pup·petNoun/ˈpəpət/

2. A person, party, or state under the control of another person, group, or power.

DYB

Youngbae fell forward, his forehead knocking softly into the medicine cabinet and resting on the cold glass there. His breath came out in pants that fogged up the mirror and made her sweat-sheened shoulder feel more damp than it already was. She’d waited for him again, which was considerate, she thought, since Youngbae took a little bit longer than most to finish and she had always been pretty easily pleased. He was good at what he did, though, so she didn’t mind so much.

She arched her back so her shoulder blades could hit the mirror without the faucet driving itself into the small of her back like it had been for the past twenty minutes, and she felt his lips tickle her skin and waited for that annoying little kiss he gave her where her jaw met her neck that always signified that their time was over. She figured that he thought it was some sort of sweet ending to whatever the kind of sin this was (he hadn’t been able to pull her over to the dark, religious side yet), and he was kind of right, but mostly it just felt like some sort of dismissal. That he was done and she should go now.

Or that’s how she took it, anyway.

Her chest heaved to catch her breath as he pulled back and looked at her for a moment, dark eyes painfully wide, searching her flushed face for something he never could quite find. She looked back, voiding her face of all emotions, because there weren’t any, really, to convey how she felt. Happy? Nervous? Used? Nope. None. He leaned forward again and pressed his face into her neck for a moment, before kissing her and pulling away for good, leaving her sitting there on his sink with her bangs plastered to her face and her dangling from one ankle.

So graceful. So elegant. So… sad.

He had to waddle out with his jeans around his knees, though, so it wasn’t as bad as it could be.

Sliding off the ceramic, she sighed softly, stretching out and running her fingers across her back where a tap-shaped bruise would surely be tomorrow. That was going to to have to dance with. She turned and wiped off the mirror, which was comically foggy, and stared at her reflection.

What am I doing here?

Youngbae.

Besides him.

She wasn’t dead sure how this whole thing had started, exactly. She was a back-up dancer forward slash trainee, although she was starting to give up that second part because she was getting way too old to matter anymore. YB had walked in on her dancing fervently, perfectly to one of his songs one day, and it turned out that they were both lonely and ually vacant. He found out that she was way more flexible than she looked and she found out that his whole ‘I’m a good little ’ gimmick was the biggest crock of she’d ever heard in her entire life.

There was no dating inside YG, of course, but Hyunsuk was way too morally frugal to say that there was no ing inside YG. And was that loophole ever put to use.

Pulling the elastic out of her long braid and letting the waves of dark brown swing around her elbows, she tried her best to finger-comb her bangs and wipe smudges of mascara away from her eyes. Defined cheekbones and olive skin and round, hazel eyes; she should have followed her mother’s advice and been a model, she told herself, and then she wouldn’t be in this mess.

It’s only a mess if you make it one.

It was true, they had a good thing going, but she could tell it wasn’t as good as it used to be. The was still great, of course, but it was the afterwards that was starting to get to her. The YB she’d had after the first few times, the one who was easy to talk and relate to, the one she had so much in common with, was slowly disappearing with each of those toned hips. He was becoming just a set of lips that nipped her in sensitive places; a pair of eyes that did dirty things to her from across a crowded room. She was quiet before him, but she was quieter now.

She quickly dressed herself and spent a few more minutes looking into the mirror, waiting to find something. When it didn’t come, she slipped out of his bathroom, bending down to grab her bag where she’d… dropped it outside the door. Her lower back throbbed painfully as she stood back up, her hand subconsciously rubbing small circles into the abused area.

“Sorry.”

It was almost shocking how surprised she was to hear Youngbae’s voice in his own apartment. Maybe it wasn’t his voice… maybe it was just the fact that he’d apologized, although she wasn’t quite sure why that should be surprising, either. She whirled around and there he was, dark eyes piercing and mohawk flat. He’d pulled his pants up, which was nice, too.

His eyes trailed from the bag in her hand to her face, which she hoped didn’t look as pale and clammy as she felt.

“There’s a party,” she found herself saying, inexplicably. It wasn’t a lie, just some stupid thing that Lyle had invited her to that she had initially planned on skipping out on. “And I’m going.”

Or not.

He bit his lip and stared at her for a moment, ran his hands through his hair to make it stand up straight, then looked at her again.

“Yeah? Says who?”

And right then, she’d never wanted to cry and not wanted to cry so badly in her life. And just like everything else, she had no idea why. A thousand different feelings flashed across her face and she let them, before shouldering her bag and turning away and leaving him stand there.

Alone.

DYB

Author's Note: What happens after watching Where U At like, eight times. Not my bias, but sweet Jesus. Mmph. His face is inspiring.

Exactly 1000 words FTW!!

If you haven't already (and I really don't see how you could've gotten past it) go check out this story. The lady who runs it is super nice and she'll let you about your gay homework as much as you want (you may have to supply a little Teddy though, jsyk). <3

Good? Bad? Keep going with this storyline, or make a new one?