summary: u borrow notes from the emo boy after class and satisfy ur craving ♥︎
cw: unprotected p-in-v, virginity loss, creampie, oral (f rec, implied), touching kissing nd' groping.
you swing by emo!beomgyu’s place after school on the pretense of "borrowing notes"—told him it was to "study," but really you’re just trying to crack the school’s resident emo kid and secure the most elite girls' locker room gossip of the semester. he’s way cuter up close than his hallway reputation suggests, all shy glances and oversized sleeves, and you genuinely don’t get why everyone acts like he’s haunted nd' so unnerving.
you catch him kicking his skateboard toward the sidewalk, wave him over with a bright grin, and go, "hey, do you have the notes from class by any chance? i totally knocked out while ms. henderson was talking yesterday." his cheeks go pink instantly, fingers tightening on the strap of his backpack as he nods. "yeah—uh, yeah. i wrote everything down. you can, um… follow me."
the walk to his place is easy, surprisingly normal. u both complain about how boring class is, how missing her notes could actually tank your grade, how the fluorescent lights in that room feel personally targeted to make you sleep, and you also talk about his presentation earlier in the semester that included references to a couple super obscure alternative bands, eyes lighting up as he'd explained the super specific, deeply niche lore of the songs and the band members, going on about symbolism and production choices and how "the most famous poet dead or alive couldn't match the creativity of this".
everybody else thought it was lame and pretentious that he could’ve compared some grainy bedroom rock to classic literature, but u found his deviation endearing — constantly, in fact. maybe it was some odd kink of urs, but there was something so pathetically romantic about a mopey, eyeliner‑studded band‑tee guy, talking like music saved his life — an utter loser. he’d probably never been with a hot girl before, and ur having to squeeze ur legs together, turned on at just the idea of ruining his innocence.
you also liked his soft brown eyes, faded blonde streaks in his hair, the rings on his fingers, the chipped black nail polish, the band tee draping over baggy jeans, and his scuffed converse.
u follow him back home and he lets u in with a shy little half-smile, watching u kick off your shoes nd' drop your bag in the foyer like it's nothing, like that doesn't indicate you're staying here for longer than just homework and ulterior motives, obliviously mumbling something soft and bashful about how messy it is.
"t's fine, i'm not much of a clean freak either." you laugh under ur breath, slipping onto the main floor just behind him, heading toward the stairs with electricity buzzing ur toes out of excitement, like u can feel every step twice.
"uh, cool… guess we might have something in common then," he says, voice low and a little shaky, nervous about potentially weirding you out even though he means it. for a second his eyes flick up to yours before darting away again. "even if we, uh, definitely don’t look like we would," he adds quickly under his breath, the words tumbling out too fast. a shaky laugh slips out after, half‑muffled, like he’s trying to apologize without saying it outright.
ur so zoned out checking him out, messy black hair falling in his eyes, pale skin, the chain hanging from his belt loop, that ur not even clocking what he’s saying. instead, riding a rush you don’t even try to hide, you blurt, "are your parents home, by the way?" he shakes his head. "nah, they don’t get back till, like, late." and just like that, you both head up the stairs.
he pushes open the door to his room, my chemical romance posters peeling, harsh red led strip lights tangled over sketchbooks, guitar picks everywhere. "this is it. uh, where the magic happens, i guess," he mutters, corny as hell but cute, rubbing his neck.
he rummages through a stack of papers, finds his notes a little too fast, and hands them to you with a shy, embarrased expression. “well, there’s your stuff. sorry to, uh—make it weird or whatever, I've just never had anyone but friends here and especially not y/n from class.”
"easy there, rockstar," you tease, removing ur socks and kicking them off onto to the floor. "tryna kick me out? I thought we were having such a good convo on the way here. might as well hang out for a bit, right? then I'll get outta your hair."
you sit down on the foot of his bed, legs crossed just so, leaning back on your hands.
"you sure?" he asks, voice tight as if he'd been restraining something. "positive. why wouldn’t I be?" you reply. "I mean, there’s not much to do in here." he claims, looking around curiously like it's his first time being in his room too.
"sure there is. wanna give me a room tour, help me figure it out?” you say with a sly smile, every card falling right where you want it the instant u see the flash of agreement on his face.
u chat a bit, he shows u his vinyls and his record player, all nervous energy, stammering, way less confident than he was during his presentation, rattling about first pressings and bands that saved his life at 2 a.m., pointing at band posters n' his picture wall with a few friends; them at concerts, eyeliner smudged and middle fingers up. u notice the ashtray by his bed, the guitar covered in chipped stickers propped against his desk, cables half tangled, and clothes kinda spilling outta his closet like he gave up halfway through cleaning.
he's facing away now, gesturing at some nirvana lp, rambling soft about how kurt cobain gets him. totally oblivious. that's when u make your move. clothes drop—shirt, skirt, bra, panties—silent and quick, heart slamming. "beomgyu," you call out once ur bare. "yeah?" he turns around, and freezes, dropping his nirvana sleeve. "that's all really nice and all, i promise, but i didn't come here for notes." you admit.
you grimace a little. "m'sorry for lying to u. won't do it ever again, promise." u say, as if ur not standing there naked in his room, about to let this emo boy ruin u raw.
"w-wait, what—" he stammers, face flushing deep red, voice cracking a lil. u chuckle low, stepping closer. "u didn't actually think i followed u home and up to your bedroom just for notes, did you?" before he can answer, ur on him, lips crashing into his, hands fisting his shirt.
he kisses back clumsy at first, all nervous hunger, then deeper, like he's starving. u trail kisses down his neck and he quivers a tad, hands hovering like he doesn't know where to put 'em.
"u can touch me, beomie, it's ok," u assure him, grabbing his wrists, guiding his calloused fingertips, roughened from years of guitar playing from ur waist down to ur ass, squeezing 'em there. he groans soft, gripping tentative at first, then tighter.
u pull back, looking up into his eyes all enamoredly like he's a test subject reacting unexpectedly to an experiment. he acts so damn...careful. "u ever done this before?" you ask, more like suspect & detect the virgin in his reactions and lack of action.
he shakes his head quick, eyes dark and dazed. "n-no."
u smile, head spinning at that. ur gonna be his first—his raw, vivid memory that'll haunt him through endless restless nights, replaying the random after-school hangout that got his dick wet for the first time. "so no condoms, then?" you inquire further, and he shakes his head again, so compliant.
u laugh, all playful edge. "wow, can't believe i gotta do this. I just didn't think a guy as hot as u didn't get any play."
"what d'u mean?" he mumbles, all embarrassed, shifting awkward.
"y'know, we're having our first real convo today and i'm about to let u fuck me raw like five minutes after getting into ur room. usually wait about a week before doin' that, but i guess ur special, right? i've never been with a guy like you." your respond, voice all saccharine and teasing and sooo over the top glazed with honey.
the cadence and your compliment hits him—he gets rock hard instantly, bulge obvious even in his baggy jeans. u reach down, palming him through the denim, and fuck, he's big, throbbing under ur hand. "fuck," he sighs, head tipping back, hands flexing on ur ass as u stroke it slow. he furrows his eyebrows, voice cracking soft. "what do you mean a guy like me?"
you smile like it's obvious. "an emo boy."
he yanks u closer, kissing u messy now, all that shy melting into raw need. this is the most ironic win of his emo life, this fantasy-girl dropping naked in his bedroom, desperately trynna fuck him, and raw at that.
"wanna take me to ur bed?" you whisper, and he nods fast, eyes wild.
he lays u down on his messy sheets, all calm in contrast to his wild nervousness. sweat sheens his face soft and his eyes are blown out, pupils dilated like he just took some drug as he hovers over u like he's scared he'll break something. "do u know what to do? or do u want me to be on top?" you murmur, brushing your thumb along his jaw, cupping his face tenderly. he's so pretty.
u wish u could drop down, feel him pulse heavy on ur tongue, but u know a virgin like him won't last, too wound up, too new. it's fine tho. u'll train him slow, run him dry every day after school, before homeroom, whenever the itch hits. make him ur perfect little habit.
"uh, i-, i think i got it. watched enough larry clark flicks," he stammers, chuckling a little, cheeks burning as he fumbles with his belt, jeans shoved down just enough.
“let’s see what u learned. go at ur pace, i’ll guide u,” u say, all patient and encouraging.
he nods quick, then leans down, face still tucked into your palm and nuzzling into your touch before kissing you deep. he’s kinda all over the place—fumbling, eager—tongue a little overwhelming and sloppy in the sweetest way ever, like he’s pouring every pent-up emo daydream he’s ever had into that one kiss. then, bold out of nowhere, he slides lower and takes ur nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, eyes flicking up to check ur face. u caress his hair, gasping sharp at the surprise, his lips so fucking soft and warm wrapped around u, sending sparks straight down to your core.
he works u slow like that, switching sides, hands roaming tentative over ur hips, sliding up ur sides till ur arching a lil, body literally tilting toward him and your breath hitching. when u whine out his name a little high, he immeadiately stops and pulls off your nipple with a wet pop. "u okay? did i go too hard, am i hurting you?"
"no, no, no, not at all, baby. feels so fucking good." you praise him, and he ducks his head with a shy little grin, ears pink. then he dives back in, unconsciously rutting his hips against you. "want u inside already, beom," you breathe after a little while, and he obeys your order readily, kneeling up, cock hard and leaking, gripping the base all unsure. he lines up, tip brushing u wet, but pauses—eyes darting to his record player.
"uh, can i... put on a song? y'know, to commemorate this?" he mumbles, half-embarrassed, half-serious.
u laugh soft, nodding. "yeah, go for it." he's such a loser.
he scrambles over quick, still rock-hard, dick swinging ridiculous, and flips thru his vinyls till he finally drops the needle on "favorite" by tigers jaw. that raw, yearning guitar crackles out, a perfect soundtrack.
he's back over u in a heartbeat, sinking in slow, inch by inch, groaning wrecked like it's splitting him open. "fuck, ur so—" he cuts off, brows pinched, hips stuttering as he bottoms out. u wrap legs around him, nails digging his back from the effort of taking him. "ur so biggg, shit. stretchin' me so good."
he gets titillated by that, a smug little glint flashing in his eyes. "think u should shut up if u want me to last." he tells you, honest and breathless.
"I do," you gasp—"just go slow, slowwww," you urge him as he rocks into you, locating a rhythm. you coach him as he finds it. "yeah, just like that, exactly like that." it's imperfect, it's a little bit like a staccato fuck, but ur so full of him that it feels perfect. and once his initial clumsy turns desperate, thrusting deeper with the song's beat it feels like, he slips into u further, cock sliding slick against ur g-spot, bed creaking under u both.
u clench around him tight, and try not to talk, but it's impossible not to moan—he feels like a dream in your guts and something about the uncohesive rhythm feels like frenzied stabs to your g-spot in the best way possible. ur moaning his name, tits bouncing, eyes locked on his, and it's honestly ur fault. you just look so good and he loses it shuddering hard, spilling raw inside u way too soon, face buried in ur neck all broken gasps.
u just fucked the emo kid. or better yet, he fucked you. he collapses on top of u, catching his breath, heart hammering against your chest.
"shit, i'm sorry," he apologizes cutely, mumbling into your skin all flustered and sweet.
"it's okay, b. that was so good." you soothe, stroking his hair.
"but, you didn't cum, did you?" he murmurs, lifting his head with big worried eyes.
"no, but, I still liked it." you reassure. he pouts softly. "do u wanna? like, can i help?"
you smirk. "are u asking to give me head?"
he shrugged, cheeks flaming. "yeah, i guess. is that, like, weird?" he gets up and u part your legs for him, spreading slow.
"never stopped me from fucking you in the first place, so why'd I start caring now?"
he dips down to your cunt, grinning sheepish. "fair enough."