hugging earlier slammed right into his forehead. 

But he couldn’t protest, he couldn’t even frown. 

Beomgyu laid his head down into the plush pillows with pained cheeks and a smile. 

It was the day of your exam and Beomgyu sat in the back row of the lecture hall with Yeonjun, number two pencil and booklet splayed on the desk in front of him. It had only been two days since you’d come over, he was shocked Yeonjun hadn’t asked sooner. 

“So, are you gonna tell me about the other day yet?” Yeonjun smirked, his tone knowing and slightly irritating. 

Beomgyu couldn’t look at him, afraid that one glance would give him away, “What are you talking about?” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes playfully, eyes pointed at the visible hickeys on his friend’s throat. 

“You’re not good at hiding those,” He poked at one of them and Beomgyu couldn’t do anything but smack his hand away, “You’re not very quiet either.”

His cheeks lit up into a fiery shade of red, he played with the pencil in his hands. Faint scribbles appeared on the blank test paper as he mulled over what to say; which defense to use. 

“Come on,” Yeonjun pushed, “Who was she?”

Beomgyu released a shaky breath as he dropped the pencil with clammy hands. He rested his chin in his palm to hide his face. His eyes were concealed behind his bangs as they jumped to you for a split second. 

You who sat at the front of your classroom beside your friend, Yuna. Your hair pristinely tied into a complex bun at the top of your head, a sequined hot-pink blouse making you stand out. But if he was honest, you always did. 

He hid his smile behind his hand, his cheek squished enough to make it look accidental. 

“Nobody you’d know.”

[lov-gyu]

Knee Socks, C. Soobin

You could be my baby . . . Your roommate was absolutely insufferable; always walking around so tall and adorable, cheeks rose-tinted and eyes trying so hard not to look at your tits. It was like he was sent down to test the strength of your morale and you were failing bad. When he asked you to help him with a photography project you looked into his big brown eyes and it was like god was testing you with how quickly you said yes.

Pairing, soobin x f!reader

Tags, porn with a little bit of plot, uni au, and they were roommates, bunny soob agenda, sub!soob, soobin wears glasses

Warnings, p in v, shy soob, sub!soobin, bunny as a pet name, teeny bit of size kink mention, suggestive photography, unprotected sex, reader calls him a pervert

WC, 4.5k

✎ Author’s Note, i found this in the depths of my google docs… i wrote this years ago for a friend please forgive me if it is sub-par lol literally unedited

“So, what is this for again?” You lean forward, knees digging into Soobin’s soft bed sheets. 

He doesn’t answer you, instead, he leans down, eying the viewfinder and repositioning the camera to find the perfect angle. His nose is scrunched in concentration, his tongue peeking through the plumpness of his lips. His blonde hair is neatly tousled, and his glasses are resting on the top of his head like a crown. 

You groan, letting yourself fall back onto his bed with a thud as your head hits the freshly fluffed pillows. Your mind had betrayed you countless times in the presence of your roommate, so much so that sometimes you’d have to leave the room before you actually pounced on him like a predator to prey. Except for now, because he’d been so insistent in needing your help with something and you couldn’t just leave him hanging. You promised to help. 

But that promise was made yesterday. And today is today, and Soobin is different today. His hair is the perfect type of messy and his thin silk shirt was doing nothing to hide his body, the two undone buttons at the top laughed in your face as you ached for more. 

Soobin squeaked at the noise of your collapse, letting his eyes finally land on you. He gulped at the sight: You sprawled out on his bed, your hair laid out comfortably on his pillows and he felt his cheeks warming up at the sight of you. Your skirt had risen up slightly on your thighs, revealing your plush skin and he’s sure if he looked a bit closer he’d be able to see your panties. 

Not that he would, he liked to think himself a gentleman, though you challenged his morals more times than he could count in the span of your friendship. With your short skirts and your love of thigh high socks he’d practically felt like he was in heaven when you’d asked him to move in with you. 

And now, here you were on his bed, helping him with a project that he could care less about. Not when you looked like that. 

“Soobin?” He shook his head, taking his glasses and putting them back over his face, hoping the thick frames would cover the redness of his cheeks. 

He simply hummed as a response and he watched you sit up again, your head tilting cutely as you watched him. 

“Oh, yeah—he thought back to your initial question—it’s a project for my photo class,” He clicked his tongue and looked down at his feet, almost afraid to make eye contact with you, “I have to take personal photos, intimate, like, photos that will make the viewer feel closer to me.” He nods and curses under his breath at the heat he feels spreading down his neck. 

“Intimate?” You hum lightly, “So why do you need my help?” 

You grin as he stutters out a response. His tongue gets all tied up while his cheeks grow even pinker. You like the gloss of his eyes and the way his glasses slip down his nose as he speaks, looking for the words to answer your question. 

Instead of waiting for said answer, you stand, stopping in front of him to observe the camera. It’s propped up on a little tripod, Soobin made it easy for you, fixed the angles so all you’d have to do was press the button to take the photo. You look back up at him, “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” you take your index finger and push the frames up from where they’d fallen, his eyes nearly crossing as they watch your finger trace the bridge of his nose, “I would be honored to take your pictures, Bunny.” 

His heart skips a beat at the nickname, and before he has the chance to embarrass himself, you begin to push him towards the bed. Your hands hold onto his sides and you try not to think about how soft his skin would feel under your fingertips, the silk of his shirt not thin enough to satisfy your craving. 

“Sit.”

He sits quickly and looks up at you waiting for you to give your next direction. You grin at his obedience and pull his chin up with your index finger and thumb. You scan his face, taking advantage of the situation to slip your fingers through his soft bangs to mess them up even more while he just sits there and watches you with his big round eyes. 

He sighs when your hands leave his hair, skin already feeling cold without the warmth of your embrace. Soobin fights the urge to frown as you walk towards the camera, “You just click the button at the corner when you’re ready to take the picture, I’ve already adjusted all the settings, so you’re good to go whenever.” He smiles but his voice waivers with a twinge of disappointment. 

You nod, bending down to look through the viewfinder at the boy. The setup is perfectly centered around the bed, posters hanging on the wall, strategically placed for the shoot and Soobin was the perfect centerpiece. You’re impressed by the cohesion of the colors and as much as you love to tease him you can’t deny that he’s got a talent for this sort of thing. 

For the next few minutes the room is quiet as you both focus on eachother, you’re unsure of your photography skills but you try your best, though the last batch of photos doesn’t satisfy you and you’re sure they won’t survive Soobin’s strict photography regime. 

“You know, I don’t think this is working.”

Soobin quirks a brow, his chin resting in his palm as he thinks up new ways to pose. He’d never had a talent for modeling, preferring to be the one behind the camera and his shoulders dropped at the thought of you realizing his modeling skills were below par. 

His voice was small and fragile, “What do you mean?” 

When you caught the anxiety in his throat you were quick to reassure him, “It’s not you, Bin, I promise,” You smiled kindly and he felt the tickle of butterflies fluttering in his tummy. 

“What is it, then?” His brows furrowed in confusion, he was sure his setup was perfect. He’d even taken the time to rearrange his walls and mess up his bed so they’d reflect the chaotic state of his brain at the moment, a snapshot into his head was all the intimacy he could think of for a shoot like this. To be honest he was out of ideas and the deadline was so soon he’d just about given up, now he was close to panicking. 

You hummed again, a finger on your chin as you thought of what to say. 

“It’s just not intimate enough, I think. You need to make them feel like they know you, right?” He nodded, “Why not bring them up close?”

Before he could disagree, you were removing the camera from the stand and walking towards him. 

It wasn’t that he disliked your idea, moreso he was unsure of how he would perform. He was already bad at modeling, he couldn’t imagine the anxiety of up close shots that would reveal every detail about himself, and not just physically. It was only a class after all, he didn’t want to reveal every bit about himself to a room full of strangers. 

You’d already been working on the project for about half an hour, though Soobin still sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned back onto his arms as he watched you approach, viewfinder up to your eye already beginning to take little snapshots into his world. 

His legs were spread out in front of him, and he held his breath when you gently laid your knee in between them on the bed. 

“Smile.”

He jumped at the shutter of the camera, like a puppy startled by fireworks or car alarms, he could feel the tension pricking through his bones and shivering its way down his body. 

You took the camera to look back at the photo and despite the fact that his eyes were closed, you already noticed significant progress due to your creative decision.

Tapping on his shoulder to refocus his attention onto you, you flipped the camera around to show him, and his lips parted in awe, “Already better, right?” You pinched his cheek, “But I said smile, Bunny.”

He was distracted by your proximity, from here he had a direct view into your eyes, he could see the shades mixing around in your irises and the glimmer of the light reflecting in them like stars in the sky. He found himself unconsciously grinning at the nickname and the way your nose twitched when you smiled, his dimples poking through his fluffy cheeks like raindrops. 

You took another photo, with flash this time, and you giggled when you noticed that the flash accentuated the rosiness of his cheeks. Though, the flash also caused the lenses of his glasses to completely block his pretty brown eyes. 

“Can you take your glasses off for me, Bin?” 

He nodded quickly and you snapped another photo as he was removing them. Candid shots were as personal as a photoshoot could get, at least, in your opinion. 

Before realizing, you muttered out a soft, “Good boy,” and though it was light you’re sure he heard it. 

Soobin swore he almost fell to his knees right then and there. His stomach turned in excitement and another emotion that he could only pinpoint as… arousal. All he wanted now was to be left alone so he could calm down. He wasn’t sure he could keep his cock under control with your knee resting so kindly between his legs. His eyes were wide and his lips had fallen into a soft ‘o’ that allowed his cute bunny teeth to peek through. 

You snapped another photo, making sure to capture the surprise on his face, before asking him to lay back. 

He looked syrupy sweet with his pretty button up and the nervous twinkle in his soft eyes, you had to have him.

He gulped, “Wha-What?” 

“Come on, don’t you trust me, Bunny?” You smirked. 

Now, you were just wondering how far you could take this, how far he could go before he snapped and finally begged you to fuck him. 

Uh-huh, he nodded obediently, your good boy. 

You’d noticed the way he looked at you, of course you did, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your tits long enough to have a normal conversation. His cute face and the way his cheeks seemed to be endlessly pink around you made you weak. You wanted him but you wanted him to want you first, though Soobin was so thick headed he probably didn’t realize that giving friends pet names wasn’t a normal thing to do, or that your skirts just seemed to get shorter and shorter every time he saw you. 

At this point you weren’t sure you even cared about his project anymore, an awful thing to think as his friend and photographer, but frankly you couldn’t think about anything right now. Your mind was blank apart from the sweet look of confusion on this boy’s face. He’d been blushing since you walked into his room that afternoon with your lacy thigh highs and your little skirt. You were sure you’d seen him take peeks at your thighs and you were sure to interrupt him just so you could hear his adorable stutters and whines. 

Soobin laid back, his head on the same pillow you were resting on earlier, it still smelled like you. 

His blonde hair formed a messy halo around his head and the heat from his face was beginning to make him sweat. He looked adorably glossy as you snapped a picture from your position. 

He nearly jumped when he felt you climb on top of him, your knees resting on either side of his thighs and though you weren’t sitting on his arousal just yet, he could already feel himself getting hard. 

He pinched his eyes shut, trying to urge himself to calm down, you were just helping him with a project, right? When did you get so flirty? 

“Is this okay, Bunny?”  

He only nodded. His voice was sure to crack or waiver if he tried speaking now, he could barely think with you hovering over him. 

He thought the hard part was over once you snapped a few pictures. His eyes fluttered open once he heard the rustle of his comforter watching you move further up his body, “How about this?” 

Another nod. 

He was blinking fast now, trying to control himself as you moved closer and closer to where he needed you most.

You finally sat down on his lap, a wicked little smile on your lips as you felt his half hard bulge. 

He cursed under his breath, his hands instinctively going to hold your hips as he tried to control himself despite the sweet pressure he was receiving. 

“What are you doing?” His voice came out breathy and despite the ravishing sight in front of him he urged himself to stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what your intentions were but despite the fact that you were sitting on him he didn’t want to make any assumptions and he definitely didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

It’s like you could hear the gears turning in his head, like a little hamster running on its wheel his brain never stops moving. Though you’d come to realize that for someone who thought so much he was actually quite dense. 

“Soobin—you giggled—What are you doing?” 

Finally, he looked at you. His eyes bounced around your face, from your lips to your eyebrows yet he still avoided your piercing stare. He was avoiding looking lower than your chin, not even realizing that his big hands were still holding your hips in place, thumbs twitching against the soft fabric of your skirt. 

You leaned forward and held his cheek with one hand while the other was still occupied holding his camera. 

“Come on, Bunny, what’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?” You pouted, he knew you were faking upset but he still couldn’t stand up to you. He wasn’t strong with you normally and he definitely wasn’t strong with you practically sitting on his dick. 

So he let his gaze fall on you, fully, his eyes brightening up once you smiled at him, a bubbly feeling deep in his belly reminded him that this is the closest you’ve ever been. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” He shook his head, his pretty hair messily landing on his forehead and you almost leaned down to give him a kiss. 

Instead you took a photo. The memory of his flustered state now cemented forever. 

Soobin nodded, understanding that it was all just for the camera, of course, he should’ve known. It was stupid of him to think anything else, and now he felt embarrassed at the fact that he was still semi-hard under you. He was hoping you wouldn’t mention it. 

“I’m okay.” 

His tone of voice was nervous and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. 

You sighed, “Come on, Bun, what’s going on inside that head of yours?” You tapped a finger to his forehead. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Doing what?” 

He scoffed, thumbs digging into the skin of your waist now.

“Don’t play dumb,” he said and his brows turned down in annoyance. 

“Maybe I just like making you blush, have you ever thought of that? You’re so pretty when you blush.” 

He finally let go of your hips and you shifted in disappointment. He crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips into a thin line as he looked off to the side, ignoring the sound of the camera shutter going off as you took another photo. 

He rolled his eyes, “Stop that!” 

“What am I doing? Use your words, Bunny, I can’t read your mind.” 

“You’re just…” Soobin put his hands back on your hips, pulling you with him as he sat up against the headboard of his bed, you were still in his lap, only now you were face to face. 

“What?” You whispered. 

His eyes danced across your face again, blood pumping adrenaline through his veins, he was more secure in himself this time. He let go of your hips, again, but before you could get upset, his lips were on yours. 

His left hand held your jaw while his right rested on your ribcage, thumb dangerously close to your breast, and you almost moaned when it moved down to grab at your ass. 

He took your gasp as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, trying to plant the memory of your taste on his tongue forever. 

It was messy and desperate, months of pining and anticipation all lead up to this moment and it couldn’t feel any better than this. A clash of teeth and tongue, you felt him feverishly pull at your skin, like he was trying to meld your bodies together. He wanted to hold you close to him forever and never let you go. 

Your lips pulled off with a soft smack, foreheads touching as you tried to catch your breath, “Bunny…”

He let out a breathy chuckle, “You know I hate it when you call me that.” 

Your index finger ran over his bottom lip, swollen and red, “Oh, come on, Bunny. Good boys don’t lie.” 

You leaned back and Soobin whined at the growing distance, rolling his eyes when he saw you grab the camera and snapping a quick photo.

“Seriously?” 

“Hold still,” He pouted, “Come on, you look so cute right now, I had to.”

“I don’t wanna be cute,” He huffed and looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact again. 

Your lip twitched up into a smirk, “No?”

He shakes his head adorably, “I wanna be sexy.” 

Your grin was mischievous as your hands slid up his shirt, massaging the soft muscles of his abdomen until you reached his chest, thumbs gently stroking his hardened nipples through the thin fabric. 

His lips parted, letting out soft little breaths as you massaged him further. 

“You are sexy, baby,” you kiss just under his jaw and lift your head quick enough to see his eyes flutter shut, lashes kissing his cheekbones. 

He gasps, “Yeah?” 

Mhm, you hum, placing a feather light kiss on his neck. You don’t bother to ask before unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off his shoulders, “But you’re so cute, I could just eat you up.” 

Taking the time to admire his features you feel an ache between your legs at the way his skin gleams with sweat and the way his eyes never seem to leave you—he’s waiting for you to make your next move, he’s ready to take whatever you’ll give him. He’s a little bit pathetic, you think, the look in his eye tells you he’d be ready to go to the ends of the Earth right now if you told him to. 

He whimpers as you gently roll your hips over his bulge and you gasp into his mouth when you feel the sheer size of him. He’s squirming underneath you and he gasps out a small, “Please,” so light you can barely hear it. 

You place harsher, wetter kisses from his jaw to his collarbones, leaving a hard trail of love bites over his blushing skin. 

“Please what, Bunny?” A gentle bite to his shoulder has him let out an embarrassing moan and he can feel your smile against his skin, “You have to use your words.” 

He took far too long to answer, mouth opening and closing shut with a bite of his lip and a groan when you found the sweet spot on his neck and sucked. 

“N-Need you, please,” His voice was strained and words interrupted by small whimpers when you pressed your hips into his again. 

You tilt your head in feigned confusion, “Need me where?”

“Please, I need you on-on my cock,” He wanted to bury his head in his hands, he could feel your heat on him, a sweet friction that made his knees weak. He pouted, “It hurts, please.”

Your fingers walk down his chest, painfully slow and Soobin’s starting to get desperate. His eyes are welling with tears when you finally reach to undo the button of his jeans and tuck your hand into his boxers, thumb gently caressing his tip. 

“Are you crying?” You pout and run your hand along his shaft, “Hurt that bad, Bun?” 

He knew you were mocking him, he could see it in your grin, which made his whimper and desperate nod all that more embarrassing. At this point, Soobin knew he’d lost. His self control, his self respect, but he’d give it all up for a taste of you. 

“Poor bunny,” You begin moving your hand along his length, paying extra attention where he’s most sensitive, trying your hardest to coax out his pretty moans. “You’re so hard, you should’ve asked me for help sooner,” You pouted. 

Your hands move to lace through the loops of his pants and he groans at the absence of your touch. You don’t even have to say a word before he’s lifting his hips and helping you take off his jeans. 

He doesn’t wait for you either, he hears your giggle and doesn’t even look up, his fingers strung around the band of your panties while he pulls them down your plush thighs. 

You go to remove your skirt but he stops you, squeezing your waist as he pleads with big wet tears in his eyes. 

You want to take a photo, you want to save this precious picture in your memory forever, you want to hold it in your hands while you touch yourself and stutter out his name on nights when the longing gets too much. 

But you just can’t move, not while he's under you and he's pleading so sweetly with his fingertips bruising your skin, you want to devour him. Take everything until there’s nothing left. 

“Skirt on?—he nods—didn’t know you were such a pervert.” 

“‘M not!” He whines. 

“Mhm, I always see you looking at my thighs,” a light slap on his cheek and he’s whimpering again, “Bet you wanna keep these for later, huh perv?” You tuck your panties under his pillow and pull him out of his boxers, tugging on his cock a few times and offering a sugary kiss to his dimpled cheek before sinking down on him. 

The stretch is painfully sweet and you can’t hold back your moans anymore, head dropping onto his shoulder and nails digging into his biceps. 

“Wai-wait,” His cheeks are humiliatingly hot, “Can you, um, take off your shirt?” 

Your laugh sounds more like a gasp, your lips colliding with his in one heated kiss. Foreheads touching as you pull apart and you’re so close you can feel his heavy breaths on your cheeks, “Why don’t you be a good boy and take it off yourself?” 

And his fingers nervously twitch as they pinch the fabric of your tank top, peeling it off your skin slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. 

His breath hitches when he lifts it past your arms and throws it on the floor, soft eyes turned ravenous as he places open mouthed kisses over your chest, undoing your bra quickly and throwing it towards the other discarded garments. 

“Always catch you staring at my tits too, Bunny.” You guide his head further down, until his lips wrap around your bud and sucks gently. 

He merely hums, too enchanted by the taste of your delicate skin on his tongue. 

While he’s distracted you finally work up the energy to start moving, gentle rolls of your hips with your hands on his waist. His skin is soft and welcoming and soon enough you're digging your nails into his flesh. 

He’s loud, mostly groans and whimpers though the occasional obnoxious moan escapes his swollen lips and manages to make you wetter than you already are. 

He continues to attack your skin, pausing only when you begin bouncing on him to let out a strained, ‘fuck’ with his hands moving to hold you. 

He squeezes your flesh and pushes you down further, finding it harder to control himself the more you move. Then, your lips are back on his, kisses messy and full of tongue while his hands explore the rest of your body, digging into your shoulders, feeling the expanse of your collarbones and your breasts. 

You’ve given yourself up to him completely, the pleasure too much to form a single coherent thought in your brain. Not while Soobin is hitting the perfect spot inside you, your gummy walls squeezing him so perfectly he’s sure you’re made for eachother. 

“Bin—fuck, feels so good.”

The bed is creaking now, frame hitting the wall and the room is filled with moans and whines and whimpers and you’re not sure who they belong to anymore. 

You pull yourself flush against him, tits pressed up against his chest with your head on his shoulder. Your hair tickling his neck and he tangles a hand in it, pulling you closer against him while his hips begin messily thrusting into your pussy. 

Your moans were getting louder and louder, you were letting go as you got closer to your release, nails clawing at his back. He knew you were growing tired, thighs quivering with each roll of your hips yet you still tried your best to match his pace. 

“Bin—“ You felt your eyes growing teary with your forehead nestled in the crook of his neck.

“Shh, baby. I’ll take care of you,” His voice was weak, and you were sure he was close with how sloppy his thrusts were getting, but so were you. His pelvis hitting your clit so perfectly you were seeing stars. 

“Bunny, I’m—,” You were interrupted with a short peck, soft and sweet and full of adoration. He held your face in one hand while the other helped hold you in place with his heavy movements. 

His eyes were glossier now as he studied your face, your brows furrowed adorably and lips parted with little gasps floating through the air, you were perfect. 

He couldn’t help himself after hearing one final moan out of you, your walls squeezing him oh so sweetly he had no choice but to paint them white. Releasing with a low groan, thrusts slowing down as he helps you through your own orgasm. 

You grin into his neck at the warmth, skin sticky as your chests rise and fall almost in sync. 

Your eyes are still closed as you catch your breath, “You okay?” Soobin interrupts and lifts your face to his, big hands holding your jaw. 

You simply nod and offer him a tired smile, to which he replies with a soft kiss on your forehead. Your eyes going wide at the sound of a camera shutter and you look off to the side to see that Soobin has captured the moment between the two of you, sweaty bare skin and all. 

“Payback,” He smirks, and his lips look so plump you have no choice but to forgive him. 

[lov-gyu]

Kiss You, C. Beomgyu

TEASER . . . out end of FEB !

My thoughts will echo your name . . . Choi Beomgyu was never supposed to fall in love with you. He knew it when his fingers brushed your hair, when he made you laugh in that unladylike way you’d be ashamed of if it was anyone else; he knew it when his heart broke into pieces when you announced you were to debut this upcoming season. You were set to find a husband, and there was nothing Beomgyu could do to change your mind.

Pairing, servant!beomgyu x nobility!reader

Tags, bridgerton au, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden romance, happy ending, yearner!bg, oblivious reader </3

Warnings, eventual smut, tragic unrequited love that becomes requited (do not worry!)

Anticipated WC, 15k-20k

✎ Author’s note, back so soon . . . benophie had me sooo inspired i’m sooooo excited. copy & pasted on my phone my apologies if the spacing is odd

Choi Beomgyu never intended to fall in love with you.

Like the force of gravity, it was something he would’ve never been able to control even if he tried. The universal law of attraction, and you were the only source of matter pulling him in. Only you. Sometimes he felt that his only purpose in life was to serve you. And he wasn’t upset by it, he was perfectly content. Perfectly.

Under the soft cotton covers of his midnight blanket he ought to let himself cry. He thought of the moment his parents noticed your closeness at eleven. How they sat him down and urged him to separate before it was too late. He should have listened, tried to. Deep down he knew it and he was sure they knew it too—it had already been too late.

Beomgyu had never known a moment without you in it, having grown up with you on your family’s estate. In his bed within the servants quarters he was consumed by thoughts of you; your pretty face, your delicate stature. Every night he thought of the way you read to him, or the kindness of your heart. The way your mind and body rivaled the beauty of a blue moon—even as its light scorched little stars upon his face. He allowed these images, feelings, to warm in his belly, to lull him to sleep. On most nights, at least.

Tonight he could only think about the glitter in your eyes when you ran up to him and told him the good news:

You were set to debut this season. You were going to find a husband. Finally.

It only took a few seconds for him to sweep the shattered glass of his heart under the rug before shifting his expression into a gleeful one; moving from his heels to his tip-toes as though he were bouncing from excitement and not despair. His breath caught in his throat, so he gave you the most delightful grin he could muster as it came back. And when it did he made his congratulatory remark so warm it rivaled the rays of the sun itself.

To stand in the same room was delightful bliss—only just a bite of agony. But all that pain, it easily melted away when your grin lifted your cheeks, when your nose scrunched in the way it only did when you were really excited. He was sentenced to a life of observation, but he was satisfied just to breathe the same air. His heart beat for you.

You, who had let him sit in on your lessons because you wanted somebody to read books with, the reason he knew how to read at all. You, who played with him in the grass when the other servant children refused him, you who taught him friendship. You, who gifted him an entire basket of candied apples for his birthday just because he mentioned never having tried one. You who taught him how to love.

And him, whose adoration would be met with scandal and scrutiny for even thinking about loving you at all. His admission would be your downfall. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it killed him. Beomgyu would have to keep his love in secret. But for you, for you he would give up anything.

Because Choi Beomgyu was never meant to fall in love with you, but the boy never stood a chance.

[lov-gyu]

TXT . . .

choi yeonjun . . .

choi soobin,

KNEE SOCKS, drabble

. . . When your hot roommate asks for help on his photography project, you're not sure how much you'll be able to resist.

choi beomgyu,

SALVATION, religious corruption au,

. . . Beomgyu had been engineered to be the perfect follower of Christ — that was why you liked him. It’s a shame you were such a poor judge of character.

KISS YOU, bridgerton au, coming soon . . .

. . . Choi Beomgyu was never supposed to fall in love with you, but the boy never stood a chance.

A LITTLE BIT DRAMATIC, rodrina inspired,

. . . Choi Beomgyu was hopelessly, totally in love with you. The issue? You hated his guts.

CRUSH, series !

. . . He wants out. You need out. Who better to run away with than each other?

kang taehyun . . .

huening kai . . .

BTS . . .

ENHYPEN . . .

MISC . . .

&.&. REQUESTS are always open !

[lov-gyu]

REQUESTS, are always open ! i’d love some writing practice so please send em and i’ll try to get to them whenever i have time !

be as specific or unspecific as you’d love to be, all is welcome ! but please include these three . . .

1. character, idol,

2. trope / rough plot outline or idea

3. length — drabble vs. fic

menu,

drabble. <1,000 words, mainly a spitball of ideas rather than an actual fic w/ plot

fic. >1,000 words (i do love to get really into it), mainly plot, could become a full fic if i like the idea enough

full fic. >10,000 words, a tricky request . . . but don’t be discouraged, if i love your idea i may even upgrade you for free !

i will write for,

TXT . . . any member,

BTS . . . taehyung, jungkook,

ENHA . . . heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon,

&.&. smut requests are fine <3

but . . . i am not limited to the genre & encourage you to get creative as i would love a challenge

i will not write,

non-con,

anything gross,

do with that description what you will . . .

omegaverse,

disclaimer, i may not get to all, please don’t spam or get angry if i do not write your request. i will simply choose the ones that speak to me most & provide inspiration <3

. . . be respectful

[lov-gyu]

Salvation, C. Beomgyu

I'm bad / He's worse / We're already dead . . . You wore your devotion on your sleeve as a mark of mortality. Without God, without divinity, you were nothing. Beomgyu was born wicked, his father had told him so. The preacher, so sure, was quick to command at any sign of weakness or falter in his son. Beomgyu had been engineered to be the perfect follower of Christ — that was why you liked him. It’s a shame you were such a horrible judge of character.

Pairing, evil!beomgyu x religious!reader

Tags, religious retreat au, religious corruption au, toxic!beomgyu, slightly masochist!reader, angst, they are bad for each other but also perfect for each other, ethel cain inspired…

Warnings, negative discussion of religion, religious guilt & trauma, beomgyu is mean, dark and self destructive themes, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v but poetic lol, overall very suggestive

WC, 27.5k

✎ Author’s note, this kinda took me way too long to finish and it’s honestly the first full fic I’ve ever worked on… I am so excited!!! Also my first time writing anything smutty please forgive me if it’s unnatural or awkward at all 🙏🏼 made a Playlist

JUNE 1992

“We are all honored that you have chosen to open your hearts to the Lord,” the woman’s voice echoed against the concrete walls of the mess hall, “and we are so happy to guide you on your faithful journey as you become members of our beloved community.”

She was an older lady, wrinkles of time set into her skin and her voice held a shrill candor that made Beomgyu’s ears feel like they could begin to bleed at any moment. The incessant blaring of her too-well rehearsed speech made him want to gag. It was something along the lines of: Believe what we tell you or you’re going to burn in Hell for all eternity. The grin on her face felt eerie, it was too straight, too perfect. There was no glint of life behind her dull gray eyes. Beomgyu nearly shivered. 

He had half a mind to beg his father not to send him here; to let him stay home and do nothing all day for the foreseeable future. He deserved it, he believed, after graduation. He’d just survived twelve years of dedication, of all consuming God-fearing devotion. All he wanted was rest. But he didn’t ask because, like the woman, his father was easily read. Beomgyu could already hear the harshness in his rejection so clearly that it felt like he was recounting a memory where he’d actually asked.

As the woman droned on he felt all the more miserable. She cheerily reminded the group of the itinerary, all three weeks of it. 

This retreat was like a rite of passage, only those who welcomed judgement and whispers from the public would think about missing it. When teenagers in your town graduated high school, it was customary to spend their first summer as members of the community here—Where they could be sure that the lifetime of drilling their faith into you would not go to waste while your minds were so young and malleable. 

Beomgyu was well known among the others—part of the reason his father was sure to say no was because the absence of such an integral source of community bonding would be grounds for blasphemous accusations against the son of the preacher; by extension, against the preacher himself. But he should have begged, he realized it now. He should have knelt before his father like the good boy he was supposed to be and begged. 

“Ugh. Gag me with a spoon,” Chaewon said from beside him, her head resting in her palm. 

His eyes took in the details of the room as his ears tried to block out the noise. 

Unfortunately, this room, and he was sure this would be true of the others as well, was inexplicably drab. Just like the rest of your town. The walls were painted over with a creamy white, a single heavy cross decorated the back wall of the room and the long dining tables matched the darkness of the wood. He wondered what they used this space for during the rest of the year when the retreat wasn’t active, but he thought maybe it just wasted for all that time. It certainly looked like it. The corners were bunched with cobwebs and the floor felt grainy with dust and debris underneath his shoes. 

His eyes bounced around the room and he tried his best to find something remotely entertaining. Something to watch. And then his eyes caught yours. You, who had already been staring at him for who knows how long, were quick to look down at your empty hands at his catch. They were neatly folded in front of you, and he wasn’t sure how possible it was but you stood up even straighter than you were before. Your perfect ponytail—tied with a laced white ribbon—landed over your shoulder from the force. 

You had always watched him, not because you liked him, but because you liked his proximity to his father. He could see it in the way you straightened up and played your part in front of him. He knew that it was all a game, an attempt to keep your goodness in his father’s line of sight. You treated him like an extension of the preacher, it filled him with a rage that burned through his chest and left scorch marks on his skin at the site where the golden cross embellished his collarbones. 

The preacher could always sense a wickedness in his son. Beomgyu was reminded of this each waking moment of his life. Every mistake, every misstep was amplified under his father’s painful scrutiny. When he was a child, his father convinced him that this intuition was the truth; Beomgyu remembered crying to him each night about God, about why he was made this way and how he could fix himself. He spent agonizing years convincing himself that his father was right, that he was wicked, that it was inherent. 

It wasn’t just his own holiness on his shoulders but his father’s, he had to be perfect. 

As he grew, that pressure didn’t stop, it tore right down his shoulders and broke his heart into bits and pieces. He had never recovered from the weight of it. It was what turned the preacher’s fears into cold hard truths. No matter how much Beomgyu prayed, how hard he shoved his knees at Christ’s mercy, he always felt alone. 

He didn’t believe anymore, not in God, at least. 

So, he built the ruse young. In public he played the part of the preacher's son. He was polished and clean, all ironed shirts and tailored slacks, kind and respectful. He wore a cross around his neck and anybody would say that he was one of the most devoted in your community. What started out of spite became Beomgyu’s way of keeping himself hidden from the prying eyes of people like you—People who only cared about the hope of praise to his father.  

Now even the ruse was shifting under all of that pressure. 

Yeonjun, sitting on his other side, caught Beomgyu's eyeline of intensity, “What are you looking at?”

“More like who,” Chaewon said and her eyes pointed at you, her head nudged in your direction. 

Beomgyu had seen so much of you. In school you were like him, polished, clean, devoted. You always looked stiff, as though you felt you would collapse if you moved at all. Your face, the slope of your tired eyes, the tint on your raw bitten lips, it had always made him uncomfortable. 

Where Beomgyu had crafted a false identity with his torture, he recognized that you decided to run with yours. You kept your own golden cross tucked tightly in the fabric of your clothing. He wondered if you felt the same burning sensation he did when it touched your skin and if the smell of singed flesh offset you or if you had grown accustomed to it as he had. He never asked, had never wanted to. 

And he couldn’t remember a time you’d spoken to anybody other than the friend sitting next to you now. Maybe except for his father. 

When the preacher announced that he’d have private practices with you and ordered him to leave his office undisturbed, Beomgyu curiously peeked through the door to watch his father’s perversion play out; The hypocrisy of having you privately, of subtle touches under the ruse of protecting you with God. And the way you let him put his hands on you. He couldn’t tell if you understood what was happening or worse, if you liked it. 

Chaewon barely spared you a glance, “She was staring at him.”

His father had always selected one or two members, always girls, always your age, to conduct these lessons with. He believed it was his calling to mold the most valuable members of your society into whatever he wanted you to be. That was what he said to Beomgyu year after year. He was so convincing, you were just the newest under his spell. 

Did you know that you were not special?

Yeonjun looked you up and down, the definition of prudish. Your body was rigid and uncomfortable to look at, he wondered if your head hurt from how tight your ponytail looked. 

The preacher was an entity in the community, the one that set the constraints Beomgyu had to give his life up to fulfill. He was sure you felt the same, albeit willingly. And then your eyes spared Beomgyu a glance once more as if you could sense it. It was all but innocent, for a second he could feel you pleading. 

But the preacher is not here right now, is he?

“She's always staring at him. It’s like—” her tone was taunting, almost disgusted. 

An idea bubbled inside his stomach. It boiled hot and screaming as his eyes began to watch you with a harsh concentration. 

And you blinked your eyes away. 

—So pathetic.” Chaewon spoke with such disdain, one he would have matched if he had not just come to a realization.

Your devotion had you by the throat, you were choking and sputtering out prayers through pools of blood that gathered in your esophagus. He could feel it. The preacher was eating you alive. It was too much pressure, he had chosen wrong. 

He was wrong in his way. He always had been. 

All grown up, Beomgyu had the ability to see through the preacher’s lies and he wanted to spread this gospel like wildfire. It was his duty to sever the connection. 

He would start with you. 

---

Your face was framed by the orange tint of fire. 

The first night always consisted of a welcome campfire, the nice lady said so in her speech. 

They set up the logs around the fire in overlapping rows to account for the number of kids. It was about twenty-five, your graduating class only slightly larger. The few people that weren’t in attendance were sure to be shunned once they stepped foot out of your town, never to be mentioned again. 

You’d been early enough to find a seat in the inner row and the warmth of the fire made your cardigan feel constricting, but you kept it on. 

Yunjin appeared in front of you, two sticks in her hands and marshmallows sheathed on the end of both. You graciously accepted as she offered you one, and then held it out to the fire, letting it chisel and catch the flame. It turned black and charred before you blew it out. 

Beomgyu watched you crush it in between two graham crackers and he watched the melted chocolate drip down the corner of your mouth before you wiped it away and sucked the sweetness off of your thumb. He was sitting across from you, though the fire pit was large enough that he wasn’t too close. He’d been watching you ever since the idea had crossed his mind. 

He’d never played the part of the preacher before. 

Now everything you did felt erotic, not because it was, but because he was making it so. 

He watched you unbutton your cardigan and the way you took your finger into your mouth. He watched your tongue swipe at the corner of your lip, you were smiling, smiling for him; unabashedly enjoying yourself, you were amongst your people and you were sure to let your guard down. He was learning, he wanted to know how he could begin to break you down. 

Yunjin glanced over to him for just a second, but he was too entranced to notice. 

“Somebody’s watching you,” She said and her voice was teasing. 

Your brows furrowed, “Huh?” 

She glanced in his direction and when you followed her gaze you were met with stark brown eyes looking right into yours. You blinked, half wanting to look away, half curious to why he was watching you now.

Beomgyu observed you for a split second, thinking about how to play it. 

He mustered the most nauseating sheepish boy facade he could think of, one that he knew you would like, and pretended that he’d just been caught. He turned his head quickly and falsely suppressed a smile. He slumped his shoulders like he was embarrassed that you’d caught him. The fire helped paint his cheeks rosy and prove himself to you. 

You looked at her confused, “What was that?”

“You caught him staring at you, he’s probably embarrassed,” She said through a mouth full of gooey marshmallow. 

“Why would he be staring at me?” You were thinking out loud. 

You’d always been curious about him. You heard such good things, he was the preacher’s boy after all, he was as close in proximity to goodness as someone in your town could get. You and his father were good friends. You had always gone to him for advice, for comfort, when you had questions about God and how you could further your divinity. 

You didn’t know his son well, though they looked a lot alike. Their eyes were the same shade of dark obsidian from a distance. But where the preachers were gentle and sanctified as they watched you pray on your knees, Beomgyu’s eyes held a calm rigidity that sent a shiver down your spine. 

He’d caught on to your staring a few times, when you weren’t quick enough to look away, but any reaction from him was new to you. 

“Maybe he figured it out,” Yunjin bit down the last piece of her s’more, “And, maybe, he thinks you’re cute, too.”

Beomgyu faced Yeonjun and pretended he was listening to what the boy had to say. From the corners of his eyes he watched as your cheeks reddened at whatever Yunjin whispered at you. He was sure you two were talking about him now. 

“Figured what out?” You asked. 

She playfully rolled her eyes, “Oh, please. Just admit that you like him—she placed a finger over her mouth like she was shushing somebody—I won’t tell, I promise.”

Your cheeks felt even hotter, and you finally shrugged the cardigan off of your shoulders, it was getting too much. 

“I don’t.” You shook your head in disbelief. 

You didn’t. You were only curious, was it that obvious?

“What’s so bad about it?” She shrugged at you, “He’s a good boy.”

“I don’t know a thing about talking to boys,” You retorted, “And I shouldn’t be thinking about them right now.”

“It’s summer,” She said, “There’s no shame in having a little fun.”

Your fingers turned to play with the cross on your chest, tugging it around on its chain. The fun she was referring to wasn’t the kind you liked to think about. 

“That’s not what we’re here for,” You responded. 

“But would it be so bad?” Her smile was teasing again, and you didn’t want to think about the implication. 

“Yes.” You confirmed, looking back at him, but he was looking at you again.

“It would be very bad.” 

And he smiled. 

---

The first week was supposed to be all about bonding; getting to know the future outstanding members of your community, more than you already did. Because your town was small and everybody already knew everybody, just not well. They had generated five groups of five, with a mentor at the head of each circle to guide your discussion and prompt conversation. Through no manipulation of his own, Beomgyu had been placed in your group and he thanked the universe for it. 

It started off easy, mellow. 

Name one way God helps you every day, what nurtures your faith? 

Questions and prompts that Beomgyu had easy rehearsed answers to, and you did too. Your tone was hushed and you stared at your feet every time you spoke. They were crossed at the ankles and the skirt you were wearing only let a sliver of your legs slip past. 

He ignored everybody’s answer but yours. 

The mentor guided the conversation, offered advice or condolence at each reply. And the woman, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, checked off little boxes on her list of topics, it was well thought out. 

She read off the next prompt, her voice was too cheery, “Tell us about a time when your faith was tested.”

He looked around the group as a nervousness filled the room. People wrung their hands in their laps, anxiously tapped their feet against concrete floors. This question was more personal, it was time to be truly vulnerable. 

The mentor, Beomgyu hadn’t bothered to learn her name, could tell how fearful everybody was. In an attempt to soothe, she started, “And I’d like to remind you all that this is a safe space with no judgement—Her focus bounced upon the faces of each person in the circle, they all held that guilty sheen of fear that leaked from their pores—We are all human, we are all born capable of sin. What matters is what you’ve learned from your experiences.”

It made Beomgyu hold back a scoff and he had to remember to keep his face neutral. Supportive, even. 

You were still staring at the ground, maybe it was the fact that it was him sitting across from you that made you so nervous to keep your head up. 

Because if you lifted it he would be the defaulted view and you were unsure of what to make of him and his sudden interest. 

“Any volunteers?” She asked, her smile was shiny and white. 

She hugged her clipboard to her chest and her eyes scanned the group once more, then she looked back at her sheet and swiped down the list of names. Her finger landed on one, “Y/N, how would you like to go first?”

Your head jumped up from its resting place and by accident you looked at Beomgyu first, his eyes watched you intently. He was curious as to what you would say. A good girl like you would be foolish to admit the fault in her theology. He offered you a small nod, go on. 

You were quick to look away. 

“Sure,” Your voice was quiet, like you were afraid to be heard.

“Speak up honey,” The woman said, “We’re all on your side.”

You nodded, you could feel the blood pumping through your heart, you could hear it beat in your ears. You didn’t like being put on the spot, you didn’t like speaking in front of a group, especially not like this. 

You wracked your mind for an example to share, there were very few. 

You thought about when you were thirteen and you’d found the books your mother hid in a shoebox deep in the back of her closet. You flipped to a page and your eyes grew in shock at the obscenity. What you initially thought to be innocent romance turned out to be a level of perversion that left you in a daze for the rest of the week. You were confused, at what you had read and at the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about it, a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach but also lower. Your heart thumped even harder at the thought of speaking about it out loud—you had never even mentioned it to Yunjin. It was too humiliating of a memory. 

Your cheeks turned pink, both because of the memory and because of the spotlight. 

Luckily you were able to think of something else, “When I was thirteen,” You started; thirteen had been a big year. 

“A good friend of mine confessed that she might not believe in God.” 

A few of your groupmates gasped, like they couldn’t fathom the idea. 

“How could you say that?” You asked as Yunjin let the words escape her. You almost shoved your hand over her mouth like you could scoop the words back into it and pretend they never fell out. 

Yunjin shrugged, she was too casual about it for your liking. 

“Why?” You craved to understand it, but you also wanted to know what made up her mind. What you could use to change it back. 

“Well, it’s kind of silly… don’t you think?” She almost laughed at the exasperation on your face, “I mean, the whole ‘we are born sinners’—in finger quotations—why would God make us sinners if he didn’t want us to sin? Why is it so inherent? Haven’t you ever thought about it?” 

“No, I haven’t.” Your expression was one of disbelief at the calmness with which she spoke. To have her speak so lightly question something you cared for so deeply, it was like she was questioning you. 

“And, we have to follow all of these rules, some of which a lot of people ignore, or else we burn in Hell forever? Is that not cruel?” 

“It’s not. Yunjin, stop talking like this, I don’t like it.” 

“I can’t. How have you never questioned it? I feel like the more I grow up, the more I do.”

In that moment you remember wishing you could keep her young forever and protect her from her own damnation. 

“And she gave me her reasons, but none of them made sense to me,” You continued.

You remembered the aftermath, your friendship break up. Albeit temporary it was miserable. Those few months in which you had begun to resent her because late at night you found yourself thinking about her reasoning; how it was the first time you really thought about your faith and its fragility. On nights when your doubt was especially big, you’d light a candle and open your Bible and read it until the sun came up. You would apologize to God for it, you would beg on your knees for his forgiveness. But that part you didn’t want to share. 

Beomgyu had a hard time reading if you were omitting some part of the truth. He was interested now, to hear about your first doubt. He wanted to see if anything implanted. 

“What did she say?” The woman asked, her fingers clutched the edges of the clipboard like she was afraid, like you were telling a ghost story and she was waiting for the scare. 

You thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, then towards him by accident. His attention was right on you, his eyes were intense like he was thinking about it so deeply. You wanted to curl up and disappear, it made you uncomfortable. 

“She said…that it didn’t make sense why God made us capable of sin if he didn’t want us to commit them,” You said, you were playing with your fingers in your lap, sliding your ring up and down the bridge of your index. 

“He gave us choice, He gave us free will,” She disputed Yunjin’s claim. 

The group nodded in agreement, only Beomgyu forgot to, and you had noticed. 

How long before he would tell the preacher? You swallowed hard. 

“And it was the first time I’d ever heard anybody speak like that, I mean, everyone I grew up around was so grounded in their faith,” You said, “I broke off our friendship because I was mad at her.”

You couldn’t look at anything but your shoes, you were ashamed that you had let a friend go so easily, “And as the weeks passed, I started to think more about it. An-and I realized that she had made me doubt, too.”

His eyes widened at it, he was waiting for it, but he didn’t think you’d actually admit it. People like you never did, they liked to pretend that they were perfect and like sin had never crossed their path. 

“It spreads like rot,” the woman nodded. 

“But I couldn’t let it spread—you shook your head in denial—I prayed to God every night that he would protect me from the thoughts the Devil forced into me,” your fingers twitched. You brought a hand to your mouth and covered your gasp.

“You were resilient,” the woman smiled, she was beaming. She was proud. Too proud to notice the guilt on your face. 

Beomgyu watched your hands shake, he watched your eyes dim and gloss over. 

You brought your hand back down to your lap, tightly holding onto the fabric of your skirt for comfort. Your knuckles turned white from the grasp. 

A beat.

Two. 

You gulped, “Every time I would feel one coming on, I would counter it with prayer until they eventually stopped, and I felt whole again.” 

Your face felt blank, it stayed pointed at the floor. You refused to show yourself. 

You were lying through your teeth, you didn’t know if God would understand why. It was difficult not to doubt once you’d been faced with the idea. 

Beomgyu knew that, which is exactly why he didn’t believe you. 

“Good girl,” she said. 

Her undeserved praise made you uncomfortable.

He curled his brow for a second or two. His head tilted softly and under his gaze you felt as though your clothing had disappeared and like your soul was on display for him. Like he could see every place it cracked or creviced, every imperfection. 

“What happened next?” All heads turned to him, “What happened with your friend?” 

He was trying to pry more details out of you, but he softened his voice and feigned innocent curiosity. As though he were in a similar situation and was looking for advice. 

You were in shock, it took you some time to stutter out a response. Your ears felt uncomfortably hot and your skin was coated with a light slick of sweat. You felt like you’d been caught. 

“Well…w–we, um, we stopped being friends for a long time, buh–but it felt miserable,” like you were on trial, you felt the need to defend yourself, “We’d been friends since we were four. I didn’t–I don’t know a life without her.”

He nodded along, urging you to continue. 

“And, I gave up, I apologized for leaving her,” you felt so humiliated, “But, I tried to guide her back to the light.”

“How?” He blinked, looking at you through thick lashes. 

You wanted to cry. 

“I-I would study the Bible with her after school. Every day. She let me help her at first, because she cared about me, too. She knew it was important to me, so she tried.” 

“Did it work?” His tone was strong, confident; the type that bit. 

“Well—for a little, yes, I think—but, I think, she didn’t really believe. She was doing it for me.” Your shoulders slumped in shame, “And we got into another big fight, but I eventually forgave her, because she was so supportive of me. I figured I could be supportive of her, she was a good friend to me.” 

He watched you bite your lips anxiously. 

His brows furrowed under his grown out bangs and you felt the shame grow even heavier. You tugged on the end of your skirt like you were trying to hide under it. 

“So you forgave her? Even though she doesn’t believe?” He was dramatizing it, he wanted to make you feel bad, he wanted to make it seem accidental. “Were you really able to pray away all that doubt?” His mouth uttered a tsk like he didn’t believe you. 

You reasoned that it was because it’s what his father would have done. He would have wanted you to realize the fault in your actions. Beomgyu would be righteous, too.

You tried to stutter out a response, a defense, but your voice failed you and your eyes welled with tears. Beomgyu liked how you looked with wet lashes, a pink nose. He liked how uncomfortable you were getting, he wanted to make you squirm. 

“Alright, Mr. Choi, I think that’s enough,” the woman’s voice was sharp, she could sense the tension and she wanted to deescalate. 

He sat back and blinked as if he were falling out of a trance. He slumped against his chair to feign guilt. He kept his eyes on yours, though. It was like looking into a snake’s. 

She rubbed a hand on your clothed shoulder in an attempt to comfort but it felt hot like fire. 

“This is a safe space, honey,” she nodded, “And that was a great example, thank you for sharing.” 

She looked around the group, at every face and then lightly nudged her head in your direction so that the rest would follow in suit. 

An echo of her thanks sounded from everybody except for him. 

---

By lunch time your stomach was churning with the anxiety of guilt. You were sure if you swallowed anything now it would just come right back up. 

You gnawed at your lip, your fingers shakily filling out your sign up sheet. While you were here you were expected to complete a total of twenty service hours, and you could volunteer for anything on the list. There were also other activities, painting, hiking, etc. Something to pass your time and bond with your class. 

The room was loud with conversation, people sat in their usual groups and it felt like high school all over again. Your ears were ringing from all of the noise, the brightness of the light was getting too much for your eyes. You felt so panicked. You decided you’d quickly fill out your form and head to your room. 

“Hey,” Yunjin snapped her fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention, “Are you okay?” Her face was set into a frown. 

Being with her didn’t make it feel any better. 

You loved her, yes, but retelling your story had made those thirteen year old emotions flood right back into you. And with them, your doubts. You remembered the disappointment in Beomgyu’s voice, in his face, and it made you feel sicker. You also felt horrible for sharing something so personal about her. You didn’t directly name her, but of course people could guess. She was your only friend and always had been. You had referred to her as the Devil, your own best friend. 

“I feel sick,” you slammed your pen on the table with a thud, you couldn’t even look at her, “I think I’m going to go lay down.” 

When you made it to your room you found yourself incapable of doing anything but sitting on your stiff bed and staring at the cross on your wall. 

“What’s happening to me?” You were asking God. 

You shook your shoes off and took down your ponytail. 

Beomgyu found you hugging your knees to your chest with your face hidden away. You hadn’t even closed your door. Your skirt was long enough to hide any peek at anything but it didn’t stop him from looking. 

He knocked on the wall to get your attention and he almost laughed at the way you jumped. He slammed a little smile on his face and you looked at him through your lashes, your cheeks were still wet. He furrowed his brows, let the smile fall. 

“What are you doing here?” You sniffled, “This is the girl’s wing, you can’t be here.”

It was one of the rules emphasized by the woman that gave the welcome speech. You didn’t want to imagine what kind of trouble you’d be in if anybody saw him here. 

“I wanted to check on you,” he said, he was calm, and the tears on your face didn’t seem to scare him away. “And apologize.”

Now he blinked sadly and tilted his mouth down at the corners. His delayed reaction confused you. Everything about him was so confusing. 

“For what?” You were wiping your face, moving to sit at the edge of your bed now that you had realized your compromising position. 

“For earlier,” he shrugged, he closed the door and the creak made your eyes widen. Then he moved to sit next to you. 

The bed dipped under him and your body tingled with nerves. You glanced quickly at the door, and felt a slice of relief before the dread struck you. He sat painfully close, your thighs were almost touching and your breath caught in your throat. 

You looked forward, at the door that didn’t own a lock, at the drab dresser, at the cross on the wall. 

“What about it?”

His face was straight now, almost bored. It quickly shifted into inauthentic concern, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

You shivered when he rested his hand in the space in between you. His pinky touched the edge of your skirt, and you were grateful for the strands of hair hiding your reddening cheeks. You didn’t say anything. 

“Then, why did you?” It came sharper than intended. 

You looked up at him. He was taller than you by almost a head, and your slumped posture made you feel even smaller. He looked down at your eyes and then at your lips for a split second. You were biting them, you were sure they were chapped and raw if not bleeding. 

He didn’t expect the harshness in your tone or your willingness to let him stay. He thought you would usher him out, push him towards the door while reciting prayers under your breath. Instead you were hauntingly calm. Whether you were too stuck in your head or already had enough faith in him to establish trust he was not sure. 

He glanced around your face and tried to let your expression read him your emotions but he came up blank. 

He began to look down at his feet as though he were embarrassed, “Well, I have this problem,” a little flicker of a glimpse at you from the corner of his eye, “And I thought you would be able to give me some insight.” He studied your face to gauge your reaction. 

You sat up slightly and your lips formed a little ‘O’ at the realization. 

“Is one of your friends questioning?” You asked. 

He wanted to laugh. You really didn’t know a damn thing. 

He shook his head and he liked how you looked when you were confused. The little line of thought that formed between your brows. You swore you caught a glint of laughter reach his lips before it disappeared just as quickly. 

You slumped at his denial, “Then what is it?”  

“There’s this girl,” he started, he kept his eyes on his shoes. “She has a crush on me, I think.” Through his bangs he caught the sight of your eyes drifting from him to the floor in disappointment. You didn’t know why he was coming to you of all people with this information but you decided that you would not be impolite with his vulnerability. 

“But I know her well enough to know that her affection is…” his pinky grazed your thigh but he played it off as an accident, he was testing the waters. 

“Impure.” His hair tickled his neck as he lifted his head and pointedly watched the cross on the wall. His leg bounced on the floor and its erratic movements mirrored the beating of your heart. 

He felt you twitch under his touch, but you didn’t move away. Your leg shifted as your eyes widened, you were thigh to thigh now. 

“Impure?” You hiccuped. 

In his head he tried to think about an embarrassing memory, anything to make him blush and really play it up. It wasn’t working, not until he imagined you, unbuttoning your cardigan, lifting up your skirt, and he thought about the way you shivered when his hand barely touched the fabric of your clothing. 

“I don’t know what to do about it. She’s a good friend,” he said and shrugged his shoulders but it felt uncanny, false. 

You nodded like you understood, your gut was telling you one thing but your mind ushered the feeling away, “It’s hard”

Painfully so. You understood him as he did you. You let yourself exhale. 

“I don’t really know what to tell you,” you bit your fingernails, deep in thought. 

He brushed his shoulder to yours. 

Your heartbeat quickened. 

He kept it there. 

“I’m not sure either,” His eyes felt so sharp on your skin, like the prick of a thorn on the stem of a rose. 

“Have you ever had impure thoughts?” He was blunt. 

He glanced at your lips when your jaw fell open in shock. Your eyes widened and you squirmed in your seat, vigorously shaking your head no. He creeped his hand a little higher and you involuntarily spread your legs a little wider. Pinky–ring–middle–index–thumb. They crept up your leg until his hand was almost entirely on you.  

“What? No, never.” You shook your head again but you couldn’t look into his eyes, afraid of what yours might signal back. Your shoulders sank, your fingers twitched in your lap. 

You thought of those books in your mother’s closet—About how the man always began with subtle touches, subtle glances, loving holds. 

He felt a smirk grow on his face, “You’re sensitive, aren’t you?” He said in a whisper. His face was close now, you could feel his breath fan your cheek, cool and fresh on the heat of it. You jumped when you felt his hand snake around your upper thigh, so close, legs touching. Fire blossomed under your skin, your sweater was so uncomfortably tight. 

The men in the books were always kind, and then kindness developed into something teasing, something mean. You liked that about them. You liked that about him. 

“You’re thinking them right now, aren’t you?”

You felt your throat tighten. 

You blinked, once, twice, but you couldn’t defend yourself. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not.” You nodded, trying to convince nobody but yourself. He ignored you. 

“So, what do you do—he gave your plush skin a gentle squeeze and you almost whimpered—when you have them?” 

“I don’t.” You shook your head again, a few strands escaped from behind your ear and you wish you could hide under your blanket now. “I swear.” Your voice was the strongest he’d ever heard it, but you could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe you; it was in the quirk of his brow, the twitch of his lip. 

“Everybody does.” He nodded, gave his features a little bit of warmth to guide you.

Your eyes jumped around his face unwilling to look into his out of sheer guilt. “Do you?” You begged for reassurance. He liked that you did. Your eyes darted to the cross on the wall, your head turned towards it. 

“I’m not immune. Nobody is—he gave your chin a tug, forced you to look at him—not even you.” 

“Not even me?” Your eyes welled, you were such a crybaby. 

“You’ve got a good reputation, Y/N,” Warmth spread in your lower belly, your name felt like poison on his tongue and you watched his mouth as he said it. You wanted to memorize the way he did, the tilt and shape of his lips and the flick of his tongue. 

“My dad always talks about you, he admires your devotion,” his voice quivered a little bit in anger, disgust, but he was quick to disguise it. You went rigid at the mention of his father, your eyes darted to the cross again but you didn’t move your head this time, his fingers were still holding it in place. 

“I admire your devotion.” A rougher squeeze to your thigh, like he really wanted you to believe it. 

“You do?” You moved your hands to the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets with your fingernails. 

Everything was so incredibly new. From the feeling of his hand on your thigh, where nobody’s touched you before, to the grip on your chin, the one that tightened when he was annoyed with you. And now, his praise. 

He watched your eyes light up, the way your body sat taller.

“Of course I do,” he thumbed at your bottom lip. “There’s no shame in admitting yourself. 

Have you ever kissed anyone?” 

Out of shock you jerked your head out of his grasp but he was expecting it. 

He watched you shift, you almost began to scooch away but his grip was firm. Your head was shaking again, and you tried to say something but everything was coming out in stutters. Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a fish out of water. 

“Wha-what? No, no I haven’t. Of-of course not.” You were so flushed and your throat felt weak pushing out the attempted defense. 

His hand was on the inside of your thigh, so dangerously close to where you needed it most. You could feel the heat of him through the fabric of your skirt. He just kneaded your skin and smiled at you. “Nobody’s around, if you have I won’t tell.” But you stood your ground firmly. 

“That’s a shame—through hooded eyes—you’re so pretty.” 

You felt uncomfortable in your seat, a wetness forming in between your thighs and it ached so painfully. He watched your body writhe and twitch, you bit your lip again more forcefully, as though you were suppressing something; Taking one emotion from somewhere else and channeling all of that feeling into the pain. 

You blinked your big doe eyes up at him and his breath caught in his throat. You really were. 

“What about the girl?” You kept your eyes on his face, your shoulders straight. “Do you…like her?” You asked. 

He softly smiled and a noise escaped him that almost sounded like a chuckle. 

He moved his hand, the one holding your chin, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You leaned into it almost as if out of habit. He thought back to his father, how close he always was to you. 

Had he ever touched you like this?

“I don’t know,” he was playing with his food, “She’s pretty—he watched your face fall—and…sometimes I find myself thinking about her.” His expression was sheepish, he bit on his lip like you did to appear embarrassed. 

“What…” the words formed uncomfortably slowly, the line getting caught in the flicks and swishes of your tongue against your teeth. You had to fight to get them out. “What do you think about?”

His gaze moved downward, towards your chest, the mounds of your breasts visible through the thickness of your sweater. And lower at where his hand lay connected to your thigh, where he could sense that you were trying your best to keep your knees open for him. 

His eyes stayed on your face, but it was expressionless. You couldn’t let any of your feelings, not one, show. He assumed that was the case. You were suppressing it all for his sake. 

His eyes glanced toward the clock on your bedside table, “I think I better get going. I don’t want to know what they’d do to me if they found me here.” 

You nodded on command. 

You were still entranced by it all. When you had adjusted, when you had realized what he said, your thighs squeezed his hand out of instinct; a silent, don’t go, but you couldn’t say it out loud. You felt dizzy, the ache was dull and unforgiving, you didn’t know what to do. You pressed yourself into the bed in an attempt to relieve the pain but you gasped at the pleasure. It felt so sweet. 

He watched you in surprise and then the corner of his lip twitched. A twitch turned to a full smirk, bared teeth and his expression looked wicked to you. It made the hairs on your neck stand straight.

“I can show you, next time,” He leaned in to whisper into your ear. He was so close that his lips brushed the skin of it and the ache only worsened. You didn’t understand it. 

He moved to stand up and you accidentally whimpered at his loss of touch. You felt cold now, despite the heat of the season. 

“This summer is going to be fun, don’t you think?” 

You could barely register what he had asked before you gave him an obedient nod and a careless, mhm, and watched him walk out of your bedroom. 

Your mind was blank and your eyes zoned out onto the cross on your wall until it turned into a fuzzy blob out of focus. You tried to think, recite a prayer under your breath like he thought you would before or at least ask God for forgiveness. But you couldn’t think of anything other than the pace at which he left you like a breeze in the summer. 

You pushed yourself against the bed again to feel that pleasure, and you felt so much shame. 

You didn’t know it could feel this good. 

___

You scrubbed your skin raw that day. You had locked yourself in your room, told Yunjin you’d been sick from the breakfast. You defended your lie from God, you tried to reason with Him. I shouldn’t involve her in this, it’s not good for her, and she's already so vulnerable, I don’t want to fracture any chance she could have at faith. 

The next day was free to explore hobbies with other members of the group, there were activity tables set up on the large dining tables of the mess hall. And you caught yourself scanning the room for him. 

You found him in the corner, leaning against a wall and talking animatedly with his friend, Chaewon. She giggled at whatever he had said and she twirled a piece of her hair in between her fingers. Her hip was jutted out in his direction and her elbow rested on her waist, pulling in the fabric of her baggy shirt in a way that emphasized her figure. You figured she was the friend that was lending him her temptation. The reason for his strange behavior in your room. You placed the blame all on her, whether you meant to or not. 

He was smiling at her, sending her more direct signals than he ever gave to you. He watched your hand tighten around a paintbrush, your attention falter at the mentor explaining fabric weaving to you. 

He didn’t talk to you the day after either, outdoor activity exploration day. Rock climbing, a garden tour, a nature walk. You checked out all of the stations but he participated in none of them. Your stomach dropped at the feeling that he was avoiding you. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath slowed. You sat at a picnic bench confused, out of the corner of your eye you saw him picking flowers at the edge of the forest. She was with him again. You wondered if she followed him around or if he did her. His curiosity was so explicitly stated to you and you felt you should chastise him for giving in. Hold him accountable like he had for you. But you just watched as—and you convinced yourself you were seeing things when glanced at you for a fraction of a second—he handed her one of the flowers in his hand and as she tucked it behind her ear. 

The intimacy of it confused you, was this really friendly behavior? You hadn’t done those things with Yunjin though you were almost as good as attached at the hip. 

But your interests didn’t align today, the first day of volunteer work. You walked alone towards a further building on the retreat grounds and up the steps of the library building. The concrete walls were jagged and cracking at the corners. Your mentor, Jihyo, you’d learned from the group discussion, had mentioned that it was rarely used anymore. The most essential books had been transferred into a reading room in the main building. 

Your job was to clean it up, organize the books, dust and sweep the shelves and floors. To declutter and throw away all non-essential books. Ones that invited deviance or that referenced anything other than God or holding your faith. It was easy enough, and you’d be stuck working on the mess for two and a half hours. 

He was already standing by the door as you approached, leaned cooly on the railing of the steps beneath your feet. Your breath caught, your heart pounded in your chest. Would he ignore you again? He stood tall, the sunlight reflected gold on his tanned skin, and you took in his body. His wide shoulders and confident posture. His carelessness as he boredly waited for you before opening the door. 

You were so caught up in it that you didn’t hear the alternate footsteps behind you. You only realized there had been a third person when she stepped in front of you directly and waved. Chaewon, of course she was here. And your thought held such disdain that you were pulled aback. 

You froze in place and looked at her back, her hips swayed as she walked. But she didn’t do anything to you. You reminded yourself to be graceful, to be kind, to let those thoughts be buried under layers of soft earth. 

In her presence you felt invisible. He didn’t even greet you and it sent a flash of hurt into your chest, your heart grew hazy, its beats felt fuzzy. You threw yourself into your work to ignore it, ignore him. You had never felt so stupid and you didn’t even know why. He didn’t owe you anything. 

You busied yourself with the rolling cart stacked with dusty books and worked your way through it to organize them alphabetically on the cart before moving to stack them on the shelves. Beomgyu and Chaewon were off in the corners of the room doing who knows what and you felt frustrated at having to do so much of the work all by yourself. You hoped they were making themselves useful and not off somewhere… talking about their impure thoughts. 

About thirty minutes rearranging the cart had passed before you were ready to begin actually stacking the books on the shelves alphabetically. As you worked you’d noticed the shelves were disorganized too, that you might have bit off more than you could chew. There were so many of them. You were frustrated at the lack of help. Your face settled into a frown and you stomped your feet as you walked. The rolling cart had loud wheels and they clashed harshly against every bump and crater in the uneven flooring. 

Good. Let them hear. 

You made it to the E’s before you realized that the top shelf was entirely out of your grasp. There were several books that needed to be placed up there and several that needed to be rearranged from what you could read from your level. 

You stood on the very tip of your toes, your shoes bending and nudging your toes uncomfortably before you nearly fell with a stumble when you’d lost your balance. Ouch. 

You tried again, your arm extending to its full potential before your elbow gave out, you could barely graze the spines with your fingertips. You sank with an exasperated sigh and realized that such high shelves implied the presence of a step stool somewhere. 

But when you turned, you saw him standing behind you, watching you fumble with a little smile on his face. 

You huffed. Your mouth straightened into a thin line and you ignored him as he watched. 

You looked around the area, you stepped into alternate rows to see if any of them had what you were looking for. But you failed. None did. 

So you went back to your cart and huffed at him, “Will you help at all?” 

It was like he was determined not to, like a fly on the wall he was incessant and useless to you now. He only tilted his head as if he was considering it, his feet kept their place. 

And then he chuckled, the nerve. Your fingers twitched and gripped the hardcover of the book in your hand. 

You ignored his amusement, you tried again. 

You ignored the footsteps, you tried to ignore his breath on your neck. 

You tried to ignore the graze of his skin on yours as he pried the book from your hand and with a shove of his body on yours, placed it easily on the shelf. 

You couldn’t turn around, not now. 

Your skin felt hot again, your breath was quick. You were sure the embarrassment would be ever present on your face so you reached for another book on the cart, keeping your body close to his, and held it up for him to take. 

His hand touched yours again, it lingered. 

The softness of his skin traced the softness of yours and you shivered. He took far too long a time at grabbing it, his fingertips brushing the back of your hand as you let go. 

You blinked and stiffly faced forward. 

He brought his lips to your ear, his hair tickled your skin, “Does this go before or after ‘EU’?” he asked. 

He could read, he wasn’t stupid. 

You glanced up at the cover, your lips parted in a shaking exhale, at the golden embellishments on the spine, “After,” you squeaked. 

You regretted your earlier contempt at him and his unhelpful hands. This felt far worse. 

The weight of the next book dug into your palm, your wrist shook. He held his hand over yours to support it. You froze for a moment, but he tugged at your arm and forced you to listen to his guide. 

His bicep tickled your side and it was only now that you realized he practically had you trapped. 

“That one doesn’t go up there,” his tone was playful, almost jeering. 

You exhaled a breath and pretended it was a laugh, “Ri-right, sorry.” You were mortified. 

This one went lower, right at your eye level and he guided your hand with his towards its rightful spot, his grip stayed firm the entire way. 

You noticed how the scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of old parchment. He smelt like cedar and earth and the lightest hint of smoke and it blanketed you entirely. A low hum escaped you. 

The warm air thickened and made breathing almost impossible. Your chest rose and fell only lightly and you blamed it for your instability. But you couldn’t help thinking about the way your breath would mix with his into little clouds of the both of you. Intertwined by the atom, inseparable. The thickness of the air made sense, it was a mesh of the two of you, it was one of circumstance. 

When you reached for the next one, it was so light compared to the last that it slipped from your fingers and landed with an awkward thud on the ground. You jumped in surprise, his arm still extended bumped into yours. A cloud of dust floated up from the book’s landing site and your chest constricted. 

Before you could think, you bent over to grab it, your ass tapping his center. 

You’d never stood up so quickly. Hugging the book to your chest to control your shaking, you tapped your forehead to one of the metal frames of the shelf. The cold felt sweet against your hot aching skin, you sighed at the relief. 

You turned on your heel and held your breath, he was less than a step away from you. His face was neutral, leaning on amused, you were so nervous. 

His eyes scanned your body. You were gripping the book with such intensity. In your frazzled state you had failed to realize the way your sweater drooped at your shoulders. You were exposed, you caught what he was looking at and felt embarrassed. A mixed breath was more innocent, an exposed slice of skin a delicacy neither of you could touch. Like a bone to a dog, or a promise to the despondent, temptation. Equated to hope but deceptive in its definition. 

You hugged your shoulders to your body hoping you could shrink and hide away. There was nothing you could do now that the dog knew you had the bone. 

He extended a hand, you offered him the book, he let his touch on you hold out. 

One beat. 

Two. 

Before arranging it. 

“It’s hot in here,” your eyes darted toward the closed window. You pulled at your sweater because the exposure of your skin was really the only part of your body that felt calm. The rest of it was pins and needles, cold sweat and a rabid heart-beat. But that sliver, that slice, it was everything. He stared at your face, once again at your shoulders, then into your eyes. 

He hummed, “Oh, I hadn’t really noticed,” he kept his tone casual, easygoing, unbothered. 

Something about his reaction felt uneasy. The way his actions never lined up with his words. 

But you realized you could just be imagining it all. Letting yourself fall back into the cycle of impurity you used to fight so hard. You were weary to tempt him. How could you expose yourself like this when you knew his history? It was like dangling food over a dying, starving man and asking him not to bite. 

You nodded, tugging at the collar of your sweater, he eyed your fingers. You finally let it cover where your skin was exposed but it only caused the sharp pricks of sweat to develop at your scalp, under your arms, your entire body. 

You felt he could sense your discomfort, “You know,” he started, “You could just take your sweater off.” 

The floorboards creaked under him. The sound echoed over profound silence. His hands held the hem of the sweater, fingertips sneaking underneath it. He watched your face, blank and busy stuck inside your head, eyes staring through him as you registered the touch. 

You shook your head, you looked around, you held his wrists still, “Is Chaewon still here?”

His head tilted in surprise, he let his fingertips graze the skin under your sweater. You suppressed another shudder and the grip on his wrists loosened in permission. 

His teeth flashed all white and pearly, “No, she went outside.” Your shoulders relaxed but you kept your hands in place, you were holding him. “You’re not wearing a shirt?” A sly smile. 

“This is my shirt,” you defended, your brows sharp and downturned. 

“It’s a sweater.” He deadpanned. 

“Shirt.” You were failing. 

“Whatever you say,” His hands teased the skin on your stomach, you felt the unrelieved ache return. It was in your gut, in your flesh, in your hands that were holding him. 

You looked around the room, it felt empty enough, you eased up your grip. Goosebumps patterned your skin as he laid his palm flat on your belly, his fingertips only centimeters away from the fabric of your bra. You were failing him. 

You took a step back and the shelf rattled as you slammed into it by accident. 

His hands were forced out of your clothing, so he brought one up to play with your hair. You wore it in two braids down your back, but he pulled one over your shoulder and played with the strings of the ribbon that held it in place. 

His hand hovered over your breast, you held your breath, anticipating the worst. 

He kept himself civil but it made you frown. 

“Relax,” voice smooth like a shot of espresso, “There’s nobody here,” then like a spoonful of sugar. 

He twirled your hair in between his fingers. 

“Okay.” You exhaled and your lashes fluttered but he was still holding your braid. His eyes darted behind you, free hand still extended to your right. 

You stared at it, you held your breath. 

He swiped his finger across one of the books and brought it back painted with grey dust. 

“Maybe we should dust the shelves first,” He said, he flashed his finger to show you its dirt. “Is there a supply closet around here? Maybe we can sweep the floors, too.” His eyes held back a look of mischief, his mouth a smirk. But it was progress, a separation. You were failing, he was controlling himself. 

He took your hand in his and led you away. You were taken aback, you felt that you should yank your hand away, chastise him for what he was doing to you. For what he was making you feel. But he was warm and his hands were soft in yours, and you convinced yourself that it was only to help lead the way. 

He brought you to the back of the library, stopped in front of a grey-blue door with a rusted door handle. His hand left yours and you brought it to your chest in an attempt to make up for the absence of touch. It wasn’t the same. 

He fiddled with the door for a few seconds, the rattling echoed in your ears, you tapped your fingers against your body incessantly. A reminder, a signal that you shouldn’t be doing this, going into a room with him alone. 

When the door finally opened with a loud clank, you jumped and your eyes darted behind you. 

The library was still empty. 

He held the door for you, his eyes looking around for a light switch. When he found it, the single lightbulb hung over the center of the room on a string began to buzz with electricity. The sound of it was annoying, the light was dim like in the evening and its thin stream highlighted little particles of dust that floated around the atmosphere. 

You scanned the room as you walked in, your hands still clutched to your chest. 

The space was tight, clearly made for one person. Beomgyu used the excuse to stand close to you, enough that his breath tickled your skin; chest kissing your back in light taps at every exhale. 

Smaller versions of the metal bookshelves lined the four walls of this room making it more cramped than it needed to be. The supplies were covered in dust and the air smelt sick like mildew. It made you feel dirty and like you couldn’t breathe. 

You hoped the rot wouldn’t cling to the fabric of your outfit or the strands of the hair down your back. 

Beomgyu held your shoulders as you jumped again from the slam of the door. Its hinges were too rusty to hold it open, too heavy to hold its own weight. 

He squeezed, you sighed. 

“Relax,” he ordered, you ached. 

You nodded, facing forward at the disorganized walls, “Okay,” you whispered back, your voice wavered and unsure. 

You took a step forward, away from him, and began to look around. 

“Do you see a feather duster anywhere?” You spoke over your shoulder at him, and he was careful not to look at you.

“No.” He stepped forward, he was touching you again as soon as you turned your head away. 

You stepped forward again, you cleared your throat, “How about a broom?” 

“Nope,” he followed you. 

Your toe met the leg on the shelf in front of you, you had nowhere left to run. 

When you turned to look at him, you were sure the shaking in your legs would make you collapse. Your back was against the cold metal now, it tickled the base of your neck where your sweater did not reach. You tried to shove yourself as far away from him as you could but he only stepped closer. 

His gaze was dark and withering as it passed over your body like that starved man. 

Your brows crinkled, you held your hands in fists where they rested on your chest, your knuckles paled from the pressure. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered out in a light quiver. Your throat burned as the words scraped up its sides. 

His hand reached up, like it did before, and you flinched as it extended past your head. You exhaled and your shoulders were rigid in your attempt to shrink. Your eyes clenched shut, your head downturned. Something in you wanted him to strike you, right across the face. 

An evil smile creeped onto his pretty lips, “Found it,” something rattled behind your head and the sound was amplified as you felt the rattle in your bones. 

You saw the handle of a tattered feather duster move beside you, but he left most of it on the shelf. He shifted his attention from it to you, malicious smile shifting into an artificial concern. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

His fingers dropped the handle and, like the other day, gently gripped your chin and let you face him. His tone and the softness of the touch made your eyes water. You had been imagining such horrible things about him, and here he was: being kind. 

You were trying not to breathe, your lungs were empty but if you swallowed any lick of life, you’d be chest to chest. You didn’t want to lure him any further in. 

You shook your head so subtly you thought he might miss it. 

“You can tell me,” He nodded, he urged. 

God. 

“Nothing,” you reassured but your voice betrayed you, “Nothing’s wrong,” more firmly. 

If you can hear me.

He tilted his head, he observed your face. You blinked away the wetness, you forced a smile on your face. He didn’t believe you. 

Give me a sign. 

“It’s just me,” he said and it felt like the only thing in the world you could think about was his voice—the timbre of it and how soothing it felt tickling your ears, your skin.

He looked at your lips, his hand moved to encompass your face in his palm. 

The coldness of it warmed by the heat of your cheek. He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, your mouth fell open in a gasp. 

Your heart beat in quick bouts, you could feel hot blood crawl up to your face under where he was holding you. 

“What are you so afraid of?” He looked down at you through thick lashes. 

You kept his gaze, let it linger on his pretty face before your eyes dropped to his lips out of instinct. Plump and perfectly pink, you couldn’t look away. 

You were dizzy. 

Your breath caught in your throat under mounds of painful fear turned desire. Your eyebrows furrowed when you finally looked back into him. His eyes were so delicate and beautifully built. 

You breathed, letting yourself forget the consequence as you drank in the chocolatey sweetness of them. 

Your breasts were pushed up against him now, your noses nearly touching. You noticed how he had to lean down; be deliberate in his actions to hold you this close. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you said, it escaped quick and sharp, each word separated by breath. 

You leaned on him for balance. Your body was so close now—even closer than before, if it was possible. 

“Doing what?” He teased, you realized he wanted you to say it. 

But you couldn’t. Not out loud where God could hear you. 

For the sake of your sanity you tried to block Him out of your head, trying to replace your desire with reminders that Beomgyu was a good person. He was trying to hold you accountable. He wanted to test you because he wanted you to hold your ground. 

You could feel his heart beat through his chest, his scent was clear now, woody and smokey like a distress signal, it was intoxicating. His face warped and waved under your gaze, you were losing focus, you were losing control. 

The rustle of fabric chest-to-chest, the creak in the floor boards with each movement, the heaviness of the air; it was all so immense. Sweat rolled at your brow and you let out an unsteady breath, the room felt so tight like you were going to suffocate. 

You decided to ignore his question, ignore your statement, your eyes flickered to his lips again. 

You held his hand, the one on your cheek. 

He watched your movements, he expected you to remove it. He expected he’d gone too far. 

But you just held it there, over his, and your grip tightened, like the graze just wasn’t enough. 

His grin deepened. 

He pushed again, “Do you remember what I told you?” his thumb applied pressure on your lip, like he was trying to keep your mouth open. You whimpered and it felt like music to his ears. 

You didn’t attempt an answer, you dumbly nodded your head and kept your eyes on his. 

He was going to do it now, he was going to berate you. 

You could feel it, you were ready for it. I admire your devotion, he said. You wondered if he still did. With his hands so freely touching you, with your permission, without your self defense.  

“You asked me what I think about,” his voice lowered.

You felt a thick pool of heat in the pit of your stomach, in between your legs again. At his thick voice, at the light touches, at the way his gaze burned and scorched your skin. And the way that the flame, the hurt, the fire, it felt good. 

Only this time, you didn’t have your bed to push yourself against. 

You were forced to endure. The dull ache of desire soon consumed your every thought; The way his bangs hung on his eyelashes delicately, the bridge of his nose, the flicker of tongue in between his lips each time he spoke. 

His bangs tickled your forehead, “Do you want me to show you?”

You wanted to bury yourself in him, you wanted him to bury himself into you, though you didn’t yet know how it would be possible. It felt like your one true journey was to figure it out. You wanted to be consumed until it felt like nothing had ever or would ever exist beyond the point. 

You would give him your life. 

He pressed you hard against the shelf, it dug deep into your spine but the pain only enhanced your desire. 

It wasn’t what you thought he would ask. 

Your surprise was quickly outperformed by your rapid heart beat, your skin tingled where he was touching you and you wanted to wear that feeling all over. 

Your head shook slightly out of habit, your heart was chasing him and your mind protested. 

Look at you, you felt the preacher’s eyes in Beomgyu’s, Look at what you’ve become. 

But you refused to cry at it. 

His hand moved off of you for just a second and he watched your body follow it. He quickly replaced it on your jaw, both of his hands now, half of them resting on your neck and his grip was firm. It was smothering, you wanted him to squeeze harder, hurt you more. You deserved it. 

You blinked away the wet and the preacher’s blurred figure was replaced by the clear softness of Beomgyu’s brown eyes. You focused on them, on the lines of shades of brown that you never knew existed. His pupils widened and little glittering hints of gold flashed at you like a camera. 

Your stomach twisted and the ache between your thighs became unbearable. The pain, the pleasure, the fear, the desire—It was all consuming. Your world narrowed to him and only him. Any thought outside of him felt wrong, felt sinful. In this moment God felt secondary, Beomgyu was in charge, he was your guide. He was commanding and you were at his mercy.  

You didn’t think of the implication, you only nodded. You wanted more, you wanted so much more. His gaze was so intense it made your skin feel hot.

He shook his head before tilting it, “No,” his grip tightened, “I want you to tell me.”

Your brows furrowed, he said, “Use your words.”

You gulped.

You needed him so badly that this deprivation felt like a thousand tiny paper cuts. Every second was a waste, every second was a moment you could be using to get closer, to be consumed by him. 

So you tried to compose yourself the best you could, but your voice was still hoarse when you said, “Show me.” It shook with want, “I want you to show me.”

Your heart thumped erratically in your chest, his gaze shifted to your lips again and he listened for your quick breaths. 

Your noses grazed, the tip of yours tingled at the sensation. 

His breath was minty and clean, it was calming and cooling on your flesh. 

His hands shifted to hold your head in place for him and his pretty eyes looked so hungry. Your brows twisted, your eyes stung as tears threatened to fall. 

You fluttered them shut when he finally pressed his lips to yours. 

You froze, trembling, unsure of what to do. 

You were expecting him to pull back, to laugh at you and your inexperience. But his steady hands pulled your face closer, you followed his instruction, you mirrored his movements.

Every tug of your lips you did the same to him. And the feeling sent a shiver down your spine, his lips had appeared so soft. They were rough and wettened with spit as they danced with yours. You tried to follow his movements but you were sure it was evident that you still didn’t understand the rules. If he noticed—which you’re sure he did—he hadn’t made you aware of it. 

Instead he sucked on your mouth like he wanted to eat you. 

The pain of it felt sweet enough to coat your arms in goosebumps. Every hair on your body stood in devotion. His hand on your cheek burned your soft flesh as it pulled your face closer. 

The taste of mint and smoke encompassed your entire being, you swallowed every last drop of wetness and hoped you’d remember the taste of him forever. 

He pushed himself into your hammering chest, listening for cues, for persuasion, he heard the moan escape you and it gave him permission. 

Softly, his tongue swiped the plump softness of your lips. 

The feeling made you gasp, and he took the opportunity. His tongue slipped into your mouth and he tugged on your chin in a demand for you to open up and let him devour you. 

And he explored you, your mouth, your teeth, your lips. His hands—your shoulders and hair and the smooth skin over your clavicle. He swallowed every sound you made and let it burn in his stomach as did you. 

He was so close the only thing you could smell was him. He guided your head with his hands yet it didn’t feel like enough. 

Before you could think your hands extended to his biceps, you used him to hold yourself up, keeping yourself steady as your knees buckled from the feeling. 

You were unsure if you were doing it right, your movements were hesitant but you felt him nod so you fought every urge to pull back in embarrassment. 

You let him be your guide. 

Your tongue poked and played with his like he had yours, you explored his mouth, swiped it against his perfect teeth like he showed you. You only parted for quick breaths but the milliseconds of separation felt like torture. 

Your hands moved up to hover over his shoulders before you let them hold him. His muscles were hard and grounding under your trembling hands, the feeling of him only added to your want. 

Hands, palms, fingers traced each line. Your fingers stung when they contacted the bare skin of his chest. Had he always undone this many buttons on his shirt? 

The feeling was too good to be true, it caused an echo of pitiful thoughts in your pretty little head and you left his skin so rapidly that you thought you heard him whimper. You found a new place at the nape of his neck and you fingered his hair.

Your hands twitched as you held the soft strands. You weren’t sure what you were doing. His hair was long overgrown and at first you just ran it through, softly brushing and scratching at him. 

When he sucked on your bottom lip, hard, you accidentally tugged. 

You were about to pull back, to drop your head in shame as you muttered countless apologies, but he only groaned. 

You slowed your movements, you were curious now. You gave his long hair another short tug, and you felt his mouth falter. His movements were less sure, he was losing composure. 

Again. 

He let out a protested whimper and it was like heaven. 

A hand moved to your shoulder and his nails dug into where your sweater had freed your open skin. His mouth slowed, his tongue was less responsive and your brows furrowed in confusion. 

His pullback felt like pressure to an open wound. 

His lips left yours in a sharp smack, your chest rose and fell in a wilted fury. Your eyes blinked full of shame, your hands dropped his hair, they dropped to your sides entirely. 

You had done something wrong, you had embarrassed yourself, you were sure of it. 

He let his face linger over yours, lips an aching inch apart, and he listened to you catch your breath before his gaze cut through you like a knife. Beomgyu held his composure as he took a step back. He stood tall, shoulders straight, his head tilted down with a sharpening intensity. 

He observed you in your state: Glistening lips, red cheeks and open mouthed gasps as though you were struggling trying to breathe without him. His gaze fell cold as his eyes scanned you. 

“You forget yourself.” His tone was firm and burning. He thumbed at the cross on the necklace he’d pulled from under your sweater. 

Your heart dropped, your tearful gaze remained, you whispered a cracked, “What?”

He shook his head in disappointment, there his father was again, he was looking right into your soul. It was withered and broken, he could tell. “How could you let me do that?” He tugged at the chain and let the metal dig into your flesh, you let him. 

He was right, you deserved it. His beautiful face was painted with a nasty venomous look, and you felt so small under him. “What would my father say?”

You pushed yourself hard into the shelves and they rattled, the feather duster dropped to your feet and you spared it a glance. Your hands fisted the necklace he was pulling as though you wanted to hide any evidence of your devotion from him. 

Beomgyu was punishing you, this wasn’t about him it was about you. He shouldn’t have felt anything, but his chest was heavy and his heart tattered against his ribcage. He didn’t let it show. He was angry now, that you’d made him falter. 

He was forcing you under his wrath and you opened your arms to the rage. 

---

You felt strange finding his eyes across the room after everything that had happened. 

You had been haunted by the memory for the last few days. Your sunken heart felt like it had disappeared and there was a crater in your chest the shape of him. You couldn’t sleep, you could not eat and you had spent every activity mindless. Your fingers moved along the pages of the Bible but your mind could not comprehend what it was telling you; the language felt foreign. 

You had stopped crying late into the night of the incident, you had gone outside to be alone with your emotions. You knew Yunjin would be pestering you the second she heard you sniffle. She was asleep by the time you had come back inside empty and drained by all of that feeling at once then nothing at all. 

Sometimes since, your eyes would tear up, your nose would feel heavy and your lip would wobble, but nothing would come out. You wondered if you had any tears left to cry, or if you would ever be able to cry again. 

Beomgyu had noticed it immediately as you walked into the rec-room the next afternoon with puffy eyes and splotchy red spots on your cheeks; you had missed breakfast. For just a moment a flicker of doubt, of pity, struck his chest and he almost felt…bad for you. 

But it needed to be done, he reminded himself of it. 

He watched to make sure that nobody else could see it, the eyebags under your eyes were too purple, the swelling in your nose and lips too flushed. He wanted to be sure that nobody would question you, and by extension, him. 

Your eyes caught his but they immediately began to swell with tears. His eyes contrasted, hard and heavy, they scanned your face like he was disappointed that you had. 

Your head dipped and you knew what he was getting at—He didn’t like you anymore, your devotion wasn’t strong enough for him. He surely hadn’t paid attention to you since the kiss. You weren’t sure he ever would again, so you sniffled and let your shoulders fall, hair blocking you out like a curtain as you leaned over your journal.

Your fingers twitched and trembled and you couldn’t think of anything to write down other than: How long until he tells the preacher. And you didn’t dare put that thought to ink. You kept it safe in your head where the only witness was you. 

You and God. 

You shook your head. 

The calming radio station droned on as Beomgyu doodled on his sheet of paper. He watched the pen stain the pulp and he watched as the ink leaked and emptied from it—colored the entire page black. He wiped some of it with his fingers out of boredom, taking the wetness onto the table and drawing a smiley face. 

He was supposed to be journaling. Privately. About God or faith or something related, it was all these people ever talked about. Given the fact that his work wasn’t meant to be shared, at least not explicitly, it was the sole opportunity where his reputation did not hinge on him trying. So he didn’t, he mostly just sat there and waited.

He looked down at his black stained hands and rubbed the remaining wetness on the journal like a napkin. Soon the entire thing was drenched and ruined, and he couldn’t draw anymore so he just closed it and rested his elbow on the cover. 

When the single bell chimed to signal the end of the exercise, Beomgyu passed his wrecked journal forward and stayed planted in his seat. He watched you do the same. 

He wondered what you had written in yours, he knew it wouldn’t be anything incriminating, you were smarter than that. The mentors still expected you to hand in your journal after all, but the ink stains on his could be perceived as accidental, and they really weren’t supposed to be reading them. 

Chaewon was beside him again, “What did you do to her?” her voice reeked of distaste. 

Beomgyu didn’t even spare her a glance—almost rolled his eyes. 

He rested his chin in his palm, tapped his fingers along the broken wood and let the splinters eat at his skin. “What are you talking about?” his tone was disinterested, firm. 

Chaewon frowned, her mouth turned down as she spoke, “She looks insane.” 

She turned fully to him on the bench. His jaw tightened, he stared at her from the corner of his eye. He tried to keep his composure, his calm, but he could feel the irritation brimming under his skin; right about to boil over. 

“You’re crazy,” He said through hooded eyes, his mouth exhaling in a falsehood of laughter, “Batshit.” His voice was jeering like he wanted to break her spirit. 

Chaewon’s face dropped, it turned to you for a split second and Beomgyu would have forced it away if she hadn’t looked back at him so quickly. His fingers twitched at the anticipation. 

It was like fire meeting ice as the two of them held sharp contact, neither willing to back down. 

But when Chaewon looked over again, her eyes caught yours. And yours held a scolding rage,  the same flame he nurtured, quiet but stiff, almost dismissible. Beomgyu watched her expression shift, from concern to shock, then a quiet disgust. 

“She was looking, wasn’t she?” He purred. 

“So what?”

He smiled and pinched Chaewon’s cheek; she was so annoyed—so angry at him. But he just played with her hair because he knew you were watching. 

“So,” His voice dipped into something downright demonic, “Mind yourself.” 

“She’s a big girl,” he squeezed her face almost painfully, his tone was the same as one you’d use while speaking to a child. “She can handle herself.”

You watched as his hand dropped to hold her jaw gently, he squeezed her in warning but there was a grin on his face.  

Chaewon was silent, eyes slightly horrified. 

She had always understood him, neither her nor Yeonjun cared much for the community or religion either. That was why they got along. But this Beomgyu, the true son of the preacher, something inside of him had shifted and it scared her. 

You watched the interaction from across the room. It was a shock to see him act so rash in public, albeit the majority of the group had already left the confines of the room.

You didn’t know what to make of it. 

But something about the way he held her, about the familiarity, it hurt your feelings. 

He was treating her like he did you, holding her accountable, you presumed. 

His posture was stiff like the preacher’s when your conversations became serious and faults were detected and straightened out. Like the time you mentioned Yunjin and he was so upset with you that your lessons were cancelled for two weeks. 

Or when you brought up the idea of befriending his son. His reaction was a strange experience, it was the first time you saw the man afraid. Then he had this whole speech—an aim to warn without giving too much away—you remembered him tell you that boys and girls should not mix their friendships. 

But then what could be said of your friendship with him?

You waited for Chaewon to depart. She did so shortly, with a jerk of her face she released herself and she turned and walked away in full power. He hadn’t broken her down, only slightly intimidated her, she was stronger than you were. 

Beomgyu knew you were waiting for him to leave; he could feel your focus, unyielding, but he didn’t look at you. 

He waited until Chaewon was far out of sight, out of the room entirely. And then he stood, but he didn’t head toward the mess hall like everybody else had, he found the door that held a neon exit sign over it and stepped outside. 

You counted one minute in your head while you mulled it over. 

You needed to apologize, but was this the time? Would he be upset at whatever Chaewon had done to him, would he be too upset with you? Your head shook and you stood up hard, watched the room empty and you made sure nobody saw you follow him. 

The exit led directly to the edge of the forest, the trees became denser and closer together as you walked. The air smelled fresh, breathing was easier outside than enclosed within the mug of the retreat buildings and the weight of the pressure. 

Beomgyu became more difficult to spot as you followed, black hair hidden in the branches of evergreens, footsteps drowned by the twitter of birds, the rustles of squirrels. He slowed and rested against a tree with a wide base, roots thick enough to form a seat. He waited.

He took the box out of the deep pocket of his jeans and let the stick rest on his lip. 

He could hear your breath grow heavier as you treaded further in, your jumps and squeaks at each snap of a twig. 

You played with the hem of your shirt as you untucked it from your skirt, then tucked it back in again. You fiddled with your hair, it was down today and you weren’t used to it. You pulled at the strands and let them fall in front of your face before ultimately tucking them behind your ears. You grabbed at your skirt, folded and unfolded its pleats. You crumpled up the fabric and squeezed your hands into fists hoping that the pressure would ease your shaking body. 

You stopped fiddling. 

You smelled him before you saw him. He had always smelt like forest, like nature, he was of this world; wild, free. There was always a faint hint of something smokey, something harsh and addictive and painful. 

You walked into his eyeline, he was sitting on the dirt floor against that wide tree and he looked up at your face through his thick lashes. 

Your eyes fell on his lips and a frown settled before you could forbid it, “What are you doing?” You asked before you could think on it. 

He cracked a grin, you stepped back, you’d expected him to hate you. 

“Did you follow me?” He accused but his face was ever so calm as he lit the cigarette. The clicks of the lighter wrung in your ears as you looked around, behind you first to make sure there was nobody else, then down again.

The light from the fire colored his skin in a delicate orange, like a sunset. You watched his plush lips graze the paper of it, the way it laid gently in between them like fresh pillows. 

You gulped. 

You forced your eyes away from his lips. 

He inhaled deeply and kept eye contact. His face sharpened, his grin gave you chills. 

You tapped your fingers on your thigh, “Yes,” your voice a whisper. You didn’t look at him as you nodded and folded your hands together at the front of your skirt. 

Between two fingers he held the cigarette in front of his teeth, “Why?” 

His voice was teasing, his mouth a smile. He looked so different from when he was with Chaewon, less upset. It didn’t make sense. He was supposed to hate you. 

“Are you here to apologize?” His tone sharpened.

You shivered. 

“Yes,” but even you could barely hear it. 

The brush rustled under his foot, his knee was bouncing impatiently and his hand extended as if it were telling you to go on. He was too casual about it all, and the cigarette, all of it confused you. You didn’t expect this of him, you didn’t recognize him. 

You realized now that you didn’t know him at all. 

“I’m waiting,” he cupped a hand around his ear, his dimpled cheek taunting you. Could he find all of this, all of you, amusing? 

“Well,” You started, your lip already began to quiver, “I don’t think we should be friends—”

“—friends?” He took a long drag after he said it, you stayed quiet and still as you could. “Is that what this is? You think I’m your friend?” His tone was one of malice, like he was insulted. Hurt, even. 

“Boys and girls shouldn’t be friends—then in his father’s words—they don’t mix,” you flinched at the scoff. He had rolled his eyes at you. 

“Did my father tell you that?” He was meaner now, less amused. 

And there you were defending yourself again, “Well—” 

“You don’t have to do everything he says,” Beomgyu interrupted, he ashed the cigarette onto a pile of dead leaves, ”He’s not God.”

Your chin wobbled, your big eyes looked down at him through thick glistening lashes. 

“He’s as good as,” you shook your head, “Don’t say things like that.”

You tried to hold it back, you tugged at the skin on your wrist, let the metal of your bracelet dig painfully into the flesh. Your throat burned and you had nothing to say to him. He was telling the truth but it was too hard to swallow. 

He blinked up at you and took another drag. 

“You can’t.”

You wanted to—you should’ve been angry with him. You wanted to smack and hit him all over until he took it back. 

“I can,” He affirmed. 

All of a sudden you were thirteen again and facing Yunjin after she whispered that she had something important to tell you. 

Your heart, already so fragile, it shattered easily. 

You dropped to your knees and the branches and dried out plants stabbed and cut the skin of them. The sob that escaped you was pained and heavy, you held your head in your hands as you sunk into the soil. 

“Don’t,” you weeped, “Don’t do this to me.”

Beomgyu was no longer leaning against the tree. The cigarette slipped from his hands and burnt his fingers on the way down. 

“No-not ah-again,” you were having trouble getting the words out between your heavy gasps. 

He crawled towards you, his hand rested on your shaking shoulder. His touch was so light it didn’t feel real. You flinched at it, but then you dropped your hands, revealing your face. Your cheeks were wet, your expression twisted in agony. 

Your voice was hoarse, “Take it back.”

He just looked so dazed. His brows twisted in confusion. 

“Please,” Your fingers dug into the earth. Your hands were dirty, but you kept squeezing it. 

“I can’t,” He was concerned, “You know it's true.”

“Please,” you begged, your hands to your chest, palms pressed together, “Just stop it.”

He held your face, “I’m not doing anything,” he whispered. 

“But you are,” You couldn’t stop shaking. 

“You are,” another sob. 

You lifted your dirty hands up to his clean face.

You squeezed.

“Who are you?”

He leaned back out of your grasp and lost his balance. His eyes clouded over and he was grateful that his hair covered any inch of doubt from his face. 

His chest rose and fell hard and fast. 

“What?”  

---

He found you in the chapel after dinner. 

You sat with your back facing him in the first row of pews. 

The stained glass windows meshed with the sleek full-moon light and cast colorful rays onto the walls. The building lacked grandeur, like the rest of the grounds it was bland and dreary. But the light, the colors, they made the building feel extravagant in its simple projections. Jesus stared at him, perched on his cross, nails through his fists and ankles. 

Beomgyu wrung his hands as though he could feel the pain of Christ himself running through his palms. 

His footsteps were loud enough to shake you in his approach. It wasn’t until he was next to you, close enough to hear, that he was stunned by your silence. You weren’t praying, you didn’t have a bible in your lap, you couldn’t look at Jesus. 

You could barely look at him. 

Beomgyu moved to sit next to you and you didn’t move when his thigh touched yours. The memory of it ever happening at all brought a little smile to your face. One of disbelief; what had felt so heavy at the time—it was nothing compared to how you felt now. 

“A little evening prayer before bed?” You turned to him, your face was blank. The smile that remained on your lips was scary. You were almost forcing it up. 

Beomgyu blinked at you and his eyes watched your mouth. He was waiting for your smile to falter, for your façade to crack. 

He shook his head. 

“I don’t pray,” he admitted. 

Your eyes faced forward again. He tried to follow your line of sight, he wanted to see what you were looking at. But he concluded that you weren’t looking at anything in particular. 

“You don’t?” Your voice quirked in question. Your foot tapped the tiled floor. The sound echoed, the room’s acoustics were haunting. 

“I don’t.” He shook his head again, played with his hands in his lap. He could still feel the burn of Jesus’ pain, he kept his eyes down and tried to forget. 

“Why not?” You looked at him, bumped his shoulder with yours to call on his attention. 

He exhaled, his chest sank, his shoulders sank. You caught the faint scent of smoke and stroked your knees at the reminder of what had happened. 

You had gone to your room and changed. Your knees were clean but they still felt dirty. 

“I don’t like one-sided conversations,” He said. 

You eyed his face, you wanted a reaction. An indicator of truth or another of his lies. You were ready for it, whatever he would give you. 

“He never speaks to you?” You clicked your tongue, disappointed but not in Beomgyu.

“Never has.”

Your hand drifted to the space between you, you clung to the wood of the pew as though it would ground you through this next confession, “Can I tell you something?”

His actions mirrored yours, he clutched at the spot right next to yours. Your hands grazed like your thighs had. 

Beomgyu nodded, “Anything.” 

“He never speaks to me either.” Your mouth twitched, your smile cracked for only a second. 

Your pinky brushed his knuckles. Your hand flipped over, palm open and free. 

“No?” Your pinkies intertwined. 

You chuckled coldly, “Never has.” 

He experimentally laid his palm in yours, he looked at you. You didn’t flinch, you weren’t sad or angry. You were almost content. 

His hand felt warm as you enclosed it in your grip. It made your body tingle and you crossed your legs. 

“He has a funny habit of letting faith linger,” He squeezed. 

Your gaze flickered to his face for half a second, then back down. 

It held on your hands, “How long until you do?” 

---

The next morning was scheduled for a hike, Beomgyu had decided to opt out. Maybe it was last minute, maybe not. He hadn’t mentioned it. 

You walked at the tail end of the group with Yunjin beside you. The entire walk was beautiful. The trail was misty with morning fog, and it accentuated the emerald of the forest. It almost felt surreal, and the mountains in the distance were high enough that their peaks were snow covered even in the early July heat. 

When you were younger, you would look off into the distant wilderness from your little town and wonder how hard it would be to trek those mountains. You had always thought about running away, letting the wind take you wherever you needed to be. But you wanted to be told where to go. The simple act of leaving had always been too overwhelming. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. 

“What’s up with you lately?” Yunjin whispered as her arm wrapped around yours. She pulled you close. 

You shook your head, you pretended, “What are you talking about?” 

Her eyes scanned your face, her shoulders slumped slightly in hurt at your response. She bit the inside of her cheek as she figured out how she wanted to play this. 

“You’ve been… distant.” She started, and you looked down at the dirt path. Your shoes dragged along and kicked any rocks and debris that interrupted them. 

“Okay.”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible—because you’re my best friend—but I’m worried, I’m so worried about you. 

And, it’s scaring me.” She admitted. “How different you seem, I didn’t know—and this part she said in a laugh, not a mockery, but an attempt to lighten the load—you could get any more afraid.”

You let out a heavy breath, the cold spat it back out in front of your face. 

“So, what is it?” She asked, she pleaded, “What are you so afraid of?” 

You shook your head. You couldn’t tell her. About any of it. You already knew what she would think. 

“Leave it, Yunjin,” you said. Yunjin frowned, her eyes crinkled in the corners, her lips were so disappointed in you. 

“You can’t be serious.” She pulled you aside, paused your hike all for this. Her hands gripped your arms as if they would begin to shake your body in an instant. 

You looked off into the distance behind her. At those mountains, the snow would be nice to sink into. The morning chill was beginning to pass as the sun reached its axis in the sky. 

“I’m being serious,” You said, “I have nothing to say.”

She watched your face for a few seconds. 

She didn’t look angry at your refusal, but her disappointment, her pointed pitiful eyes, the way she looked down at you as she stood taller. 

She gave you silence, the opportunity to defend against something embarrassing as pity. 

But you lacked response, you just watched the landscape, listened to the twitter of birds, the splashing of a steady stream. 

She dropped your arms. Her eyes looked into yours once more, but she could tell that you weren’t paying attention anymore. 

She left you and rejoined the rest. 

---

Your service continued. You were scheduled to work in the garden all of today, Yunjin too. She hadn’t spoken a word since the morning. She stood next to you still, your arm clutched in hers like you would drift away if she weren’t holding you down. 

The garden—if you could still call it that—was overrun with weeds and wildflowers. It was massive in size, half of it cushioned inside of a greenhouse with windows frosty from age. They were a pale yellow and covered with splotches of mildew and mold and rot. The plants inside of it had been warped into something that resembled a swamp green, the sight could not compare to the backdrop of live evergreens. 

He was at the gate when you caught sight of him. His usual white button up was rolled at the sleeves and he left a few buttons messily undone. His skin was already glittering from the afternoon heat of the sun. 

Your heartbeat picked up in your chest. Yunjin squeezed your arm when she felt your body twitch, then spoke when you exhaled. 

“Is it him?” She followed your line of sight. 

He felt your eyes on him, he was already working. He picked a shovel-full of dirt from the ground and threw it over his shoulder. He was instructed to work on the bigger patches of land, being a man and all. The girls would work with the smaller crops, berries and seeds and lots of weeding. 

“What are you talking about?” Your face twisted. Your stomach churned. You took your eyes off of him to look at her, but she continued to watch. 

“Him? Beomgyu? Is there something going on?” She bit her lip and squeezed you almost painfully. 

“Nothing’s going on,” You sighed, speaking to her felt so heavy under the hot sun, you were running out of air, “I already told you.” 

“Did he say something to you?” her tone was malicious. New. 

“No,” you sharpened your tone. “He’s a good boy, Yunjin. 

Stop it.” 

You tugged your arm out of hers, left her behind a second time. 

She stood still, her eyes watched as you disappeared into the tool shed, as you put on gloves and grabbed a bucket. As you started pulling and ripping weeds out of the soil. 

The gloves were too big for you, so you started with your bare hands. Dirty fingernails clawed at the green and your head was pounding from the heat. 

You pulled weeds and wildflowers until you had two buckets full. Your shirt was drenched in sweat, your hair was sticking to your forehead. You had been unbroken for two entire hours. Your fingers burned at the joints from all of the work and your skin was stinging. 

Yunjin had done her work separately. You could feel her look over at you every couple of minutes. You hated the way she watched you and how sad she looked—how sad it made you feel. A hollowness like somebody had mistaken your organs and soul for weeds and wildflowers and plucked each and every one from the soil of your flesh.

Your breath was heavy, even heavier than before. In your spout of anger you hadn’t realized your exhaustion; the heaviness of your eyelids, nor the way the sweat on your brow began to feel cool. How pricks of sweat developed at your feet and were felt all the way up to your scalp. 

You collapsed from your kneeling position onto your butt. 

Beomgyu didn’t come to get you. Not even Yunjin. It was Jihyo, the mentor, who had approached you first. Her eyes held a turbulence to them and her hands shook as she reached for you. It was improper, but she was your only choice. 

“Sweetie,” She started and the ringing in your ears, the buzzing under your skin, almost blocked her out, “Honey, are you okay?” Her hand fell on your cheek, she flinched like you had scorched the back of it. 

You just stared up at her, discolored and hot, “Have you had any water?” She asked. 

She ushered another mentor over, a man, you hadn’t learned his name. He looked at you like Yunjin had. Had you really been so obvious?

He cracked open a fresh bottle of water and it was warm as it poured down your throat. But you finished it almost in seconds, your body betraying you again as it refused to end its consumption no matter how much your mind fought it. The ringing ceased and the man held you up, slung one of your arms over his shoulder—Why is he touching me?—lifted your frail figure towards a big tree. 

The tree was far into the distance at the edge of the forest, past the dry patches of field where the grass reached the upper thigh. He set you down on the ground. He offered you shade. He offered you comfort. 

You worked hard to reject it, what little he wanted to give you. Because he was too proud, too impressed with the ease he had lifting you up in all his strength. Pride had always been your most disfavored of the seven. 

You leaned against the trunk, you were dirty again. Like that day in the forest. Your arm felt cold and heavy where he had touched you. 

“Keep drinking,” He said, offered you a bit of a grin. “I’ll send someone to check on you in a bit, you shouldn’t be alone now.” He offered you a new bottle of water, he laid it in your lap.

Your voice was hoarse, it scratched and you winced, “Don’t.” You didn’t want it. 

He brushed your hair behind an ear, “I would stay with you, but they need me to help with the greenhouse,” he laughed like you were asking him to say, “I’m the only one that knows what to do.” 

You frowned at his misinterpretation, disgusted. 

He walked away. 

You blinked your eyes closed and opened them to an entirely new sight through the tips of the yellowing grassy blades. People positioned differently, doing alternate work and you realized you had fallen asleep. You blinked awake now. Your eyes still felt heavy, but your head wasn’t screaming, just shouting, and you weren’t sticky like before. 

You jumped when you heard a breath from beside—no, under your head. You now noticed the bend in your posture, the fleshy pillow where your cheek rested. You mustered all the strength you had left to scoot away. Your limbs ached but you persisted. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He offered you a dimple, a shrug. 

“You needed somebody to watch you,” His foot tapped on the dead grass, “They volunteered me.”

You looked back at the group and your stupid heart started its thumping again.  You looked back and forth at him and the group in quick succession, “Why?”

Why you?

“I’m reliable,” he said, “Good,” he corrected. He realized that wasn’t what you were asking about. 

“Nobody noticed,” He said, “They didn’t care,” He said. 

They were hard at work; weeding, plucking, purifying.

“Okay,” You nodded and you leaned back against the tree, your shoulders relaxed but it only enhanced the presence of the ache. Your hands were still dirty, they were crumpled in your thighs, dirtying yourself more. You whimpered. 

“Give me your hands,” Beomgyu said, he moved to kneel, pulled water from you didn’t know where. You gave him your hands and he poured it over them. One at a time, he gently rubbed the dirt and ache off of them. They were red from exertion, slightly swollen. He almost winced. 

He continued to rub in between them, under your fingernails and in each crevice. He traced the lines of your palms, the length of your fingers, even up to your wrists. He applied sweet pressure to the joints until the aches dulled and you could ball your hands up into fists without a vocal complaint. He rinsed them one final time, emptying the plastic and the warmth spread from your fingertips up your arms and throughout your body. 

He squeezed before letting you go. 

“I don’t have anything to dry them with,” He said. 

You shook your head, “That’s okay,” your eyes turned to the garden again, the tall grasses blocked half of the view from your slump. 

“Do me a favor,” He held up his own hands, they were muddy, “Rinse mine,” he said. 

You slowly nodded as though unconvinced, but he handed you another bottle—you saw now that he was sitting next to an entire case of them—and he unscrewed it for you. 

You held it over his hands, they were far less muddled than yours had been, you barely needed to scrub. In the few seconds where he was distracted by the relief you watched his face. His cheeks were rosy from the hard work of the day, little strands of his hair curled in where sweat had blessed them with kisses. His lips weren’t turned down or upwards but in a calm line, one of them lightly tucked under his front teeth, you had never seen him so peaceful. 

“What?” He looked up at you through those damp bangs. His hair really had gotten so long. You wondered what his father would say. 

You looked down at his hands in yours, “Nothing.”

“Your friend didn’t check on you,” he said. 

“No,” you nodded, “She didn’t.”

“Why not?”

But you didn’t want to tell him. You didn’t want him to know that the reason she was angry with you now was entirely because of him. You didn’t respond. 

“She cost you so much,” he said, because he knew the true cost of her friendship was much like the cost of his. Faith. “Is that it? That’s all it’s going to take?” 

You paused your work, glared right into his eyes, “What are you talking about?”

“I thought you a better friend,” he clicked his tongue, took his hands out of yours. They had been clean for minutes but you had forgotten to let go. 

And he irritated you. Your true disposition had become immune to the foolish attempt at any civility; your body was far too exhausted, too pained to try. You wanted your response sharpened on a block and in sparkling silver.  

“I thought you a kinder man.”

Beomgyu’s brows rose slightly, it was hard to spot, “Maybe not.” He chuckled, no hint of anger, “But… an honest one,” he shrugged, let a lazy smile capture his teeth. 

You scoffed, rolled your eyes, “Is that what you want to call it?”

His head tilted like a puppy-dog, “You disagree?” 

The boy who plays, the boy who acts. Sitting here on his knees and asking if his performance deserves applause. You looked into those big brown eyes of his and couldn’t help but be honest; the debt that was owed. 

“I think you ought to be less afraid of yourself,” You said. 

The boy who leaned forward, who tapped his nose to yours in a challenge. The boy whose vulnerability offered him nothing but discomfort. 

He felt your breath on his face when you spoke, “You can’t deflect, you’ve been caught.”

It was your turn to smile and he met it with a kiss. 

Your eyes widened only slightly, like an electric shock you felt tingles all over your body. They were different from those that the sun gave you, less painful and more intoxicating. 

It began soft, open-mouthed and eager; neither knowing how far to take it, nor whether the obscenity of the last was appropriate for such a tender touch. 

Your hands reached for his cheeks which were warm and tacky. His hands went to your shoulders, moving up to hold your neck in a gentle embrace. 

Your mouths exchanged breaths hot and heavy until Beomgyu made the decision and all of a sudden his tongue was grazing your lips and tasting the salt of them. You opened the gate and he entered graciously, exploring, wrapping it around yours and sucking lightly before letting you do the same. It became an exchange of spit and soul. 

The wetness dribbled down your chin. Your hand—you were afraid—your hand slowly moved up to hold the back of his head. Your hesitance, your light grip on the thick, soft, wet strands caught his attention. His body fought hard against him, his tongue sucked a little harder, fingertips lingered and squeezed, but he was finally able to detach. A little smack, an array of heavy inhales and exhales and over again, he wasted no second. 

You watched his face, his brows; your eyes jumped and traced the moles that formed constellations on his skin. But he was impatient, eager. He took your hands that held his head and forced them into fists on his scalp. He tugged and his gaze was heavy and smooth and the heat in your stomach urged you to do as he said.  

“Okay,” it was a whisper lost on his lips as he reconnected with you. 

You thought not of God in this moment but of the way his strands entangled and dampened you. You thought of the gentleness in which his tongue grazed yours; the honesty, albeit brutal, that he gifted you with. You didn’t yet understand what to believe. You only felt that—in this moment—belief or disbelief was unimportant. There was something tangible, something to care for, to protect, within your palms right then. 

So you pulled him closer into you, as close and strong as you could. You gave his hair an experimental, gentle, tug. You felt him squeeze your skin, he froze, he shut his eyes strongly. You almost let go of him, dropped his body completely. 

He found your waist, your shirt. He tucked his hand under it, laid his palm flat against your burning stomach. Then, he nodded, his lips resumed slowly. He eased you back into the passion. 

His fingers kneaded your skin until your head grazed the ground and the trunk of the tree and your bodies were hidden by the tall dry grass. He was practically on top of you, saving you from his crushing weight by the hand that held him up on your left. His golden cross hung over your clavicle as his kisses departed from your mouth and met your neck.

He sucked on the delicate skin, consuming you like Christ at communion, or worse. A delicacy, you felt like dinner, prey—only it wasn’t brutal and mortal, it was something sacred. Your legs parted, your skirt splayed on the soil like a thin blanket and you welcomed him into your center. 

His hand drifted upwards of your skin, “Can I?” it was hard to catch, there was barely a hint of voice through all the pant. 

You nodded without thinking. 

And it was obscene, really. The feeling of heat, of something pooling between your legs. An innate pressure began to build in your core, nothing had been enough to fill the void. In the past you had endured. The way he was sucking on your neck, holding your breast—pulling and squeezing so painfully sweet—endurance had become impossible. 

Your legs shook with it, your body trembled. Your hands pulled his face back into yours because you had never done this before. You didn’t know how to resolve the ache and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know if you’d be able to stop the tears that began to prick from the explicit urgency and discomfort. 

You pulled him up and he caught sight of you. His brows furrowed and hand caressed your side in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” He was struggling to catch his breath, you wanted to swallow every last drop. 

You sniffled, “Beom-B–-It hurts, Gyu…” 

“Hm?” So soft, so sweet, “What hurts?” His thumb swiped away a fallen tear.

You didn’t know how to say it. You didn’t know if there was anything that could be done. You pressed your center against his and gasped at the relief. And there was something in his pants too. Something aching. You could feel it, in its twitches and writhes and the way he instinctively matched your pressure. 

And he smirked at your daze. 

For a moment he had forgotten about who you were, what you would or wouldn’t know. By the way you were writhing pushing yourself against him and letting his cock stroke your desire, nobody would have guessed that you didn’t know a damn thing. There was something in it that ignited his fire; the way that your brows scrunched up when it felt especially good; the way your jaw fell in gasps and the way your eyes kept his in a way that was all but pornographic. 

You were right—he was aching. 

“Yeah?” He asked, “You want me to take care of you?” 

Your head nodded vigorously, lip between your teeth you were biting hard. You were holding back little whimpers, moans, disguising them as pants and exhalations. You were holding back. It was getting so hard, you were holding back. 

Your eyes widened, looked over into the tall grass—into the distant civilization. A momentary dread clouded your body. You remembered where you were, who you were. For a moment the pleasure blended into a body chilling horror. 

Beomgyu’s thumb reached up to your chin, he tugged your lip out of the hungry grasp of your teeth. He kept the weight of it on your face. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, the pet name struck you, “they all went to dinner.”

“There’s nobody out here,” he said. 

Just us and the wilderness. 

Just us. 

The sky behind him was sunset orange, the sun had dissipated but its heat was ever present.  Too much time had passed, a day wasted or a day earned? 

“Okay,” you nodded and you squeezed his hips with your thighs, rolled your hips. 

“Okay?” He whispered back into your lips, his voice quivered only slightly. Your mouths were touching as you spoke, both afraid to spend even a moment apart. His nose tickled yours, and he shakily exhaled before laying a gentle peck on you. 

“Do you trust me?” He opened his eyes but they remained veiled in something sacred; something devoted and rotten all the same. 

You blinked, you could see it—the veil—but you recognized its beauty. The intricate pattern and the depth of field, you were looking inside of him, ready to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Yes,” You gasped when his hand, the one on your breast, slid down your skin and fingered the waistband of your skirt. An exhale, you tucked your head into his neck to hide from him. 

You nodded, another, “Yes.” 

He brought it back up, the lingering touch left a trail of goosebumps on your skin. With your face cupped in his, he offered you a comforting kiss. It was so light the noise barely hit your ears before it was gone. 

“I want you to look at me,” His eyes widened and he nodded in encouragement. 

You watched his face–chin, nose, eyebrows, you admired him. The feeling stabbed into your stomach and gave it little earthquake shakes and tornado-storms. 

“I’ve got you,” His eyes flickered away from you. A kiss to your forehead.

You nodded again, it was unsteady but there, “Promise?” 

He queried a little smile, almost like he was making fun, “Promise.” But it was sure. 

“I’ll stop.” He nodded, “If that’s what you want, now or later, just tell me,” he looked away. 

You shook your head vigorously, he almost giggled at your reaction and the automatic squeeze around him. No. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud. 

“Alright, then,” he smirked. 

One by one his fingers slipped into their earlier position on the bare skin of your belly. Lower abdomen, the line of your skirt—your panties. 

“Is this okay?” He already knew the answer. 

“Yes.” Your gaze flickered to his lips. He didn’t give you another kiss just yet. 

He slipped it under, still over the lace. His eyes scanned your face, watching for your reactions, however miniscule. You were disobedient, your lip between your teeth again and he rested his lips on yours to tug it free with his own. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” He said. I’ve got you. 

His hand slid down your front, fingers delicately traced the soft lacey cloth of your panties. He didn’t expect them to be lace and he twitched in his pants as he traced the pattern over and over. 

Your jaw dropped only lightly in a dreamy sigh. The sensation was new and holy. 

Your mouth tried to form a chain link of words to beg him for, but that failed you too. 

He pouted, probably an imitation of whatever was on your face. “What is it?” 

“Don’t know what to say—what to ask for,” your voice was a bit weepy and the throbbing want brought tears to your eyes. It was too late to preserve yourself, you might as well give in. Atonement was for after. 

“Show me,” he said, “Show me where it hurts.”

So you did. You grabbed him by the wrist and he let you maneuver his hand to cup you right where you wanted him. Right where the base of the heat began. 

“Here?” He pressed then lightly dragged the tips of his middle and ring fingers along your clothed core. Only once. 

You nodded through a gasp. A shockwave ran down your spine and it made your hips lurch. 

“Words,” he pushed a little more.

“Yes,” he swiped again while you spoke just to hear your voice break down, “The-there.”

He continued to rub little circles through the dampening fabric. His forehead on yours, his senses drinking up every sigh and twitch that escaped you. 

“Can you—can you…” your voice broke, “kiss… me?” He felt your lashes fan his cheeks as you blinked and he was tingling.  

“Please.” He corrected. 

You nodded your head again, “Please?” You begged. 

He complied, maliciously. He peppered kisses around your lips, at the corners but never too close. On your nose, your cheeks, then your jaw. He watched your chest rise and fall and then kissed it too. He suckled on the area between your neck and collarbone and it took everything in you to weaken the moan that he heard. 

You tugged on his hair where your hands were holding him in place. Your knuckles were white with the feeling and a groan muffled by sweet skin made your thighs squeeze. 

His hand, his fingers, continued their magic on you. You writhed. All of a sudden his hand snuck under the fabric and held you bare. Naked. 

You squeaked in surprise but you couldn’t back away. Not when he was all you could think about; words were slowly drifting from having any semblance of meaning to you. The only words that mattered now were Beomgyu and more. 

So, you shut your eyes tight and tucked your nose into his hair; pulled him impossibly close while he continued to suckle the skin of your jaw. He smelled like nicotine and evergreens and sweat.

You planted a kiss on his head, his lips faltered for a moment before digging back into his meal.

He felt the wetness and hummed into your breast where his head lay. He spread it around your folds, rubbing delicate little circles over your clit. His wrist held your leg in place, open despite the trouble you were having keeping still. 

His mouth had begun licking and sucking the fabric of your shirt over your breast. You wore a bra, so he tugged the fabric down with his teeth and licked your hard nipple through your blouse. 

You continued to tug, his head still in your hands, as though his mouth could consume you any further. You hoped and you prayed that he would, your eyes stared at the empty sky and then at your hands so full of life. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked again, big eyes through thick lashes as he looked up at you. He was angelic in the way the dimming evening backlit him golden. How could you deny him?

“Yes.” Permission was the only thing you ever wanted to give again. 

Take me. Take everything. 

A gasp as he slowly dipped his digits into you. The pressure, it burned like wood to a flame. It rippled through your fingertips and down from your head to your toes. It felt like some twisted abhorrent version of your earlier collapse. You felt weak, your entire body did. 

You winced, he kissed your mouth. 

The pain, the fire, slowly devoured you until the little waves of flame became pleasure and the cries of pain became cascading pleads. Please, don’t stop. Please let me be yours. 

I am yours. 

You gasped. He curled his fingers inside of you, let them escape then pushed them back into you again. It was soft and testing, not nearly enough. 

Your eyes welled, your cheeks wettened with little streams of tears. 

Beomgyu tasted the salt on your cheeks before he put his mouth on yours again. He sucked and swiped and licked it up; swallowed your sobs and he tucked his nose into your skin to bury himself inside of you. Just like you wanted. 

His fingers continued their delicate love on your body. Each swipe brought a newer, stronger, sensation out of you. Your sounds were muffled by his kiss. With time, the kisses deepened, teeth clashed, blood drew. You couldn’t tell who had drawn it first. He tasted metallic, and you had a piece of him in your stomach. 

“This okay?” He asked, his fingers were working hard to please you. He was running out of breath and his chest rose hard and heavy as he spoke. He was working hard. Hard for you. 

“So good,” the pitch of your voice was humiliating, “Feels so good.” Your eyes were shut hard when he looked at you, no doubt chasing away the shame. 

“Eyes on me,” He said. 

You kept them shut, barely able to process what he had said as it tore through you. Until, his fingers slowed to a stop, until he removed them completely. 

They fluttered open. His hair stuck to his forehead slick with sweat, and your hands had messed up its fine edges. Pieces of it pointed in all directions. His cheeks were tinted rose and his eyes were glossed and doll-like. 

He brought his delicate fingers, glistening from your wetness, right up to your chin. He tapped them onto your bottom lip, you complied. Index and middle felt heavy on your tongue, he dipped them slowly into your mouth until you swallowed his knuckles. 

His rosey cheek sported a dimple, his glossy eyes embossed with a mix of lust and pride. You were unsure what he wanted you to do at first, so you just let them rest in your mouth and you were ready to oblige for as long as he liked. 

But the stillness was unnerving, you felt the need to do something; anything. Your tongue swirled and tasted his fingerprints, trying to memorize the texture and the roughness in his hand. You tasted sweet, syrupy, you thought he might find you strange: Devouring him like an animal starved. 

He chuckled low and your stomach twisted. He pulled his fingers out swift with a pop. 

His lips, perfect and devilish, began to plant kisses down your body. Your breasts—your ribs—your stomach. Until he had crawled all the way in between your thighs, his head rested on the lower edge of your tummy. 

His hands—both of them—moved to lift up your skirt. It bunched around your waist, around his head. 

You leaned up on your elbows. To watch, to do as he told you to. 

His eyes never left yours, and you held his gaze. 

His mouth hovered over your clothed core now. He was so close you could feel his warm breath through the thin fabric.

You clenched around nothing, you tried to squeeze your legs but his hands held them open completely. You were vulnerable, raw. Not just in the physical sense. His fingertips squeezed your supple skin almost painfully. 

Your emotions had been exhausted past a point you knew even existed. You were sure they would be durable for what else he had in store—no matter how wicked or cruel. You wanted it. 

He placed his mouth right on the center, right over your hole; gently kissed it. 

Then he swiped his tongue over the fabric, let it linger right at the top. He swirled it over the little bundle of nerves, let his saliva mix with your juices on his tongue. He hummed at the taste, groaned into you. The vibration felt so delicate and your thighs tightened around his head. 

A shaking breath escaped, your head fell back in a sigh. 

He grinned into you, you could feel the lift of his cheeks; the open mouthed kisses he was leaving on your center. 

Until he paused for a painful third time. You cried out a plea, your hand moved to hold his head. 

“What are you doing?” you whispered. 

“Do you trust me?” he teased. His fingers played with the sides of your panties, tucking fingers under before tugging. 

You let a groan escape you. It was angry, frustrated, until it turned to despair. The cry was sharp on your palate, echoing against the backs of your teeth until the sound escaped and reached his ego. 

“Yes,” it was harsh, stiff and strong. Annoyed. “Yes, I trust you. Please,” you corrected your tone, “Beomgyu, I trust you.”

A kiss to your pelvis, gentle and infuriating. Pride was your enemy. 

He looked at you, spread out for him. The boy tugged gently on your panties, letting them drag excruciatingly slow. He hated how much he was enjoying it, hated the tight suffocation in his jeans. 

He sat on his knees to fully pull your underwear off. Your eyes tried hard to stay on his, but they fell. You looked at the space in between his legs and the visible outline at what you had felt in your middle. You hummed, you remembered the feeling, how sweet. 

He licked his lips, he felt his cock twitch at the sight. He was almost humiliated by how easily he yielded. 

Your fingers tingled and twitched with the urge to feel him. Your knowledge of sex was inextensive, you didn’t know what you were doing when you reached out to hold it. The only thing you knew was the fact that he pressed it throbbing into you, so it must offer the same relief. You wanted to give him something in return, you told yourself. 

But you were not that selfless. In truth you were ripped with curiosity, you wanted to touch it, feel the weight of it. You wanted to know if by any chance you’d be able to force his surrender like he had yours. Pride was your enemy indeed. 

Your eyes met his again, blood rushed to your sparkling fingertips and you had nothing more to lose so you held him. 

It was a shock, really. The way Beomgyu’s face warped into something pleasurable and embarrassing. Your hand was shaking, but still your grip was firm. You flattened your hand into a curious palm, then you squeezed. The sound that left his lips, the way his jaw slacked; you wanted to drink it like syrup. It was like water in the depth of drought. 

You moved your hand over it again, letting the soft denim and his zipper scratch your skin. 

“Wha-at are you doing?” He asked, his tone broken by the pit of pleasure. It wasn’t supposed to be about him, but God, you were so pretty with your hands on him. 

Your gaze flickered to the line of it in his pants, “Does it hurt?” You rubbed it like one would another that was broken by despair. To comfort. 

You remembered how much it hurt for you, how good the pressure felt. You knew by the way his head fell back that you were right; the two of you were one in the same. You tucked your lip in between your teeth, this time not to hurt, but to hold back. You would give him whatever he asked for, anything. But he had to ask for it first. 

“Don’t worry ab-ah-out me,” it was so hard to be clear, to be in charge, when you kept stroking it. Relentlessly. Like a child that had discovered their new favorite toy. Your expression mixed with glee. 

Beomgyu leaned forward on one of his hands, let it claw at the soil to control the feeling, and he aimed to distract with his lips on yours. He licked, he bit, he sucked. You were unforgiving. You had been well trained. You matched his movements tenfold, you were caught up in the newness, he should have known that this would happen. 

Even as he laid you back into the ground and climbed on top of you, you refused. Your fingers went to toy at the button, to unhook it and release his zipper. When you tucked your hand into his pants his moan was guttural. He let his head fall into the crook of your neck and bit down hard. Your free hand came up to cradle his neck, tugging on his hair. 

Something about it—the fact that you had become just like him, that you were forcing control, whether intentional or not—it made him falter. With his head in the ground, hidden by your raw, human flesh, he found himself twisting in discomfort. An unrecognizable feeling started in his stomach. But you were stroking him bare, the feeling was quickly replaced; set aside while he experienced you here and now. 

His hands went to your hips, they were rolling on his thighs as you chased that feeling for yourself. He untucked himself from your shoulder and looked you in the eye like a man—a new determination had overtaken him. 

He took your wrist and tugged it out of his pants, intertwined your fingers above your head to keep you from your trend of disobedience. His angry brows turned down and his face twisted into something entirely new. 

“Fine,” he started, “You want it that bad?” 

Your eyes were sparkling when you nodded. You didn’t even know what you were asking for, but you wanted it badly; relief, salvation, a way to dull the ache or make it explode all the same. And you knew it was something only he’d be able to give you. So whatever it was, you accepted it with your arms wide open and your heart on your sleeve. You were ready. So painfully ready. 

“Hm?” He turned his head and showed you his ear as though it were malfunctioning, “What was that?” He pressed his dick into your thigh, letting you feel the way it throbbed. 

Your hand tensed in his, you brought your other to play with his belt, untucking his shirt. Your hands were cold against his skin, “I want you,” you said. Full sincerity, no bite of guilt to drag you by. You wanted him in whatever way he would offer. And you wanted it bad. 

His breath hitched and he couldn’t ignore the way his heart was relentless along his ribcage. It was as though it was jumping around and making all this noise while he looked into the stars of your eyes, so full of admiration. He had never felt this warm before. 

The evening breeze felt hot on his skin and the rustling evergreens and your sweet voice that formed words in between pants; all blended into one overwhelming, sweaty heaviness. 

He looked at you for just a second before your lips danced again. And they danced and danced in unison. A pirouette, a jeté, a mix of saliva, a quiet trickle of devotion. It flowed from your bodies like life from a beating heart. 

In the mix of it all you couldn’t remember the moment you released him from his tightening jeans, only the feeling of his skin warm on your heat. The smoothness of it along your slick, and the way he rested his head into your chest. He kissed your ribs like he wanted to bleed deep inside of you. Past all of your seams, where you had been ripped apart and sewn back together. He unbuttoned your blouse as you did his shirt. He kissed your breasts and took your nipple into his mouth while his hips rutted rhythmically with yours. 

He drank every sound that fell from your throat, let it pump through him like blood. And he shoved opened mouthed kisses over every trace of skin. When he kissed your mouth again your chests pressed together and you traced the line of his jaw with a finger. He had let go of your intertwined fingers to clutch your face like some precious thing. And you did the same with him, a little stubble pricked your palms, a new understanding of the world where it had cut you. 

And then it didn’t feel like enough until your hand guided his downwards, whispered that it was okay, that you were sure. He separated for a moment too long like he didn’t believe you but you kissed his jaw gently and made him a promise. 

And then euphoria, a fullness that felt necessary. A white-hot need that whistled and played with the two of you in your uncertain movements. He didn’t move immediately, he let you adjust, let you get used to the feeling of him this close. When you gave him permission—only then—did he agree to move. He collapsed into your arms and let you have him, unabashedly, unashamedly, wholly and proud of it. He gripped your flesh like you would disappear if he ever let go. Teeth clashed, tongues whispered unsteady promises, you crossed your ankles around his waist. Your skirt splayed like a blanket for you to lay on. 

Until your movements turned steadfast and sloppy and your mouths didn’t meet in the middle. Just a mix your gasps and sighs in a refusal to conceal. You let your skin speak for itself. Hot blinding sweetness hit you first, you squeezed and squeezed his waist with your burning thighs, you didn’t know how it could get any stronger.

The backdrop of the forest felt vibrant even under the twilight sky, the blues mixed with greens and then they all blended into messy purples when your eyes became unfocused from the pleasure. You were loud in your praise but he was too. Shared whimpers, moans, pants—they spoke more for you than you ever could. 

Both too afraid to say anything true. 

---

You fell asleep in each other’s arms. Gentle and tight embraces swallowing the distrust of the world that spun around you. Fingers interlinked in between your hot bodies, splayed out on the careless grass. All while the moon floated up into the sky and then as it was sinking back down into the earth—only then did you wake.

Your head was on his chest while the warmth of his skin cradled you like a blanket. His bare skin tickled your cheek and the tingle of it made it difficult to recognize whether you were dreaming or if reality had returned to play its trick on you once again. Your eyes blurred with sleep and you rubbed your face on him to chase it away, to chase away the dread that settled under your ribs. Your palm squeezed his like a call to battle, he stirred as his spirit began to chase it away. 

You stilled and you watched as the light of a dawning sun reflected on his features as he slept. You watched it tickle his cheekbones, the plush of his lips. The light…light? 

Light. Spilling through the rips in the sparse clouds you could feel it cut through you now. It was morning. You slept here, outside. Under the stars. Did they come searching for you? Or had they already made the assumption that you were too far gone. Best to let the wolves take you than the Devil. 

You tried to sit up but Beomgyu groaned beside you. He tugged you back into him, eyes still delicately shut; you would have watched him more if not for that sinking feeling, like you were about to be swallowed whole. Like your throat had been cut and you were clawing at it trying to breathe. . 

You pushed yourself up with your wrists, fingertips in the dirt until you were kneeling in front of his sleeping figure. Through thick heavy breaths you put your hands on his shoulders and shook. Hard. 

His eyes were wide and tired as they opened, they fought sleep until his eyes wafted toward where the sun kissed the horizon. Then he understood. 

“Fuck,” his hands went to his face. They covered it, they wiped the exhaustion from it, they hid him away. “Fuck.” Under his breath but harsher, he couldn’t look at you. Your face was desaturated and painted over with a red warning panic. 

“Beomgyu,” you said, look at me, “We have to go.”

He peeked through his fingers, you had never seen anybody so terrified. His eyes were already rimmed red from the type of fear that brittled your bones and bile-lubed your esophagus. Oh God. You couldn’t think of yourself now. Only of his face; the way you perfectly understood him. You settled your fear into a ball and swallowed it down until it dulled for him. 

The truth was that this was the first time in Beomgyu’s life he’d given others reason to doubt him. When he played his act he played it well. He was convincing, he was soft, he was gentle, he was good. Not even in front of his father, despite the sharp distaste on his tongue, did he let himself falter. He had never been brave enough. Not until you. 

He looked into your eyes, so heavy and pleading, and he let it hit him. That feeling in the pit of his stomach like he had just done something very wrong. Something that there was no coming back from. And it rolled in waves as his mouth salivated from nausea and disgust. Because everything, all of it was his fault and he had dragged you into his mess with nothing to excuse it but his pride. His head dropped with a thud. 

He just laid there in the soil, he wanted to sink beneath the grass, into the ground with the ants and the worms and the darkness where nobody could see him. He would rather be dead than revealed. But he thought of you, he looked at you. Your face felt so panicked as you watched him spiral. He had always felt so strong to you, he almost felt humiliated by the exposure. He expected a laugh, a tease. He had been so mean, you ought to do the same to him: Humiliate him until he was broken down and splattered against the earth. He would rather be destroyed by you than anybody else. 

But your face, your sweet panicked face, it held nothing but admiration. Nothing but care. The threat loomed like a storm cloud over the two of you but you stuck by his side and let the lightning strike you instead of him. It made him angry. You needed to leave. But you were still on your knees at his side, he realized you would only leave if he did. 

So he stood on wobbling feet, buttoning up his shirt with shaking fingers. You stood up next, he took your hand, hard and fast you walked. Back to the world, back to civilization. No matter the urge to stay glued next to that tree amongst the tall curtain of grass. The urge to keep hidden, to keep away, to do whatever you wanted for the rest of your lives and be free.

The chime of a church bell made you shake, you tugged him closer. Of course, it was Sunday, you had completely forgotten. That meant it was probably around seven, and everybody was up and ready and in the chapel. Everyone had already learned of your absence. But the truth was that neither of you were that naive; neither expected the world to let this go. 

He tugged you along when you slowed at the noise. The building grew on the horizon, the chipped and cracking walls felt like they would fall over the both of you. Kill you from the crushing concrete weight. A nice way to go, he felt. For him, not for you. 

It shocked you that he remembered the corridors so well. Each turn and twist had confused you the entirety of your time here, the walls were so drab they blended into each other and you would have gotten lost a lot more if Yunjin hadn’t been with you so often. He led you all the way to what you recognized as the girl’s wing, right up to the doorstep of your shared bedroom. The door was shut, the halls were empty. 

“I need you to stay here,” he said, his hands were on your shoulders, you could feel him tremble despite his best efforts.

“What?” Your face twisted into something upset, something angry; how could he just leave you here?

His eyes softly watched your face, his mouth tilted into a warm smile, the first real warm smile you’d seen from him. He stood for a moment and he just watched. Like he was trying to make a picture to remember you by. You didn’t like how much the possibility felt inevitable. 

Before he spoke again, before he let you go, he planted a kiss on your lips. A parting gift. Just a peck. 

“Please,” he said, “Trust me, please.” He was begging. He would get on his hands and knees if that’s what it took. His voice wavered while he said it, it broke and shattered into bits and pieces just like the rest of him. Until it was nothing but an echo, until he was gone. 

You watched him disappear down the hallway. You hoped it wouldn’t be forever. Something inside of you felt so sure that it was. 

The heavy door opened with a hard shudder. You expected the room to be empty, lonely, just like it always had been. But Yunjin had skipped church this Sunday, she was waiting up for you, laying on your bed holding your stuffed teddy bear in between her arms as she slept. Your eyes watered at the sight. You didn’t know what she would think of you now. 

You didn’t know what to do, where to go. You felt the urge to run but you didn’t know where. So you just walked inside, slipped off your shoes, lifted your blanket and slipped into bed next to her. 

You were rigid, your spine ached from the stiffness of the mattress and you could do nothing but stare at the ceiling and play with the cross on its chain. You didn’t know how much time had passed, only that Yunjin began to stir. Her limbs were long and soft as they bumped into you. 

“You’re back,” she said, a sleepy smile on her face. 

You kept looking up, the sound of her voice made a tear roll down the side of your cheek. 

“Hey,” her head nudged your shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Her thumb swiped the tear off of its path, her hand under the covers reached to hold yours. She was trying so hard, but you couldn’t let her. You tugged your hand away, clutched it in your other until the pain of yesterday resurfaced and your joints felt red and raw. Maybe you could make them bleed. 

“Hey,” she sat up, you were still as a cadaver, sure you looked like one too, “Talk to me.”

You had grown accustomed to the sound of people you loved begging to you. 

She grabbed you by your stiffened neck, your eyes stung, she turned your head with biting force; made you look at her, you couldn’t speak. The lump in your throat wouldn’t let you. It grew and suffocated and smothered you under her intensity. She was killing you with her love. You needed to sever the connection. 

Even the most damned begged for life in the grasp of death. 

“Leave me, Yunjin,” you spared her. “I don’t want to be with you anymore,” she leaned back, her heels digging into her bottom as she tried to understand. 

“What are you talking about?” She said, “Don’t be like this.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. 

Her eyes watered just like yours had, your certainty displaced her. Her hand went up to cover her mouth and her next words were muffled, “Y/N,” it fell so painfully, “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I’m leaving, Yunjin,” you finally looked her in the eye, “I’m not coming back.”

---

Beomgyu sat on the floor of his bedroom with his head in his hands. He pulled at his hair, tugged at his skin until it ached. The boy's wing was near the entrance of the retreat grounds, from his window he could see those heavy metal gates that kept the kids caged in like wild animals. Like they would tear you apart tooth and limb if they managed to escape before complete indoctrination. Only then were you free. And even then, freedom was a heavy cape that dragged you by the shoulders.

It was only a matter of time before his father’s beat up truck would make its way through, until he would have him by the collar and throw his body into a pit of snakes—or maybe just plain out murder him the old fashioned way. Knife in hand, right into the gut so he’d really feel it. He hoped it would take long, one stab and then a step back as he bled it all out; the shame, the fear, the hatred, the anguish. The guilt. Until all he had left were the few good bits and the lingering taste of you on his tongue.  

And he never knew what it was like to miss something until he left you at your doorstep. He missed you the second he turned around. He missed your bitter, broken hand in his. He missed the point in time where watching you and learning about you had become his favorite hobby. 

Then he felt nauseous. He was so unkind, ruthless. He had done worse than murder you; he had taken your soul. He was what he made out the Devil to be. 

But Beomgyu was a poor fit for the role, he couldn’t find it in himself to understand how his father could take advantage of you so easily. So easily, and just walk away. 

You weren’t special. He knew that. 

You weren’t special, only to him, and the preacher treated you as such. He took you in and made you feel lost and he just abandoned you like he had him. Year after year, over and over again. 

And Beomgyu had broken after just one. 

Every hair on his body pricked and pointed as he heard the familiar engine roar outside; he had opened the window to make sure he wouldn’t miss it. He didn’t need to look, he just knew. 

The preacher dragged him by the scalp into an empty office in the main building. Beomgyu was thankful the rest of the day’s schedule continued, lest he be made an example. But he knew that would never happen, his father was too proud. 

The preacher stood in front of Beomgyu, who had slumped into a chair opposite the grand desk the man stood in front of. A spitting image of his father, Beomgyu shared everything with the man down to his posture. His father stood tall, wide shoulders in a straight line; Beomgyu looked into his disgusted, anger-stricken eyes like one would down the barrel of a gun. 

He promised himself he wouldn’t let his father strike fear. He could do whatever he wanted to him, he could shoot him for real, but Beomgyu refused to give him the satisfaction. He opened his arms to the consequence, whichever the preacher decided was appropriate. 

His face was blank, cold. His shoulders were slumped not out of fear, but an attempt to distinguish himself from the preacher as best he could. 

“You’ve been busy, boy,” he spit it out like poisonous fruit, Beomgyu felt the bookshelves would’ve rattled had they not been bolted down. 

He didn’t speak. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He crossed his arms over his chest, Beomgyu just stared at the crucifix hung behind him. Jesus, nails in his fists and ankles. Beomgyu wrung his hands, tried to imagine the heat of them came from you. 

The man didn’t like to be ignored. Beomgyu didn’t know what to say, he didn’t want to say anything at all. He wasn’t sure how strong his voice would be, he didn’t want to come off weak. His father already thought him that, he didn’t want to prove him right. 

He took his strong fist and squeezed the skin of Beomgyu’s cheeks, forced the boy to look right at him; the crucifix and Jesus were nothing to care about. Beomgyu’s cheeks stung from where his father’s fingers lay, he could taste metal as the soft tissue squeezed right into his jagged molars. “You will speak when spoken to.”

“What would you like me to say?” Beomgyu made sure to give his eyes some mischief. He would go down, that was inescapable, but he wanted it to hurt. “You want me to tell you how I fucked her?” he smiled. 

Beomgyu’s jaw hurt as the preacher struck it hard. His thick hands felt like a wooden slab against his skin. It was red-hot and stinging. He didn’t weep, he barely flinched though his heart hammered against his ribs. Their faces were close, heavy, angry breaths fighting each other for dominance. Eyes making lightning hot contact. 

“Or do you want me to tell you that she loved it so much she started prayin’ to me.” 

“Remember your place,” the man threatened him tenfold, but it was nothing he hadn’t heard before; he was brave now, he was on a new mission. This one more bare and honest and unforgiving. 

“My place?” He chuckled, “It’s right on top of her, right where she’s holding me and tugging on my hair. God, you wouldn’t understand how good it felt,” he bit his lip to emphasize the feeling. 

The preacher struck him again, turned the flat hand into a fist just like Jesus and he hit him square on the cheek bone. The sting was harsher, Beomgyu could see the ring on his father’s middle finger was now doused with ruby red. He felt the liquid drip down his face. 

“A new low, Beomgyu—it left him like he wanted to vomit at the mix of syllables—even for you.” 

Beomgyu frowned. The adrenaline was sweet in his bleeding mouth, heart pumping little flames of energy all around his body. Giving him strength. 

“Even for me?” he tilted his head, his cheek hurt when he smirked, “But I was born wicked, daddy, don’t you remember?”

Another strike, a split on his lip. He licked away the blood but it kept gushing. 

“You can hit me all you want, I’ll stay here for you all you want,” Beomgyu kept his lips upturned, “But that won’t change the fact that I got it from you.”

He braced for impact, focused on keeping his eyes open in the case that they tried to flinch, but they just stayed. He just stayed. The preacher just watched, chest heavily rising and falling. Eyes so furious they almost turned red. 

He just braced. 

---

You watched through the crack in the door. It took a while to find them, you knew the sound of the preacher’s truck just as well as he did. You needed to find him. So you did. 

And you watched the preacher hit and beat his son bloody. Your shoulders shook and you flinched with every strike. Beomgyu spoke in between each, and you knew him, you knew he was running his mouth. A part of you hoped he would see you just so that he’d notice your terror and stop taking it from him. You didn’t want to see him bound by violence, physical, visceral violence. 

You were used to spiritual violence, you could endure it, you were trained to. But this was entirely something else. Barbaric. To do it with a door cracked open it was like the man wanted an audience. You were shocked he didn’t request one. He was so powerful they would’ve given him whatever he wanted. 

When the man pushed Beomgyu down by the chair, let his head hit the ground hard and moved to stand strong over him like he’d stomp right on his ribs, you couldn’t help the squeak of fear that left you. 

And you hoped that they hadn’t heard you. 

But their heads snapped in your direction. The preacher’s cold hard gaze froze you in place. Your body trembled, your eyes, your goddamn eyes, they watered like it was the only thing they knew how to do. God, you were so sick of crying.

His foot just hovered over Beomgyu’s body as your eyes jumped from the man’s to the boy’s and back again. Beomgyu shook his head slight enough that only you would be able to see it. 

His eyes told you to run, you had to go. 

He didn’t call you by your name like he always had, “You,” the preacher spoke with the same disgust he reserved for his son. 

You were stuck in place. 

His feet boomed as he walked to open the door, as he dragged you inside by the wrist and slammed it hard. 

“You think you can save him?” He chuckled so coldly it made you shiver. His finger pointed and directed at you so close to poking and prodding. It made you jerk your body and hit your back against the door. Your fingers traced the rusted metal of the door handle but he nodded like he wanted you to try running. When the preacher decides something it is final.

Your eyes glanced at Beomgyu, the way his breaths were jagged and inconsistent from the pain. You saw the blood that leaked from his angelic face and when you looked back at the preacher you could see nothing but flames. 

“He was damned from the start,” He made his way towards you, you kept his gaze, “It’s all he knows.”

You glanced at the boy again, he hadn’t made an attempt to get up. He just laid on the floor and let the pain overcome him, “That’s not true,” you looked back into the preacher’s obsidian eyes; Black like the rotten depths of his soul. 

It was like all he knew was belittlement, “Oh really?” he laughed. “And you…? You think you know him?” 

“I know enough to say that it wasn’t entirely his fault,” you clicked your tongue, “It was me who let him, it’s mine.” 

Beomgyu let out a strained denial from his place on the ground. You wanted to shush him. 

“You’re right—Beomgyu let out a pained groan as he sat up, clutching his side—you were weak.”

His eyes raked your body, nausea gave a cold sweat to your brow. 

“But you,” his voice was booming, “You’re not mine to discipline,” he sat down on the desk smugly, like he was declaring victory. 

Your chin wobbled, it almost hurt. You used to care so much about him. His behavior today had dipped into horrific and it was the final knife to your back, this was no man you craved the admiration of. Not anymore. 

Before you could retort, Beomgyu wobbled to stand in front of you, “That’s enough,” to the both of you. He didn’t want to know what either of you wanted to say, he would rather cut out his own tongue than have his father strike any lick of doubt back into you. 

He stood firm but let his head turn to look at you, “Go,” he said, he tried to make it sound as malicious as he could but it still came off broken and covered with gashes, “I don’t need you.” 

Trust me, please. That was the last thing he said to you. Trust me. 

The way he spoke now reminded you of it, the same softness, the same melancholic tune. 

The preacher laughed at the both of you, like you were putting on a show, “Listen to the boy! This is a family matter.”

Beomgyu nodded softly, your eyes flickered between them. Your mind was telling you to listen but it was as though your feet were cemented. They felt heavy. It wasn’t until Beomgyu reached a gentle hand backwards, hid it the best he could, and he let it find yours. Rough, calloused and bloody. 

Warm, sweet, and tender. 

You were torn from your daze with its gentle squeeze. 

Then, you were determined. 

---

Beomgyu was to be sent away. He was to be sent away forever. 

In that old pick up truck he laid his head bruised and bloody against the window to ice his injury but the summer sun felt like cauterization. He pressed the flesh further into the hot glass; any feeling was better than none at all. He was sick of enduring. He wanted to feel. 

About his sentence he was not afraid, not angry, not sad. He was past the point and he’d felt that his soul had been damned long enough ago that leaving had always been inevitable, it was just a matter of when. At least it was with pain, with force, with feeling.

At least it meant something. 

Because you were safe. 

That was all he needed to take the brunt force of his father’s fist. Any insult the preacher aimed, any claim of eternity in Hell—what used to scare him, drown him in pure terror—brought him peace. He let the feeling of his skin damp with blood sink into the base of his spine, crawl up into each crevice and reignite the everburning flame of life within him. He shut his eyes hard, one of them swollen and purpled but he couldn’t wince. It felt good. It felt like life. 

When he opened them he was blinded by rainbow-white-hot rays of sunlight directly to the iris. He just stared at the beaming ball of gas until his eyes felt spotty—Until a figure blocked it out and their face was configured by little splotches of black blurs where he had hurt himself. 

You tapped on his window in quick little raps. Your face was worried, and he realized that you really didn’t know when to stop. 

He opened the door, head shaking, looking around for his father who had gone only for a moment. Your minutes were numbered. 

“What are you doing here?” He whispered harsh and steadfast like the man could hear him all the way inside. 

“I’m not leaving you,” you said, the determination on your soft skin was overpowering as the sight cleared up. 

He shook his head in disbelief, he had made his sacrifice. Why couldn’t you let him?

“You have to go,” he said, his voice was strong and demanding but it didn’t scare you, “Go now, he could be back any moment.” Then it pleaded. 

You stood your ground, feet heavy planted in the soil, you tugged on his hand and the response was immediate. He intertwined your fingers and you hated how tender it was.

“Stop that,” you said, tears in your eyes, “Stop touching me like it's the last time you ever will.”

His head tilted, lips formed a soft definitive smile, “You have to go, please.”

Your hands squeezed, skin on skin, no shame to separate you, “I won’t.”

Your eyes scanned his, for the first time you saw him cry. The tear hung on his chin like a thread threatening to snap, a hammer threatening to fall. 

“Not without you.” 

His brows furrowed as his lips turned down, his heart tattered between two lives. 

“We can’t,” he decided, “We’ll lose.”

Because escape was not salvation. 

“I don’t care. I don’t want to win. I just…” you paused and tugged him again, you wanted—no, needed him to follow you.

“I just need you.”

[lov-gyu]

Salvation, C. Beomgyu

TEASER . . . READ HERE, LISTEN HERE

Baby, if it feels good, then it can’t be bad . . . You wore your devotion on your sleeve as a mark of mortality. Without God, without divinity, you were nothing. Beomgyu was born wicked, his father had told him so. The Preacher, so sure, was quick to command at any sign of weakness or falter in his son. Beomgyu had been engineered to be the perfect follower of Christ—that was why you liked him. It’s a shame you were such a horrible judge of character.

Pairing, evil!beomgyu x religious!f!reader

Tags, religious retreat au, religious corruption au, toxic!beomgyu, slight masochist!reader

Warnings, eventual smut, negative discussion of religion and religious guilt, overall suggestive content

Anticipated WC, around 20-30k

✎ Author’s Note, slightly inspired by Yes, God, Yes (do not recommend watching it is not very good 😭) heavily inspired by Ethel Cain. Have been working hard and I love these two with my entire being.

JUNE 1992

“We are all honored that you have chosen to open your hearts to the Lord,” the woman’s voice echoed against the concrete walls of the mess hall, “and we are so happy to guide you on your faithful journey as you become members of our beloved community.”

She was an older lady, wrinkles of time set into her skin and her voice held a shrill candor that made Beomgyu’s ears feel like they could begin to bleed at any moment. The incessant blaring of her too-well rehearsed speech made him want to gag. It was something along the lines of: Believe what we tell you or you’re going to burn in Hell for all eternity. The grin on her face felt eerie, it was too straight, too perfect. There was no glint of life behind her dull gray eyes. Beomgyu nearly shivered. 

He had half a mind to beg his father not to send him here; to let him stay home and do nothing all day for the foreseeable future. He deserved it, he believed, after graduation. He’d just survived twelve years of dedication, of all consuming God-fearing devotion. All he wanted was rest. But he didn’t ask because, like the woman, his father was easily read. Beomgyu could already hear the harshness in his rejection so clearly that it felt like he was recounting a memory where he’d actually asked.

As the woman droned on he felt all the more miserable. She cheerily reminded the group of the itinerary, all three weeks of it. 

This retreat was like a rite of passage, only those who welcomed judgement and whispers from the public would think about missing it. When teenagers in your town graduated high school, it was customary to spend their first summer as members of the community here—Where they could be sure that the lifetime of drilling their faith into you would not go to waste while your minds were so young and malleable. 

Beomgyu was well known among the others—part of the reason his father was sure to say no was because the absence of such an integral source of community bonding would be grounds for blasphemous accusations against the son of the preacher; by extension, against the preacher himself. But he should have begged, he realized it now. He should have knelt before his father like the good boy he was supposed to be and begged. 

“Ugh. Gag me with a spoon,” Chaewon said from beside him, her head resting in her palm. 

His eyes took in the details of the room as his ears tried to block out the noise. 

Unfortunately, this room, and he was sure this would be true of the others as well, was inexplicably drab. Just like the rest of your town. The walls were painted over with a creamy white, a single heavy cross decorated the back wall of the room and the long dining tables matched the darkness of the wood. He wondered what they used this space for during the rest of the year when the retreat wasn’t active, but he thought maybe it just wasted for all that time. It certainly looked like it. The corners were bunched with cobwebs and the floor felt grainy with dust and debris underneath his shoes. 

His eyes bounced around the room and he tried his best to find something remotely entertaining. Something to watch. And then his eyes caught yours. You, who had already been staring at him for who knows how long, were quick to look down at your empty hands at his catch. They were neatly folded in front of you, and he wasn’t sure how possible it was but you stood up even straighter than you were before. Your perfect ponytail—tied with a laced white ribbon—landed over your shoulder from the force. 

You had always watched him, not because you liked him, but because you liked his proximity to his father. He could see it in the way you straightened up and played your part in front of him. He knew that it was all a game, an attempt to keep your goodness in his father’s line of sight. You treated him like an extension of the preacher, it filled him with a rage that burned through his chest and left scorch marks on his skin at the site where the golden cross embellished his collarbones. 

The preacher could always sense a wickedness in his son. Beomgyu was reminded of this each waking moment of his life. Every mistake, every misstep was amplified under his father’s painful scrutiny. When he was a child, his father convinced him that this intuition was the truth; Beomgyu remembered crying to him each night about God, about why he was made this way and how he could fix himself. He spent agonizing years convincing himself that his father was right, that he was wicked, that it was inherent. 

It wasn’t just his own holiness on his shoulders but his father’s, he had to be perfect. 

As he grew, that pressure didn’t stop, it tore right down his shoulders and broke his heart into bits and pieces. He had never recovered from the weight of it. It was what turned the preacher’s fears into cold hard truths. No matter how much Beomgyu prayed, how hard he shoved his knees at Christ’s mercy, he always felt alone. 

He didn’t believe anymore, not in God, at least. 

So, he built the ruse young. In public he played the part of the preacher's son. He was polished and clean, all ironed shirts and tailored slacks, kind and respectful. He wore a cross around his neck and anybody would say that he was one of the most devoted in your community. What started out of spite became Beomgyu’s way of keeping himself hidden from the prying eyes of people like you—People who only cared about the hope of praise to his father.  

Now even the ruse was shifting under all of that pressure. 

Yeonjun, sitting on his other side, caught Beomgyu's eyeline of intensity, “What are you looking at?”

“More like who,” Chaewon said and her eyes pointed at you, her head nudged in your direction. 

Beomgyu had seen so much of you. In school you were like him, polished, clean, devoted. You always looked stiff, as though you felt you would collapse if you moved at all. Your face, the slope of your tired eyes, the tint on your raw bitten lips, it had always made him uncomfortable. 

Where Beomgyu had crafted a false identity with his torture, he recognized that you decided to run with yours. You kept your own golden cross tucked tightly in the fabric of your clothing. He wondered if you felt the same burning sensation he did when it touched your skin and if the smell of singed flesh offset you or if you had grown accustomed to it as he had. He never asked, had never wanted to. 

And he couldn’t remember a time you’d spoken to anybody other than the friend sitting next to you now. Maybe except for his father. 

When the preacher announced that he’d have private practices with you and ordered him to leave his office undisturbed, Beomgyu curiously peeked through the door to watch his father’s perversion play out; The hypocrisy of having you privately, of subtle touches under the ruse of protecting you with God. And the way you let him put his hands on you. He couldn’t tell if you understood what was happening or worse, if you liked it. 

Chaewon barely spared you a glance, “She was staring at him.”

His father had always selected one or two members, always girls, always your age, to conduct these lessons with. He believed it was his calling to mold the most valuable members of your society into whatever he wanted you to be. That was what he said to Beomgyu year after year. He was so convincing, you were just the newest under his spell. 

Did you know that you were not special?

Yeonjun looked you up and down, the definition of prudish. Your body was rigid and uncomfortable to look at, he wondered if your head hurt from how tight your ponytail looked. 

The preacher was an entity in the community, the one that set the constraints Beomgyu had to give his life up to fulfill. He was sure you felt the same, albeit willingly. And then your eyes spared Beomgyu a glance once more as if you could sense it. It was all but innocent, for a second he could feel you pleading. 

But the preacher is not here right now, is he?

“She's always staring at him. It’s like—” her tone was taunting, almost disgusted. 

An idea bubbled inside his stomach. It boiled hot and screaming as his eyes began to watch you with a harsh concentration. 

And you blinked your eyes away. 

—So pathetic.” Chaewon spoke with such disdain, one he would have matched if he had not just come to a realization.

Your devotion had you by the throat, you were choking and sputtering out prayers through pools of blood that gathered in your esophagus. He could feel it. The preacher was eating you alive. It was too much pressure, he had chosen wrong. 

He was wrong in his way. He always had been. 

All grown up, Beomgyu had the ability to see through the preacher’s lies and he wanted to spread this gospel like wildfire. It was his duty to sever the connection. 

He would start with you.