#its supposed to be about nausea

[thewisestdino]

Coyote in the bathroom ver. 2

[mejomonster]

Goodbye 2023. Wrote 30,000 words of my Danny story, 20,000 words of my Freyna story, 25,000 words of my Khan story, 13,000 words of my Celest story, 48,000 words of fanfiction, and including notes and scraps I wrote 211,007 words in 2023! >o<)/ a lot of fucking words!!!

(Also future me, now you can find this next year to find out how much more u wrote)

I did not hit last years goal of finishing one of my original stories. But on the bright side, I did write over one novel's Worth of words. So here's to hoping this new year I focus more on One story at a time so I can start finishing things. I'll count this as a kind of win. (I'd still like to finish at least one of my original stories before January ends just so I can say I've finally finished one asap lol)

In other news. This past year, sunday, I had italian bread with butter. I had lemon cake this year. I had pizza, the last two days in a row. I have had a waffle almost every day of the week. I still have to take benedryl if I overdo it, or more gi medicine if I really screw up. But this time last year I couldn't touch bread, pasta, waffles, any wheat. This time last year I was dreaming and hoping miserably I'd get to have toast and pizza again. That I'd be able to risk any dairy. Any wheat. My only severe allergy left now is potato. I'm still a ways away from being able to stop needing my gi meds to eat. But rhe fact I simply CAN eat, most days, relaibly without worrying I won't be able to the next day? Awesome. I had a bad flare in August and was on a liquid diet and feared I'd never eat yummy food again. And all of 2022 was awful mush. I'm so so grateful I can eat a waffle, and will probably still be able to eat the next day. I'm going to sincerely hope now this is the year I'll be able to transition off of needing gi meds.

[piplupod]

if it storms tonight then i have wizard powers

[moonstruckme]

I love your roomate!james. I was wondering if you could do one where shy!reader is sick and she doesn’t tell james bc she’s used to taking care of herself but he’s adamant about taking care of her. 🥺🖤

Thank you lovely!

cw: implied nausea and vomiting

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

James worries he’s scared you off. 

He thought you’d been having a good time the other night, hanging out with his friends and then teasing each other while he battled you for cleanup duties after. He’d certainly had a good time. Watching you smile more readily as you got comfortable, feeling your soft form tucked up against his on the couch, it had made his whole body feel light and fizzy, but now James wonders if the easy, familiar energy of the night had made him too bold. There had been a moment, just before you’d gone to bed, where you’d seemed to stumble, defaulting back to the awkward, self-conscious way of speaking you’d had before you got to know each other. 

James might not have thought anything of it—you still get shy sometimes, he can never figure out what causes it—except you’ve been very obviously avoiding him ever since. That next day, you went to work and then disappeared into your room straight after you got home. He told himself he was being paranoid. But yesterday, you seemingly had the day off, and every time you needed to emerge from your room James heard you dash down the stairs and back up as if your bedroom was the only safe zone in the apartment. 

He hears you doing it again now, the soft click of your door unlatching before quiet footsteps start down the stairs. If Sirius were here, they’d probably make a game out of timing you, but James estimates it’s less than a minute before you start back up again. He wishes he could tell you not to hurry yourself; he has no intent of cornering you in your own home, even if he does want to patch things up. 

Then something falls on the stairs with a loud thud, followed by a sharp gasp just outside James’ room, and all thoughts of giving you your space are quickly abandoned. It was a valiant effort. 

“Shit,” he says as soon as he opens the door. He crouches beside you, taking your elbow in his hand, cushioning it from the cruel edge of the step, “Did you hurt yourself?” 

You must have had a mean fall. You’re completely crumpled on the stairs, one of your legs curled under you and one outstretched behind you as though it’s slipped back. Both of your elbows are braced underneath your body, keeping your face from smacking into the corner of the stair. James is willing to bet that big sound he’d heard was your knee hitting the step below you as you tripped. 

“Fuck,” you whine, pulling an entire loaf of bread from beneath your other elbow. The middle has been completely crushed, smashed between your forearm and the edge of a step. You look genuinely distraught about it. 

“Did you hurt your knee?” James frets, fighting the urge to haul you up off the stairs so he can look you over properly. He does take your other elbow in hand, using a firm grip to encourage rather than haul. You get more or less upright. 

“I’m okay.” You sound a bit odd, though he supposes you could be winded by the fall. “Thanks, sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” James can’t help it if a bit of teasing makes its way into his voice. This is something the two of you always do, you overapologizing and him making fun of you for it. “It seems like if anyone ought to be apologizing, it should be the stairs.” 

Your mouth tips up slightly. “Solid point,” you concede. 

The load in James’ chest lightens at your willingness to fall back into a casual repartee. He rubs the point of your elbow distractedly. “Wanna tell me why you’re taking an entire loaf of bread to your room?” he asks, grinning. “Do you have a secret stash of sandwich-making supplies in there?”

He feels goosebumps erupt on the side of your arm, and he does his best to soothe those, too. It must be too cold in here for you. “No,” you say quietly.

“Mm. I thought we were past this, angel. Come downstairs, I’ve still got leftover pasta in the fridge.”  

He starts to lead you down, but before he’s made it two steps you say, “No, thank you.” 

“Oh, come off it.” James shoots you another easy grin, hoping to loosen you up. “Don’t be a martyr. I’m all for carbs, but bread by itself will hardly sustain you.” 

“I don’t have much choice.” You shrug, and your shoulders stay up higher than they had been. You seem embarrassed. He waits, intrigued. “It’s sort of the only thing I can keep down at the moment.” 

It takes a blink for James to understand. “Are you not feeling well?” 

“Not very.” Your voice is softer than soft, swallowed up by the nerves James thought he’d earned an exemption from but nonetheless can’t hold against you in this state. 

He can see it, now. The way you’re holding yourself, like you could curl up on the floor at any given moment. Your complexion is flushed and your eyes slightly unfocused, glazed. 

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” It comes out more caring than he’d ever meant for it to, but James is too worried about you to dwell much upon that. You bat his hand away weakly, but he just moves them both to your cheeks, feeling himself frown. “You’re burning up, love. Why didn’t you say?” 

“Not much to say.” You move away from his touch, backing towards your room. James pursues you, hand hovering near your elbow because you really do look like you could pass out. "It's a stomach bug. It'll pass."

“I could have been helping you if I knew. I just thought you were avoiding me,” he admits. You look so sorry he’s quick to smooth things over with a smile. “Do you need me to get you anything from the store?”

“I already went.” You slump onto your bed before seeming to realize he’s still behind you, your brows coming down. “I’ve got everything I need, but thanks.” 

“You went to the store like this?” James is aghast. “You should be resting! How high is your fever?” 

“Dunno.” You seem to give up uncharacteristically quickly on getting him to leave, sighing and sinking back against a propped-up pillow. “I don’t have a thermometer.” 

“You don’t?” He’s more frazzled by the second, every way in which you’re not being properly taken care of piling onto the last. It seems a miracle you’re still alive. 

You look suspicious. “Do you?” 

Shit. He grins sheepishly. “No...” 

But that doesn’t change the fact that you should, for some reason. People like James are allowed to coast through the world unprepared because responsible ones like you always have the things they need. 

He feels your face again. This time, you let him. Your breath fans warm over his wrist, those fever-glazed eyes drooping slightly. 

“Your hand is cold,” you say through a sigh. 

“I think you’re just hot,” James mutters, but that doesn’t stop him from stroking his thumb over your cheek, just once. Your lashes flutter closed, and his heart does an impressive flip in his chest. 

“Have you had paracetamol?” he asks you. 

You hum. James sweeps his thumb over your cheek again, hoping to rouse you, but it only seems to worsen your drowsiness. Your head actually lolls into his touch. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Mhm, yeah,” you say without opening your eyes. “You need to stop doing that, m’gonna fall asleep.” 

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly. It’s impossible to keep the fondness from his voice. “I’m gonna get you a cold flannel, okay?” 

Your eyelids crack open. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say, voice nearly slurring with sleepiness. “I’ve always done fine, by myself.” 

“You never neglect to remind me.” James slips his hand from beneath your face, going to the bathroom between your bedrooms. “I don’t mind helping, though. You don’t always have to do everything on your own, what are roommates for?” 

You make a quiet, breathy sound he suspects might be a laugh. “None of my other roommates were ever as nice to me as you are. I think you’re taking things beyond the requirements of the job.” 

James thinks so, too. But still. Regardless of the complicated feelings he’s starting to have for you, you’ve always deserved to be treated with care. 

“You mean to tell me,” he says, wringing out the flannel and going back to your room, “that if you were this poorly, none of your previous roommates would have offered to help?” 

Your eyes are open more fully now. You watch him as he lays the flannel on your forehead, smoothing away a couple of baby hairs before they can get trapped underneath, with an odd expression on your face. 

“I handle my own problems,” you say softly. 

James’ thumb is still stroking the baby hairs at your temple. He can’t get it to stop. 

“Maybe your problems could be my problems, too,” he says. The lightness of his tone is automatic, but it serves as no representation of the great and weighty feeling in his chest. He realizes his breathing has synced to yours. Quiet inhales and exhales in your quiet apartment. 

Your eyes slip closed again. “Why?” you murmur. 

James doesn’t have an answer for that. Not one he’s ready to think about. The lines of your face smooth out as you relax. More evidence of frowns than smiles, but he likes to think he’s made progress on the little creases fanning out from the corners of your eyes since he’s moved in. He feels a pang of triumph any time they make an appearance, little rays of sunshine on a wholly lovely face. 

Because he’s your roommate. Because whether you’re ready to admit it or not, he’s your friend. Because he cares about you. 

In the end, James doesn’t have to come up with an answer. You’re already asleep. 

[lucyrose191]

Hey could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader where she's been feeling unwell but insists she's coming to the track and he's worried about her. Long short story, their son (Jack) with her and she felt like she's going to go faint and she tell Jack to find Toto for her and Toto's being her knight in shining armor,rescued her. Just fluff and comfort. Tag me later. Thanks! :))

TAKE IT EASY| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; Your stubbornness to admit you may be feeling unwell might just be your downfall one day but your husband will always be there to catch you, as will your son.

Warnings; none

F1 Master List

You could feel the worried gaze of your husband from where he was standing in the en-suite getting dressed, he had woken up before you this morning which was his first notification that something was wrong but once he saw your flushed cheeks and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead he knew you certainly weren’t well.

He had tried to convince you to go back to bed but you refused, you were here to support him and Jack was so excited to attend a race again and whilst Toto was more than capable of looking after him, it was just easier for you to take care of Jack and entertain him because Toto still had work to do, a toddler didn’t just want to sit in the garage and wait for their father to finish a bunch of things before having fun.

So you insisted that you were fine and were adamant on going to the track, ignoring the churning of your stomach, fogginess in your mind and how weak your body felt.

Toto wasn’t happy with your decision at all, your health was so much more important to him than any race that he had brought up not going himself but you had shot down that idea before he could even finish his sentence.

So he relented.

You were now on your way to the track, the car wasn’t doing anything good for your stomach, leaving you to lean your head against the window with your eyes closed as you took deep breaths through your nose.

What was meant to be the comforting touch of your husband rubbing his hand back and forth across your thigh wasn’t helping with the nausea you felt either because all you could think about was how similar the touch was to him rubbing his hand up and down your back as you threw up.

Jack was in the back babbling nonstop about how excited he was to see Lewis again and hopefully sit in the car and you loved your son so much but your head was so fuzzy that everything he was saying you were hearing three times and you couldn’t think straight.

"Mama?" His small voice called out and you could perfectly hear the undertone of excitement.

"Yeah, darling?" You slowly turned around in your seat so you could look at him, mustering up the biggest smile you could for him.

"Can we see Charles and Carlos, today?" He asked, face filled with hope.

"We can do whatever you want to do but remember they’ll be very busy preparing for the race so they might not have time to speak with you."

"Okay, and can we see Bono?" He asked.

"Yes," you smiled weakly.

"And Mick?"

"If you want to, yes."

"And Lando and Oscar too?"

"We’ll do whatever you want to do Jack."

"Well I want food before we see Lando," he said strong cause you to laugh.

"Yeah, we mustn’t forget about that," you agreed before turning back in your seat. Of all the days for your son to be riddled with energy, today was not really ideal but you suppose that’s what comes with being a parent.

You rested your head back against the window, looking out at the streets you passed, reaching out blindly your clasped your hand with Toto’s that hadn’t removed from its position on your leg, hoping his touch could help you feel even the slightest bit better.

Toto released a deep breath as he turned off the car and turned to look at you. You hadn’t even registered that you had arrived at the track, still staring out the window in a daze. "It’s not too late to turn around and go back to the hotel, we can go back to bed." He spoke up quietly, not wanting to startle her.

You shook your head and turned to him with a smile, "I’ll be fine, come on, jack’s getting antsy," you responded, hearing your son trying and failing to unfasten his seatbelt.

Your husband huffed in defeat and reluctantly got out the car, opening the door behind his to let Jack out, you heard him entertain his childish rambling and as soon as the door shut you took a second to take a deep breath before getting out yourself.

"Mummy’s not feeling today so it’s up to you to take care of her okay?" Toto whispered to his son, who was resting on his hip, so you couldn’t hear.

Jack frowned and looked to his father in concern for you. "She’s poorly?"

Toto nodded "She’s doesn’t feel well, are you going to keep an eye on her for me?" Jack nodded with a determined look on his face before wriggling for Toto to put him down.

"Mummy!" He ran around the car as soon as his feet his the ground so he could get to you.

"Yeah, baby?" You crouched down, surprised when he wrapped his arms around your neck in a hug.

"I don’t want to see Charles, Carlos or Lando today, can we just get food and stay in Papa’s office and watch the race from the garage?" He asked.

You looked at him in confusion at his sudden change, he was beyond excited earlier and whilst you were relieved at the change in what he wanted, you were surprised at how abruptly he didn’t want to go and see the other drivers anymore.

"Are you sure that’s what you want?" You asked, skeptical as he nodded confidently but you reluctantly agreed.

"Okay then," you grabbed his hand and Toto grabbed his other as the three of you made your way into the track, you ignored the worried eyes of your husband that kept flickering to you every few seconds, the pair of you ignored the fans and shouts of media reporters as you weren’t in the mood to feign happiness and Toto was just far too concerned about you.

You had hoped that as day went by you would start to feel better but if anything you felt worse, you had went to hospitality with Jack to get some food to take back to Toto’s office but the mixture of smells had sent you spiralling and you tried to get out of there as quick as possible.

You and Jack had been in Toto’s office for about an hour and you hadn’t seen your husband in about two.

Jack was being on his best behaviour though, you don’t know where his change in what he wanted to do today came from but he seemed content sitting on the floor with his snacks and watching the live recording of the track on your phone.

You had sat yourself down on Toto’s chair to try and relax a bit but your head was spinning so much and your vision was starting to blur.

"Jack?" You called out weakly, you had tried to sound as though everything was okay as to not worry him but it didn’t work that well.

"Mama?" Jack pulled himself up to his feet immediately, live broadcast long forgotten as he saw his mother even paler than you had been this morning and leaning against his father’s desk, a thin layer of perspiration on your skin.

"Can you go get Papa for me? Tell him I need him quickly." You told him, trying to smile at him but your body didn’t even have the energy for that.

Jack didn’t need to be told twice, he turned around and ran to find Toto, opening the door with so much force that it banged against the wall before closing half way again.

"Papa!"

The Mercedes team all looked away from what they were doing and turned towards the sound of Jack’s panicked voice followed by the sight of him running through the garage with a petrified look on his face, searching for his dad.

"Papa!" He pretty much screamed, fear overtaking his body knowing that something was really wrong with his mother right now and you were alone and he couldn’t find his father.

The Mercedes team were worried beyond belief as they took in just how scared Jack was and how desperate he sounded for Toto who wasn’t in the garage at the moment.

"Jack?" Lewis slowly approached the boy who was stood in the middle of the garage, looking all around him, tears welling up in his eyes when he couldn’t see his dad.

He looked at Lewis frantically. "Where’s Papa?" He demanded.

"I think he’s speaking to someone right now, are you okay?" Lewis crouched down in front of him.

Jack shook his head aggressively, "I need Papa, Mama needs him quickly!"

"Where’s your mama?" Lewis asked as worry filled him. "Show me where she is, maybe I can help her?"

But Jack shook his head "no, she needs Papa, she told me to get him quickly."

Lewis sighed but nodded, a bad feeling was settling have in his chest for you. "Okay, you stay right here and don’t move and I’m going to go and get your dad, okay?"

"You need to be quick!" Jack told him desperately.

"I’ll be as quick as I can." Lewis told him, giving a look to the team to keep an eye on him before turning and quite literally running out of the garage.

People stopped and watched in confusion as they saw Lewis Hamilton running through the pits, looking around frantically for someone.

It didn’t take him long to see Toto sticking out from the crowd, in the middle of an interview with Martin Brundle, he didn’t care that it was live and brutally interrupted the pair of them, grabbing Toto’s arm. "You need to come with me, now. It’s important."

Seeing the serious look in his driver’s eyes, a million scenarios swirled around in Toto’s mind. He didn’t even excuse himself from Martin knowing that Lewis wouldn’t just crash his interview for no reason.

What took him back more was the fact that his driver had started running back into the direction of their garage and Toto didn’t hesitate to follow.

He couldn’t imagine how this looked, Lewis running through the paddock frantically, crashing Toto’s live interview and the pair of them running back.

"What is wrong?" He huffed as they weaved in and out of the masses of people crowding in the pits.

Lewis kept his voice down as he explained, not wanting this to hit the internet from someone overhearing. "I have no idea, Jack was screaming in the middle of the garage, looking for you. He said Y/N needed you quickly so I tried to get him to tell me where she was but he wouldn’t, said she told him to get you as quick as he could, he looked terrified."

A deep sickening feeling settled into the pit of Toto’s stomach as he quickened his pace, he knew you weren’t well today and the multiple scenarios of what could possibly have happened scared him.

"Papa!" Jack yelled as soon as he saw his father enter the garage, running straight for Toto and diving into his legs. "Quickly! Mama said she needs you."

Toto picked Jack up and looked him in the eye. "You stay here with Lewis, okay? I’m going to go see Mama."

Jack nodded, suddenly a lot more calm now that his dad was here and didn’t complain when he was passed off to Lewis.

Toto quickly made his way to his office and as soon as he stood in the threshold of the doorway, his heart fell to his stomach as he lay his eyes upon you, unconscious on the floor by his desk.

He was by your side in a second, kneeling next to you as he rolled you onto your side and moved your hair from your face.

"Liebe?" He gently tapped the side of your face, trying to coerce you out of unconsciousness.

At no response, he pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, grimacing at the amount of heat he felt radiating from your body. Looking around his office, he saw a glass of ice water sitting on his desk, he grabbed the glass and dipped his hand inside before pressing it back against your forehead, hoping it would cool you down a bit.

"Schatz?" He tried to wake you again, this time successful as he heard a slight change in your breathing and saw your eyes moving beneath your lids.

"Y/N, you’re okay, take it easy." He continued speaking to try and coerce you more awake, smiling when he saw your eyes open.

You were confused to see your husband hovering above you, your mind was foggy and your body felt so heavy you couldn’t move your limbs.

Looking around, you found that you were lying on the floor causing your face to contort into confusion.

Turning back to Toto, you blinked up at him and upon seeing the questioning look on your face, he explained. "You fainted, and gave Jack quite the fright too."

Hearing Jack’s name, your body filled with worry and you tried to sit up but Toto’s hands on your shoulders encouraged you to lay back down. "He’s fine, he’s with Lewis."

"Need a drink," you told him causing him to look at the glass on the edge of his desk.

"I’ll get you a new one, I put my hand in that one to try and cool you down," he told you.

You shook your head, "it’s fine," you held out your hand for him to just give you the one on the desk, not really wanting him to leave at the minute.

Toto brought the glass to your lips, insisting on hosing it for you since your hands were shaky and he didn’t want you spilling it all over yourself. "Have you had anything to eat?"

You shook your head, the idea of food earlier had knocked you funny but you know you should probably eat something.

"I’ll get someone from hospitality to make you some toast," he told you, not really giving you the opportunity to refuse, not that you would have anyways. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah, thank you." you replied, sitting yourself up to lean against his desk. It was as though passing out was what your body needed to recover because the fuzziness in your head had faded away, the hot flush all over your body was gone and your stomach was no longer churning anymore, it just felt empty.

"We should’ve stayed at the hotel," Toto repeated for what felt like the hundredth time today and you couldn’t even argue with him this time. "I know," you responded.

"Do you want to stay in here and rest while the race is happening? I can keep Jack with me."

You shook your head, "No, I want to watch it out there; I’ll be fine."

Toto sighed but nodded.

"Mama!" Jack ran away from Lewis and towards you as soon as he saw you and Toto leave his office, you smiled widely and crouched down for him to run into your arms despite Toto’s protests, knowing you still felt a bit weak.

"Hi, baby," you wrapped your arms around him tightly and rubbed a hand up and down his back.

"I got Papa just like you said," he spoke into your shoulder.

"I know, you did such a good job," you told him proudly.

Toto insisted that you stay near him whilst the race was happening, not willing for you to leave his sight incase anything else happened so you curled up on a chair beside him with Jack on your lap, the boy also not wanting to be far from you, with Toto’s large coat draped over the pair of you.

A plate of toast and a glass of water had been set in front of you next to the monitors and there was no way you could stomach all four slices so you and Jack split it.

The media had their speculations as to why Toto and Lewis had been rushing through the paddock but once they saw you snuggled up on the chair beside Toto, still very pale, they could guess what happened but they thought it was adorable seeing how the man would constantly glance away from the monitor to you and Jack to ensure you were okay, his hand stroking your hair away from your face every few minutes.

[luxraydyne]

i gotta tell ya fellas, batting off the urge for perishing gets real difficult all of a sudden when you hit your 20s and your perpetual cycle of practical problems in the snare of neoliberal capitalism can literally and most likely will all be solved by death from an inevitable vaguely stress related illness whatever is a silly girl supposed to do oh boy the ideation it do be comin wwooOOOOAAAAHHooowwweEEE

[gloomwitchwrites]

Missed Hints

King Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, humor, pregnancy, suggestive themes, fade to black, established relationship

Word Count: 1.8k

With the pregnancy confirmed, you decide to drop little hints until Thorin makes the connections.

A/N: for @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“You’re pregnant, your majesty.”

Those two little words are enough to make time freeze. You are cold, a bit hesitant, and completely unbelieving of what you’re hearing.

“Are you sure?” you ask slowly, needing to know if you’ve heard her correctly.

The midwife, Lena, smiles broadly. “As sure as the sun rises in the morning. I’ve been doing this for close to thirty summers now. Rarely am I ever wrong.”

Lena’s assistant, Petal, matches Lena’s smile with one of her own. It is radiant and sunny, a stark difference from your sudden anxiousness. “This is wonderful news,” she exclaims. “King Thorin will be so pleased.”

“Indeed,” agrees Lena. “And so will the people when it’s formally announced.”

Both women sigh at the same time, but you are not nearly as excited as they are.

You and Thorin did try for a child many times in the beginning of your marriage. It was enthusiastic—and constant—but nothing ever came of it. While it bothered you, Thorin never seemed to care. He told you that all he wanted was you and that anything else was a bonus.

That is still true. Thorin loves you.

But Thorin is being pulled in a different direction. Erebor needs attention, and Thorin throws himself into service attempting to tackle every obstacle and difficulty on his own. Most nights, he comes to bed late—usually when you’re already asleep. When you wake, he is usually gone, off to take care of his abundant duties. They are piling up, becoming a burden. Thorin does too much, and while you admire him for his dedication, you miss him.

To know that you’re pregnant is a surprise. It’s not that you and Thorin haven’t been intimate, it’s just that it hasn’t been nearly as frequent as in the past. While Thorin is gone, you have your own duties and responsibilities. When the two of you do have quiet time together, intimacy is brief but passionate and almost always followed by the two of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

“How far along?” you ask, trying to place exactly when it might have taken.

When your cycle never came, you didn’t think much of it. That happens sometimes. But then didn’t occur during the next expected timeframe. With its absence came irritability and random bouts of sudden crying you couldn’t explain. Certain foods smelt odd, and while you weren’t emptying the contents of your stomach, constant nausea made it difficult to complete daily tasks. You knew then that something was different. And now the midwife has confirmed it.

But even with an answer, you’re not sure how you feel.

“I’d place you at about ten weeks. Perhaps eleven,” answers Lena with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“That far?” you squeak, wincing immediately with how upset you sound.

Lena and Petal’s smiles start to diminish. Their enthusiasm melts away, replaced with furrowed brows and soft lines of concern.

“Is everything all right? You look a bit faint?” Lena places her hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you reply, though it sounds like you’re gasping for air. “Surprised is all.”

Their smiles return but it’s subdued.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. A child means an heir, and it also gives the people hope for the future. Much of Erebor is still in pieces from Smaug’s habitation. That doesn’t even begin to include all the damage and death from the battle. Dale, which was once abandoned and forgotten, is starting to see life again as well. The races of Men are returning to it, hoping to rekindle its long-extinguished flame.

A royal child is a symbol of hope. It’s a moment of celebration for everyone.

“I think a bit of rest for the remainder of the day will do you some good,” says Lena softly. “We will prepare some ointments that you can use to relieve any aches or pains. Bloating is likely, and as the body makes room for the little one, you’ll have some discomfort.” Lena taps her bottom lip and then turns to Petal. “We’ll need to prepare some liquid supplements to take with meals.”

“Of course,” nods Petal. She begins packing up their supplies.

Lena squeezes your shoulder before letting go. “I’ll come check on you in a few days. Bring a few things with me. We’ll talk more then, preferably with the father present.”

“Yes,” you reply, absently rubbing your belly. “That would be best.”

The two women bow and depart quickly, leaving you alone in the royal bedchambers. The room is quiet and your breathing sounds too loud in such a large space. With hands clasped, you twist them over and over again in agitation, needing to move but unsure of how to quell the anxiousness. It’s stubborn like the deep roots of a tree that refuse to give up the dirt.

How are you to tell Thorin? How do you approach this when you rarely see him. It’s just one more thing to burden him with. Perhaps, if you dropped a few hints? Covertly toss the pregnancy in his direction and see if he picks it up?

You know deep in your gut that you shouldn’t worry over this. Thorin will be happy. He will be.

You spend the rest of the day as Lena instructs. Reclining, resting, and reading. Thorin is supposed to return tonight for evening meal. Whenever he promises an early arrival, Thorin means it. Rarely does he make promises he cannot keep.

As dinner is brought in, and the table is set, Thorin walks through the door. There is a bit of soot on his cheek like he’s been in the mines, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. When he notices you, he beams, and there is so much love there that you simply want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“My love,” he says, moving toward you swiftly. The embrace nearly sweeps you off your feet. He plants a kiss on your forehead and draws back.

“You’re filthy,” you laugh, looking him over. Thorin has been in the mines.

Thorin shrugs sheepishly. “I had to help dig. Structural issues.”

“Wash your hands at least,” you playfully tease.

“Not interested in eating a bit of dirt?” he asks with a laugh.

“Go,” you giggle, pushing away from him.

Thorin disappears and you take a seat at the table. He reappears a few minutes later, face and hands clean. The clothes he wore before are also gone, replaced with simple, fresh attire. He takes a seat next to you, gaze darting over the spread.

“I’m starving,” you begin because it’s true even though you’ve been consistently snacking all day. “It’s like I’m eating for two.”

First hint dropped.

Thorin laughs, and the sound is sweet like honey cake. “I promise, love. You couldn’t eat for me. My appetite is insatiable.” When Thorin says insatiable, he pointedly glances at you with a heated stare.

You perfectly understand his meaning.

You attempt a different angle. “I’ve also been having the oddest cravings,” you say, starting to load your plate.

“What do you mean?” asks Thorin before he pops a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“Different foods. Things I’d never eat together otherwise.” It is common knowledge that pregnant women will often crave highly specific foods and food combinations.

But Thorin doesn’t appear to pick up on the hint. He frowns, then shrugs, continuing to eat without making a comment.

Sighing, you pick up one the freshly made rolls. “I think these buns need a bit more time in the oven.” You stare hard at Thorin, mentally sending message after message. “What do you think?”

Thorin glances up at you then down at his own plate that has five of them. “I think they’re perfect but if you’d like them more done, I’ll let the kitchen know in the morning.”

“Thorin,” you say flatly.

“Yes, my love?” His head slightly tilts, and his gaze becomes pointed. He’s starting to pick up on your agitation. You don’t mean to be cross, but you were hoping that he’d figure it out so you wouldn’t have to tell him outright.

Setting the roll down on your plate, you promptly divert the conversation to a different hint. “We’ve never talked about where we’d put the nursery.”

Thorin’s brow rises toward his hairline. “I didn’t think you wanted to discuss that until we crossed that hurdle?”

Does he hear himself? Does he understand the context of what’s coming out of his mouth?

“You’re right, Thorin. I didn’t want to discuss it until we needed to.” You repeat his words back to him, slightly leaning toward him as you speak to emphasize the point.

Still, it brushes right over his head.

“Some of the advisory council members have brought up financial concerns. Rebuilding Erebor is important but the needs of the people are pressing. Food. Proper housing.” Thorin begins slicing into the chunk of roast on his plate.

Maybe you are going to have to say it outright.

Licking your lips, you ignore Thorin’s change in conversation. “I did receive a few inquiries about baby clothes. Offers to knit a few items,” you shrug.

“That’s kind of them,” says Thorin slowly. “But why—” he pauses, “you’re not—"

Thorin’s features suddenly shift, becoming almost unreadable. His jovial expression is gone, replaced with a stern consideration.

Are you going to have to shout it at the top of your lungs?

Thorin’s lips part. Promptly shuts. Opens again. “Are you…” he begins but does not finish.

You start to nod, urging him on.

Finally, like light igniting in the dark, Thorin’s face transforms into one of shock, then pure joy.

“Truly?”

“Found out just this morning.”

Thorin abruptly stands, pushing himself and his chair away from the table. He is moving toward you, grasping your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“Why not say anything?” he asks.

“I did,” you laugh. “Many times.”

Thorin momentarily frowns before his mouth turns up into a soft smile. “Clever.”

“You’ve been busy and I was unsure of how to tell you.”

Thorin’s thumbs rub little circles over your knuckles. “You can always tell me anything. Whatever is happening. Whatever is on your mind. I wish to hear it.” He kisses the tops of your hands. “Especially something like this.”

“Are you happy?” you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Thorin pulls you up from your chair, his large, muscled arm sliding behind your waist. He drags you to him, his eyelids lowering seductively, all gentleness leaving him to be replaced with desire.

“Are you up for a bit of celebrating?” he asks.

“What kind of celebrating?”

“The kind that landed us here.”

“Thorin,” you gasp, lightly slapping his chest. He snatches your wrist, kisses the pulse point there.

“The food can wait,” and his voice ends on a soft growl.

“Thorin,” you repeat, this time with a rasp to your tone.

He seizes it, draws you even closer. “The food can wait?”

You nod. “It can wait.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[writingthroughmyass]

Service Animal (Part one)

My mans Logan Howlett X Reader (afab)

Part two here

WARNING: This is soooo self insert it's not even funny. I get weird migraines that present like absent seizures and thought it would be nice to get a warning beforehand by my favourite babygirl Logan (like my own personal service animal). This is gonna be in three parts, it's mostly finished and ends in smooshing so be ready for that ;)

The after effects of using your power was kicking your ass.

In a daze, you made it to your private room and went straight to your bathroom. You felt the nausea rising up in your throat and quickly opened the toilet lid to throw up. 

The multiple alternate realities of what could have happened tonight flashed before your eyes. Ororo, Jean, Scott, Logan, all collapsed on the floor, dead. Their screams played in a relentless loop in your head; you were dissociating badly. Your surroundings melted away until there was nothing but the countless ways they could have died if you hadn't bent reality to avoid it. 

Always. It's always like this. 

Gradually, you begin to return to your body, only to realise there was someone in the room with you, holding your hair back. 

Terrified, your body snapped up from its kneeling position to face the intruder. 

“Woah, hey, it's just me. Calm down.”

“L-Logan?” you slurred, suddenly feeling self conscious of the smell of your breath. 

“I knocked and called out but you didn't answer. So I came in to check on you.” 

You eyed him, feeling suspicious of how out of character this was for him. 

“Why are you looking at me like I'm lying? I'm not totally heartless,” he said defensively.

“Why'd you come in the first place to see me though? I thought you were pissed with me,” you grumble.

When you'd overdone it with your powers, Logan threw a hissy fit and yelled at you for going too far. While you knew it was out of care, it still rankled you that he was acting as if you were a child. You knew what you were doing. 

“I… just had a bad feeling,” he said quietly. “Y'know how I've got my heightened senses. I could tell something was off with you.”

“I'm fine. Just need to rest. This is normal for me.”

You turned around to the bathroom sink and grabbed your toothbrush. You gave your teeth and tongue a quick clean, wanting to just wash all the blood off your body so you could sleep. 

It felt like you had a raging hangover from drinking Everclear all night. 

When you turned from the sink you noticed Logan was still there. 

“Uh… need something? I wanna get ready for bed and pass out.”

“Yeah, I need to know you're okay,” he says.

“I told you, I'm fine. I'm going to shower so please leave.” 

Your patience was wearing thin. But you were also aware that some of it was nervousness coming out as aggression. You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him, although his attitude left much to be desired. His behaviour tonight was quite frankly really sweet and it was psyching you out. You were already in the midst of losing touch with reality and his actions were so contradictory to his usual self that it was causing you a psychotic break. 

“You're not listening to me,” he ground out, losing some of his own patience. “I'm telling you that something is wrong with you.” 

You stared silently at him, mouth slightly hanging open. 

“Okay, that came out the wrong way.” He was ruffling his hair in agitation. Cute. “What I'm saying is- I'm… ah…”

“Please, Logan, I just want a shower so I can go to bed…”

“Look, I'll just wait in your room and I'll leave once you're in bed safe, ‘kay,” he says, turning to the door and walking out, shutting it behind himself. 

Fuck. 

You just wanted to be alone so you could have a good cry. You were incredibly confused about what in the world was going on but now you were really getting scared. And Logan's words were not helping. 

What if he's right and this time your connection with reality has been completely severed? But what else were you supposed to do? Let them all die? Even with your special training with Charles, your power was so unruly and chaotic that it was terrifying. You had to be careful or there would be no way back. 

You got undressed and turned on the shower, stepping inside. It was only once you were under the hot stream of water that you realised you'd left your pyjamas in your bedroom. You groaned aloud. Fuck, now you'd have to walk in front of Logan in nothing but a towel. Why the fuck was he here? You wished he'd just leave. 

You watched the dried blood wash away from your skin, turning the floor of your shower a bright red. 

You felt your stomach drop and your head turned fuzzy. The sound of your shower disappeared. The safety of your surroundings melted away. 

Scott, his eyes gouged out from his head. Ororo’s limbs crumpled every which way, her eyes clouded over not because of her powers but because she was lifeless. Jean, her neck holding on to her body by a thread, her cranium blasted open and her brain dripping down her face. 

Logan, on the ground, ripped to shreds, his Adamantium bones showing through his torn flesh. And the wounds weren't healing. 

It was always like this. As if you were being punished for playing god. It was as if all the horrible realities you prevented from happening still lived on but solely in your mind, driving you insane. It left scars of trauma on your psyche, Charles had told you. So you had to be careful in how you used your powers or you may become completely untethered from reality. A fate worse than death. 

Vaguely, you could hear yourself mumbling and gasping and swallowing loudly, trying to find some kind of equilibrium in the mess of your mind. 

You were trying desperately to connect back with your body but at the same time you didn't want to because it only meant having to fight this same battle over and over again. 

Seeing your friends die before your very eyes in hundreds of thousands of different ways, experiencing each traumatic story to its conclusion. Only to have it all unravel into a reality where none of it happened, but the whiplash makes you doubt this reality too. It's always too good to be true. You feel it in your bones that you don't deserve this. That the way you twist reality is wrong and one day it'll catch up to you in the worst possible way. 

You feel water running down your face and remember that you're in the shower. You try to ground yourself and come back to your body. You hear the water splashing, feel the ground beneath your feet, the solid embrace around you. 

You try to move but you can't. Finally, you snap fully to your body. Your mind is groggy, feeling like you'd been hit by a truck. But there's the unmistakable warmth surrounding you, dense and as unyielding as brick. 

Your face is roughly yanked upwards and you open your eyes.

“Fuck, finally! Are you alright?” 

You stare blearily, mouth open and dry from the adrenaline that had been pumping through your body just moments ago.

Bright hazel eyes. Huh. So pretty. You'd never noticed. 

You realise you're not supporting your own weight. You're finally aware that Logan has you in an embrace, holding your body up, one hand around your waist and the other on your jaw as he looks into your face. The water on your face isn't from the shower, you realise. It's your tears. 

“Bloody hell, please say something,” he says angrily. You feel some of your own anger flare up in response. What's his problem? 

“Fuck,” you croak. 

You feel his chest vibrate against yours as he laughs, suddenly aware that you're as naked as the day you were born and this man is fully clothed standing in your shower, getting his white singlet wet. Giving you a bear hug…

Your brain short circuits as you try to come up with words, feeling your whole body heat with embarrassment. 

“W-what are you doing in here?” you manage to slur.

“Helping your ass,” he says roughly. “Can you stand?”

Fuck, good question. Can I stand??

“C-close your eyes first,” you demand. 

“Bit late to be feeling shy now don't you think?” he teases with a wink. 

“Just close ‘em!” you yell at him. 

He laughs before complying. 

You extricate yourself from his arms, turning off the shower, then navigate carefully around him to exit the cubicle. You grab a towel and cover yourself, making a mental note to grab a clean one later since this one was definitely dirty now. 

“Okay, open your eyes and get out, please.”

He turns to look at you.

“Don't think that's a good idea, bub.”

“And why is that?” you huff impatiently.

“What if you collapse in the shower again?” he says matter of factly.

“I've been having these things for a long time. I've managed to survive so far so don't stress about it.”

“It's different now though, isn't it? You've been having these for a long time, you said so yourself, and they're only getting worse instead of better.”

You sigh heavily in frustration. You hated that he was right. 

“So what exactly are you suggesting?” 

Your heart was beating like crazy. He better not suggest what you think he was going to suggest.

“I'm sure old Chuckie boy wouldn't mind lending you his shower chair for the night,” he smirked. 

You laughed out loud despite the tension in the room. He always managed to make you laugh. 

“Yeah, I'm just going to wake up an old man in the middle of the night to ask if I can borrow his shower chair,” you joked, lightly slapping him on the shoulder. 

He laughed along with you then you both shared a few moments of comfortable silence. Only for him to break it with-

“My other suggestion is to shower with me so I can make sure you don't faint and hurt yourself.”

You stared at him distrustfully.

“Hey, look, I'm not being a pervert, it's just the only solution I can think of on the fly,” he placates, hands raised as if to say I'm innocent and unarmed. 

“Right…”

You stopped to think for a second, your muddled mind trying to make sense of the situation. 

It made you especially uncomfortable that you didn't exactly have your full mental faculties about you. 

But Logan was a good friend. You'd fought beside him many times before and you saw that you could trust him. But… he was still a man. A man much bigger and stronger than you. 

“Can I trust you?” you asked falteringly. What a stupid idea to ask the opinion of someone fully in power over you. 

“I promise I won't do anything without you wanting it. This is entirely your choice.” 

You looked him in the eyes, trying to find a trace of falsehood in them. But you only saw honeyed eyes, dripping with conviction. The same conviction you'd seen many times before when he was protecting those he loved. 

You felt yourself feel a little calmer. 

“Okay… but you better not break your promise. Or I'll sick Charles and his shower chair on you.” 

“I won't. I just want to keep you safe,” he said in a low, serious voice. 

You felt a fluttering behind your ribs. Fuck… I'm about to shower with this incredibly attractive asshole.

“Okay… you get in first,” you said. 

“Yes, ma'am,” he said a little too cheerily. 

You turned around to give him privacy to undress. You heard the rustle of his clothes then a thump as he dropped them on the floor of your bathroom. 

Should've known he'd be a slob…

You heard the shower turn on and you braced yourself for what was to come next. 

You turned towards the shower, keeping your head down and eyes averted. You removed your towel and stepped into the shower, still not looking at Logan and ignoring his presence, which was hard to do in your little shower. Thankfully he was turned away respectfully.

You stood behind him, turned away from his body. You took your soap and began to lather it over yourself as you usually did when you showered. 

“Would you like a hand with your back?” Logan spoke up. 

You paused as you weighed up the question in your mind. 

“Sure,” you said quietly, trying to keep yourself calm. 

This is totally normal. We're just friends having a shower. Together. 

You turned your back and heard him applying soap to his hands. Slowly, gently, as if you were made of glass, he began to rub your back, starting with your shoulders. You felt yourself give an involuntary shiver.

“Are you cold? Do you need the water a bit hotter?” he asked you. 

“No, it's fine. The temperature is okay with you?” 

“Yeah, bub, just perfect.” 

His hands felt massive against your back. He massaged your neck for a few seconds before moving down your shoulder blades towards your middle back. 

“Did-did you want me to do your back too?” you asked, trying to hide how nervous you were. 

“Since you're offering, sure,” he said gruffly. You turned towards him at the same moment he turned away from you, unfortunately catching a glimpse of his insane fucking abs, but thankfully managing not to make eye contact. 

You soaped up your hands and began with his neck, trying not to notice how thick and muscular his traps were. 

God… this is hell but also heaven. 

You ran your hands across his ridiculously broad shoulders and down his middle back, avoiding going too low lest you caress his stupid, tight ass. 

“I'm going to wash my hair, okay?” you told him, unsure of why you were asking permission. 

“Don't know why you're asking my permission.” Fuck. You were being weird. “But I can do the same right?” he responded, holding in laughter. 

You felt your face go hot.

“D-do what you want,” you said petulantly. 

You took the shampoo bottle, squeezing what you needed for yourself before handing it to him over his shoulder, which he thankfully kept turned to you in respect. 

You both washed your hair in silence. You already felt a bit better. You dreamily thought of your bed as you rinsed the shampoo from your hair. 

You then grabbed the conditioner and squeezed some into your hand. 

“Need the conditioner?” you asked Logan.

“What for?” he asked, confused. 

“For your hair, duh.”

“Nah, I'm good. Haven't had to use it so far in my life, won't start now. Need a hand with washing your hair?” 

You knew he was trying to be helpful. But it felt so, so wrong. Like overstepping your relationship as friends. But then again… would you ever get the chance again to have an incredibly sexy man wash your hair for you? 

“Sure,” you said stiffly.

Silence, then his hand moved around you to grab the bottle from you. 

“Ah-” you already had some conditioner in your hand. You were about to tell him but decided to keep quiet as he worked on your hair. 

His fingers… so thick and strong yet gentle through your hair, over your scalp. You couldn't help but to close your eyes and enjoy the sensation. 

It was over too soon and he stepped away from you again. You tipped your head to rinse your hair, giving your face a quick scrub with water while you were at it; fuck your skin routine, you were going straight to bed. 

“I'm going to step out first,” you informed him. 

He grunted in reply and you stepped from the shower, grabbing two clean towels from your bathroom cupboard. You covered yourself with one and half turned your body to Logan, gaze still averted from his direction. 

“Here ya go,” you tried to say cheerily, offering the towel to him.  

“Thanks,” he said and grabbed it from your hand. You quickly moved to the door. 

“Wait until I say you can come in,” you said before closing the door behind you. 

Fuuuuucccckkkkk.

This was not helping you to relax at all.

You dried yourself quickly and threw your pyjamas on. 

“I'm done!” you called through the door. 

He stepped out with his towel wrapped around his stupid, slutty waist. You could see his happy trail adorning his abs. His enormous pecs, his dog tags resting in the dip of his gorgeous chest. 

“Hey, bub, my eyes are up here,” he teases. 

You swallow thickly and glare at his stupid, smirking face.

“Have I ever told you I hate you?” you retort, only succeeding in making him laugh. 

“How are you feeling now?” he says softly, suddenly serious. 

“I'm… exhausted. I usually sleep a lot after an episode.” 

He nods in understanding. 

“You'll be okay if I leave?”

This gives you pause. If you were being honest to yourself, you'd say, “Please stay. I don't want to be alone tonight.” 

But you weren't honest with yourself. 

“Thanks for looking out for me, Logan. I really appreciate it and sorry for putting you out. I'll be okay. You can go to bed now if you want.” 

He looked at you in silence. He stepped towards you, so close that you had to look up to keep eye contact. You could feel the warmth radiating from him. Fuck he runs hot. 

“You mean it, right? You're okay to be alone?” 

You stared at him, a little bit dumbfounded. Was he able to read minds or something? 

“Yes, I'll be fine. I'll be in bed so I can't exactly fall,” you chuckled. 

He didn't laugh with you. Only watched you carefully. 

“Okay. I'll respect what you say you want,” he says carefully. 

Again, this is so out of character for him that you second guess yourself whether you're in reality or not. 

You watch as he turns to the bathroom and grabs his clothes from the floor then goes towards the door to the hall. 

“Hey-w-wait-y-you're not going out like that are you?” you stutter in disbelief.

He turns back to you. 

“What else am I going to do?” he asks incredulously. 

Clueless.

“Put your clothes back on,” you retort.

“Ew, you're a bit of a slob, aren't you? They're dirty and covered with blood and who knows what or who else.”

You deadpanned. 

“What if… what if you stayed here for the night?” you blurted out without thinking. You flinch at your own words.

Logan pauses with his hand on the door knob. 

“I don't exactly have my pyjamas here with me,” he says slowly. 

“I've already seen and touched you naked. What's the difference?” you hear yourself say.

What the fuck am I saying?

“I-I mean, surely I have something that can fit you,” you amend quickly. His face seems to go slack in surprise.

“Wow. You really want it, huh?” he smirks at you. 

You ignore the heat that overtakes your whole body. 

“N-never mind! Fuck off already,” you say sourly. 

“Hey, I'm just joking,” he laughs. “I can definitely stay if it helps you feel better.” He smiles at you and you feel yourself melt a little bit. 

“It… it would. Help me feel better, I mean.” 

Having him near you would help remind you that this is real, you justify. 

“Alright then,” he nods to you. “Some clothes would be great.” 

“Ah, sure, give me a second.” 

You quickly go to your wardrobe to locate the loosest pair of pants you own. He'll just have to sleep shirtless, there's no way you have a top that will fit over his broad shoulders. 

You find a dark grey pair of trackies and turn back to him. 

“Try these.”

“Thanks,” he says as he takes it from your hand.

As he moves back to the bathroom you jump into bed to wait. Your bed never felt so fucking good. 

You've barely settled under the covers when Logan reappears from the bathroom, his hair still wet and dripping down his neck. You do your best not to stare. 

He moves towards you and lifts the covers to slip into bed with you. 

This is just a sleepover, you tell yourself. Like when you have a friend over for the night.

Logan slots himself into your bed alongside you and you become suddenly aware of how small your double bed is. The frame creaks loudly from the weight of him and his Adamantium bones. 

“Comfy?” you ask.

He turns in the bed so he's facing you. A smile slowly makes its way to his face and you find you can't breathe for a second. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he murmurs. 

“Alright, sweet, g’night then,” you say quickly, turning away from him to still your beating heart. Fuck, I hope he can't hear my heart right now.

“Are you sure you're ready to sleep? Your heart is beating pretty fast,” he points out cooly. 

Mother fucker.

“So… you have heightened senses right? Kind of.. like a dog?” I'm not thinking straight, why am I trying to piss him off? 

“Thought you were going to sleep,” he grunted. The sound of his gravelly voice did something to you. But you ignored it. 

“It just kind of reminds me of those service dogs, y'know the ones that can sense when their owner is going to have a seizure? I mean, I know I don't have seizures exactly, but I guess it presents sort of like one.”

“What are you trying to say?” he asks gruffly. He doesn't like it when people compare him to dogs. You're just grateful you can't see the look on his face right now. 

“I'm just wondering how you can tell? What is it exactly that you're sensing? It's always interested me,” you say honestly. 

He grunts again and goes quiet before answering.

“I can smell it. Can't even explain what it actually smells like. But that's how I know, although it isn't always accurate.”

“That's really interesting.” And you mean it. It really is interesting… although the implications concerning his sense of smell have you a little bit paranoid… 

“So that's why I'm telling you to listen to me when I fucking tell you to stop with your powers. You could've killed yourself tonight,” he grinds out, anger in his voice. 

“Logan… you need to understand where I'm coming from. You all died tonight. Like literally, right before my very eyes, you were all dead. What do you expect me to do?” 

You feel tears pricking your eyes, the lump in your throat is choking you.

“I… I can't talk about this right now okay?” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Okay… okay, I'm sorry,” his voice softens. “Please, just get some sleep, okay? Guide dog’s orders.”

And just like that you're laughing again, feeling a tear running down your cheek to your pillow. You were so grateful to have him in your life. You were also grateful he couldn't see you crying right now. 

“Alright, g'night, puppy,” you tease.

“‘Night,” he says softly. 

A minute passes and you can already feel yourself starting to drift off. You smile to yourself, knowing that you have your own personal “service animal” to keep you safe tonight.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {8}

Summary: Life has flipped upside down: the people supposed to protect you hurt you and the man who hurt you protects you. Warnings: angst, fluff WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

Nausea churned your stomach and you were grateful dinner hadn’t been served or it would surely be making its return. Blood rushed past your ears and throbbed in your head as you tried to focus on the sheet music in front of you and not the cold touch of sweat beginning to coat your skin.

“Don’t fuck this up,” your mother warned.

You vividly remembered the last time you messed up, fumbling over the tune in front of her friends. She had sent them on their way to the pool house bar and the moment the door closed she slammed the lid of the piano down before you could react. You hadn’t been able to fight for weeks with the thick bandages that kept the finger splints in place.

With trembling hands you lifted the lid that protected the ivory keys from dust. It weighed more than it looked and your eyes scanned the wood for any sign of the blood that had stained it. There was no point searching for something that couldn’t be seen, you found the housekeepers were able to clean blood out of anything.

“You’re shaking,” Charles whispered as he took a seat on the bench with you. His hands took yours and concern bled into his green eyes.

“I’m fine, I just need to get this right. It has to be perfect.”

He frowned at the detached tone and let you pull your hands free, but he didn’t leave as you raised your hands to the keys and stared vacantly at the music book on the shelf. Fingers he had seen clenched tight into fists and fighting with raw strength now moved delicately across the keys and your eyes closed. To anyone in the room it would look serene, divine even, but close up Charles could see the shimmering of tears beneath the lashes.

Something, or someone, had utterly broken the woman beside him and Charles found out just how much he could truly hate when he looked up to see your mother. Her watchful eyes were eager but it wasn’t for the music. The eyes that were the same exact shade as yours were too invested in your performance. It was a stark comparison to when his mother watched him play. There was no pride, merely cold calculations and the anticipation of a mistake.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as your little finger seized up and failed to reach the key needed.

Fire ignited in your mother’s eyes at the mistake, not that anyone else would have caught it unless they were pianists too. Cruel intentions played across her face as Charles shifted closer on the seat and reached for your hand, slipping his beneath yours and taking over the piece, finishing it almost perfectly.

“Such a delightful duet,” your mother clapped, accepting the applause as if she had done the work. “Dinner will be served in a moment.”

The crowd dispersed to take their appointed seats but you couldn’t move as you sat with your hands slumped on your lap. A shadow fell across you and you tensed, waiting for the pain to come.

“Come on, baby, we’re leaving.” Charles rose to his feet and planted himself between you and your mother.

“The evening isn’t over.”

Charles curled his arm under yours and pulled you to your feet but you felt like a puppet, not in control of your own body. “It is for us, and every other evening too.”

“I don’t know what game you are playing at, boy, but she belongs to me and she isn’t going anywhere.”

“Y/N is a person, not a belonging. She isn’t a price in a deal or weight in a business decision.” Charles snickered as her eyes widened. “Yes, I know about that. I wonder what the world would think of this family if they found out the truth too.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You finally had the strength to look at him and see utter seriousness set in his handsome features. He was willing to make a scene for you with some of the nations most affluent figures in the next room, but that was exactly why your mother ceded to him.

“Go,” she snapped, an angry finger pointing to the door before she stared down her nose at you. “I won’t forget this when you come crawling back to me.”

You barely spoke a word as you followed Charles outside where he called his brother. “Tur, I need a favour. Can you come and pick us up? No, we haven’t been arrested.”

You didn’t realise you were shivering until he unbuttoned his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders. Warmth and his scent enveloped you and you immediately started to feel better, your fingers unfurling from the stiff fists they had been closed into.

“He’s going to be at least half an hour,” Charles said as he tucked his phone away and looked around, spotting curious eyes watching from the window. “We should get a taxi and wait somewhere else.”

“Can we walk?”

Charles glanced at your heels. “Do you want to get changed?”

You shook your head and started to make your way down the driveway. “I would say the door is already locked.”

When you reached the gates you knew Franco was already advised of your impending departure. The mountain of a man took up almost all of the security booth and his sad eyes followed each step, but you kept your head high.

“Take care of everyone for me, big guy,” you said as you passed the open gates. He gave the smallest of nods before his lips pursed and he hit the button to close the gates as he had been ordered.

“You’re taking this rather calmly,” Charles commented as he laced his hand in yours and crossed the road to walk along the waterfront.

“I’m sure she was expecting a tantrum.” You smiled at the thought of her disappointment before a laugh bubbled up. “God, she is going to hate you.”

Charles laughed along with you and pulled you to a stop to watch the sun setting over the water. His chest pressed to your back as he held the safety rail either side of your body and his lips warmed your cheek. “She can hate me all she wants, it was worth it. You are worth it.”

You rested your head on his shoulder as the sun dipped below the horizon and sighed. “You make it hard for me to hate you.”

“Good, I don’t want you to hate me.”

With the red hues of light fading quickly you continued on the walk out of the suburbs and into the city. The smells from the fine dining establishments reminded you that you had missed dinner but when Charles asked where you would like to eat there was only one place that called to you.

“McDonalds?” he double checked, frowning as you looked up at the golden arches with what he could only imagine was childish wonder. “Wait, you’ve never had McDonalds?”

“Do they serve caviar?” you shot back.

“They might start when they see you,” he teased, pointing out how massively overdressed you were as he opened the door to the fast food chain. “After you, my lady.”

Charles could see you were uncertain of yourself as you checked what was on the menu. Your posture was relaxed but your eyes were darting around the room, taking in the exits and the other patrons who weren’t dressed nearly as nice as you. “I don’t know what to get,” you finally admitted after spending too long trying to choose one combo.

“Why don’t you go choose a table and I will order for you?”

You chose a booth in the back corner with some privacy and ignored the strange looks you were given as you walked by in a Dior gown. It was only when you sat down that you realised how silly it was to be wearing a 20 carat diamond necklace with no security personnel so you unclasped the chain and bundled it into your hands beneath the table.

A few moments later Charles arrived with a tray of food and slid in beside you.

“So we’ve got the classics: cheeseburger, Big Mac, nuggets, fries and a sundae.” He opened all the packaging and tore the top off a sauce punnet before dragging a nugget through it. “Here, sweet and sour is the best.”

You parted your lips and took a bite, surprised by how sweet and tangy the sauce was with the crunch of the crispy nugget. Your eyes widened and Charles grinned. “Good, no?”

“Holy fuck,” you moaned. “That is delicious!”

“Try this,” Charles said as he dunked a bunch of fries into the ice cream.

“Seriously?”

“Trust me.”

You were dubious but opened your mouth for the food he offered and frowned at the contradictory tastes on your tongue. Hot met cold, sweet met salty, crunchy met creamy. You didn’t hate it but couldn’t decide if you liked it either so you gave it another attempt.

Charles took a burger for himself and quietly ate while you took a bite out of everything before choosing the cheeseburger as the simplest yet satisfactory item of them all.

“It’s like watching a newborn try food for the first time,” he chuckled.

You scrunched up the paper napkin you had dabbed your lips with and tossed it at his grinning face. “Asshole.”

“What? You’re cute.”

“Thank you, you’re not too bad yourself, brother,” Arthur said as he dropped into the booth beside you and flicked a finger at the layered chiffon sleeve of your dress. “You look gorgeous.”

You tossed your hair back over your shoulder and tucked a hand under your chin with a dramatic pout. “This is the look of a homeless woman, Tur. I have nothing but my name and the clothes on my back, but your brother plans to take them both off me.”

Arthur tipped his head back with a laugh and stole the remaining chicken nuggets. “You can ditch the wedding plan now if you have been successfully thrown out. What happened anyway?”

Charles watched as you shrugged and murmured quietly, “She had me play for her important guests and I messed up.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he picked up your hands, turning them over to check for any injuries. “Did she hurt you?”

You gently removed your hands and tucked them back on your lap. “Not this time, Charles intervened.”

Charles had never seen such a look of relief or gratitude from his brother and despite knowing he had done the right thing, he wished he could have done something sooner. Clearing his throat of the lump of regret that clogged it, Charles started to collect the rubbish on the table before picking up the tray.

You frowned and looked around for staff. “Isn’t someone going to do that for you?”

“Not here, no,” he said as he disposed of it himself before holding his hand out. “Ready to go home?”

Your argument to stay at the rundown factory was vetoed by both Leclercs so Arthur had driven you back to Monaco with Charles. It was strange to walk back into Charles’ apartment with your worldly possessions in a gym bag and briefly wondered if you were truly prepared for the consequences. You might act brave but there were really only two worlds you knew, the one in the gilded cage and the one in the iron cage. Both involved fighting of two very different kinds but both were for survival; of status or life.

This was foreign.

“I’ll take you shopping in the morning before we go to the track.”

You pulled the necklace from the pocket of his jacket you still wore and placed it on the table. “I don’t know how much this is worth but it’s Cartier.”

Charles frowned at the change in the confident woman he knew and he picked up the heavy chain embedded with diamonds. “You don’t have to worry about money,” he promised as he stepped behind you and clasped it around your throat. “I promised I would take care of you.”

He turned you in his arms and smiled as he ran a finger along the gems resting in the valley of your breasts. “You were born to wear diamonds.”

You couldn’t quite find the words to thank him because a simple thank you wasn’t enough so you slipped his jacket off and draped it over a chair before reaching for the hidden zip at your side. You brushed the sleeves off your shoulders and let the dress float to the floor under his watchful eyes before stepping closer. With each step another item of clothing was lost - heels, bra, panties, gone - until there was only one thing left. “The necklace?”

Charles smirked as he pulled you flush to his body and tipped your chin back to meet his darkening eyes. “Leave it on.”

[lisenberry]

Fluffy fluff.

CW: Pregnancy and child birth, language

Ch.2, Ch.3

You knew this day would come. Your due date wasn’t until the following week, but as of your last check-up, the midwife didn’t think you would make it that long.

But you were still surprised, and fought a rising panic, when you woke up around dawn to your first set of contractions. They weren’t terrible, at first, and you tried to remain calm as you showered, dressed in the comfortable outfit you’d set aside and checked your hospital bag for the thousandth time since you’d packed it weeks ago.

You’d read all of the books and watched all of the videos. It was a long process, and there was no rush to get to the hospital at this stage. It could be hours, days even before anything happened.

You were completely prepared and in control.

Until you stepped out into your hallway and straight into the wall of heat and muscle that was your neighbor.

“Oh, hi, John. I didn’t know you were back.” It’d been over a year since he’d left.

Why on earth he kept such an expensive apartment when he hardly ever lived in it, you couldn’t understand. He’d lived across the hall for five years, and had spent less than six months total sleeping in his bed.

And every so often, when it worked out, in yours.

“I got in late last night.” He paused, brows drawn together as he took in your obvious condition. “I was just heading to the gym.”

Jesus, he looked so good. Even in track shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. It pulled tightly across his chest as he rocked back on his heels. No doubt doing the quick math as to whether or not he could be responsible.

“I’m headed to have a baby,” you huffed out, as a sudden rush of spasming pain in your back nearly keeled you over.

That was a new feeling. It felt urgent. Shit, maybe you should’ve left sooner.

“Right now?” He lunged to grab your bags from your arms as you leaned against the wall for support.

“Not yours, don’t worry.” You laughed up at him, in an attempt to lighten the awkwardness of the exchange.

“Can I call someone for you?”

“I called a cab. It’s on its way.” The pressure started to ebb as you chanced a few steps towards the stairs.

“A cab? Absolutely not, I’ll drive you.”

“No, please. It’s fine. I have a plan. It’s all going to plan.”

But he’d taken possession of your hospital bag and your diaper bag, and had them loaded into the boot of his truck before you could protest.

“Is your boy—the father meeting you there?” Once he’d hoisted you into the passenger seat, and started the engine, he finally asked the question that had been left hanging between you.

“He’s not in the picture.”

Never was, you didn’t add. After you’d convinced yourself it would never work out between you and John, you'd had a brief fling with a visiting colleague from Berlin.

Imagine your surprise when you found out you were pregnant a month after he’d finished the project and gone home. To his wife, you found out later.

“You’re doing this alone?”

“It’s going to be fine. I told you, I have a plan.”

**********

“You don’t have to stay, really. I can do this on my own.” The contractions had become so intense, you couldn't control your voice enough to sound convincing.

His sympathetic smile as he finished filling out your intake paperwork was purely to placate. He had no intention of leaving. And you were grateful for his help.

The fact that he knew so much about you to only need to ask a few questions when completing the never-ending forms should’ve been alarming, not comforting.

Your blood type? Had you ever told him that?

“Aren’t you preregistered? How many times have you had to give them the same information?” He drew his eyebrows together in frustration as he realized the next packet was double sided.

“A fucking thousand.” You focused on your breathing and fought the waves of nausea that seemed to get worse along with the pain.

Weren’t there supposed to be breaks? You were told there would be breaks. You barely got a second to unclench your fists before another one started again.

You stood too quickly and steadied yourself with a hand to his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Concerned, he stood with you.

“I’m going to be sick.” You rushed, or rather waddled at your fastest pace, to the nearby family restroom and he trailed along close behind.

He stopped momentarily at the triage desk to slap the clipboard down and boom something about needing a room immediately, before following you in and holding your hair back as you wretched into the toilet.

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” He soothed, as he rubbed your back and passed you a wad of tissue.

“Please don’t leave me,” you croaked out, tears flowing at your helplessness and the sudden realization that this was only the beginning. That your life would never be the same.

“Careful what you wish for, darling.”

Once you were admitted to a room and set up with effective pain management, you finally relaxed enough to get your wits about you. And that involved, in no small part, frequently reminding the staff that, no, John was not your husband. He wasn’t even the father.

He wasn’t nearly as dedicated to correcting them as you were.

Things seemed to happen quickly, although you’d find out later that you labored well into the night, with a tireless, supporting hand held firmly in yours.

“You did so good, love.” When it was all over, he wiped a sweaty, wayward lock of hair from your cheek and planted a kiss on the top of your head. Seemingly as relieved as you were. As if he’d been holding his breath along side you.

You missed the look the nurse gave you as she placed the squirming infant on your chest, nor did you hear her mutter under her breath, “Not the father, my ass.”

“Welcome to the world, sweetheart,” you cooed, the pain quickly forgotten as you felt a tremendous sense of peace. Clarity.

“And welcome home, John.”

[thatforkedroad]

Sun-hearted

[ao3] Anakin Skywalker is not human. The people around him try not to think about it.

----

Shmi had always known her son wasn’t like her. 

At first, she had assumed that the pregnancy had simply happened without her knowledge. Or that perhaps her mind had blocked out the event — a slave knew better than anyone how the brain killed the past to protect the present, to keep you surviving. 

But the more she tried to dig up the memory-that-wasn’t-there, the more she ran through scenarios, the more she realised that nothing that made sense. If it had been… any of her theories, she would have known, there would have been evidence, Watto wouldn’t have been so angry when he found out. Eventually, she realised she had to give up logic alltogether. Anakin’s father was not something knowable to her. He (it?) had been something else. Something impossible. 

A miracle.

The theory only grew more convincing as her pregnancy progressed. She began to sense things no human should have been able to. Objects falling before they’d even been knocked. Watto’s bad mood from two rooms away. Her baby’s strong soul, loudly proclaiming it would be a survivor. 

She held her new sixth sense dear for those nine months she had it — but not as dearly as she held her baby boy, to whom the sense really belonged. Her darling miracle baby boy, who always knew too much too soon, who read intentions as easily as he read schematics, and whose quick hands and quicker mind did the impossible on Boonta Eve. 

Slaves were supposed to cling to their miracles, so few and far between as they were. But a mother was supposed to do what was best for her son, and Anakin was her boy above all else. She let him go, hoping the Jedi would understand and care for his impossibility better than she ever could. 

(And as Shmi died, she did not need Anakin’s sixth sense to feel the anger running through his miracle veins. She did not need it to know what would happen next, either. 

She knew with all the certainty her slow-beating heart had that her son’s grief would raze the galaxy to ash.)

—

Obi-Wan knew Anakin didn’t fit in with the other younglings and padawans.

He wanted to believe it was just because of the boy’s upbringing, that it was only because he’d grown up in a much crueler, realer world to the others. Or perhaps it was because Anakin was already a padawan or because of how annoyingly easily it was for him to call the Force. Maybe they just heard the Council had tried to reject him. There seemed to be a few hundred thousand reasons that the children of the Temple would consider him an outsider — but one stood out like a sore and mythical thumb. 

There was no Chosen One or such thing as a child born of the Force. There was certainly no chance that the other children (even the ones who tried to accept Anakin with open arms) could sense otherness in his blood. He was just like any other Jedi, if a little more reckless. 

As Anakin and the other padawans grew, they grew together. He became like well-sewn patch on an old shirt — the difference was there, yes, but only noticeable if you were really looking. It was better for everyone if Obi-Wan stopped looking for the gap, so he did. 

Anakin had never seemed to notice it, anyway. 

(And as he watched Anakin’s slaughter of the Temple, the hot drowning of dread and horror and nausea was joined by a cold, parasitic realisation. The gap between Anakin and the other Jedi had never grown smaller; Obi-Wan had only grown more blind. 

Jedi were taught from a young age that they could not hold or control the Force, that they were to let it flow freely else they would face the consequences. Obi-Wan had been a fool to think that something made of one half Force and one half heartbreak could be held any more than its parent.)

—

Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka felt every clone in the hangar’s mood lift. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile in return — and then he cracked a joke, and the worry and grief of the battle became a distant, shrouded memory.

It always went like this. They came back from the latest campaign dirtied, injured, and with a tiredness that ached into their very bones. They all wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep and mourn and not talk to anyone for several hours. But then Anakin — still riding the high of a good fight — would clap Ahsoka on the shoulder, make a stupid comment to Rex, and everything would feel fine. Better than fine even. 

Morale seemed so reliant on him that if her master was angry or sad or upset, so was the entire ship. When he was in a mood, meditation became impossible, no matter how at peace Ahsoka felt. She once considered that it was more than just moral, more than just his stupid jokes, but she had grown up in the Temple, raised on lessons of a Jedi’s few limits. A single man could not project his emotions onto an army. 

Anakin just had a friendly smile, was all. 

(And when Maul told her — warned her — of what her master would become, she did not listen. She could not listen. She thought only of his grin, and the sunny sureness in her chest that always accompanied it.

And so she fought for it again.)

—

Rex knew, theoretically, that General Skywalker was human. 

He’d seen enough medical scans from Kix (on the unusual occasion that the general submitted to care) to know that Skywalker’s biology was just like any natborn human’s. He didn’t have strange-coloured blood or an extra eye and all his (mostly-intact) organs were in the right places. The records showed that he was completely, one-hundred-percent human. 

Theoretically, this made complete sense. 

And it made sense he would seem slightly off. Rex had spent the first decade of his life surrounded entirely by his brothers and Kaminoan scientists; his idea of a ‘normal’ person was someone who looked and sounded identical to him, not a tall, barely-tanned Tatooinian with the wrong accent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rex knew Jedi were different from your average natborn. They could do all these crazy things that belonged in storybooks and myths, not the battlefield. Swaying people, moving objects (or clone captains) with their minds, seeing the future — if Rex hadn’t been trained to do so, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. 

But if being a Jedi had been the reason, wouldn’t Rex have noticed the same thing with Commander Tano or General Kenobi? He understood that maybe Commander Tano wasn’t old enough to develop whatever it was General Skywalker had — but Kenobi was older, more trained in the Force. Surely Rex would have noticed the same thing, that same surely-not-quite-human feeling with him? 

Maybe he just spent too much time around the General. Maybe this thinking was just a part of having a good natborn friend.

He hoped it was, at least. 

(And when Rex heard of the attack on the Temple, he understood his hope was for naught. 

He and his brothers weren’t an isolated incident, he knew; Ahsoka had felt the deaths across the galaxy. He had no doubt the clones on the battlefield cut down their generals — who trusted them like they trusted their own right hand, who stood alone in front of a one-thousand strong army — with an alarming ease. 

But he heard reports of the Temple, of blue-painted clones massacring all there, and knew they couldn’t have done it alone. Only one Jedi was strong enough to take on a Temple of their own kind and win.)

—

Padmé wondered if her husband was made from the stars themselves.

It seemed like the only explanation, sometimes. How could anything mortal be so beautiful? How could anything born on solid ground hold that much love in its heart? He was impossible. He looked her in the eye and saw right through every mask she wore, saw that all she was at the core was an overworked girl from Naboo — and still beamed like she was the most perfect thing in the galaxy. He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him nor for the stature of Amidala. That seemed rarer than stardust. 

She would see him and her breath would catch with something that had to be more than love. He stood by the window and stared into the Coruscanti night like he could hear every thought in the city-planet, his golden-brown hair catching the edges of the hundred-colour lights. She ought to walk up to him, hold him, tell him she loves him and pepper him with kisses — but all she could do was stare. In those moments, he was perfect and divine, and she could not interrupt them with her mortality. 

(And as Padmé lay dying, her life force dragged out by some dark presence, she thought of her star-husband. And she thought of the refugees she had once helped when their sun imploded. It should have been a lesson learnt; stars were beautiful in the night sky, warm in the summer, but dangerous. Able to end entire planets in their own cosmic pain. 

Some small part of her knew this when she first said I love you. But she could not listen. She saw only the star-beauty in his eyes and all the love he held in his sun-heart.)

—

Anakin Skywalker had long questioned whether he was human or not. 

But as Darth Vader looked down at his mechanical hands, heard his pressurised breathing, and ignored the pain that followed his every half-sedated movement, he found his humanity was no longer a question. 

[cannabiscomrade]

February 6-10 is Feeding Tube Awareness Week!

The beginning of February was selected because of its proximity to Valentine’s Day, because we love our feeding tubes. This is my first year as a tubie and I’m looking forward to learning more about feeding tubes and the conditions that necessitate them! I do love my tube, it saved my life!

I am an adult with a feeding tube, and a lot of the awareness and attention surrounding these medical devices is child focused. A lot of children depend on tube feeding to thrive, but there are plenty of disabled adults that depend on tube feeding as well! In 2017 there were approximately 438,000 people with feeding tubes in the US, and 60% of them are adults.

I have gastroparesis, which directly translates to paralysis of the stomach. My stomach doesn’t grind food the way it’s supposed to, and my pylorus sphincter at the bottom of my stomach doesn’t open well to pass food and liquids through. While gastroparesis has a range of impact and severity, I have a very severe case, and I am no longer able to eat or drink by mouth for nutrition. I am 100% tube fed. I went into starvation ketoacidosis prior to my placement.

Tube feeding, or enteral nutrition, has several different forms. There are nasal tubes and there are surgical tubes. Nasal tubes can go into your stomach (NG), duodenum (ND), or your jejunum (NJ) and are typically for short-term use. They can be used for acute illness and malnutrition, or to trial tolerance of enteral feeding. Surgical tubes go into your stomach (gastrostomy/G) jejunum (jejunostomy/J) or both (gastrojejunostomy/GJ) and they’re for chronic conditions and/or long-term use. I have a GJ tube and it looks like this:

I have a GJ tube so that I can bypass my paralyzed stomach and feed directly into my intestine. I can also drain stomach contents from the gastric port, which allows me to drink liquids and drain them out before they make me sick. Different people will have different tubes depending on their diagnosis and prognosis! Some people have one form of tube, and others have separate G and J tubes.

There are over 400 conditions that can require tube feeding. Some of those include

Gastroparesis

Intestinal dysmotility

Cancer

Intestinal failure

Inflammatory Bowel Disease (Crohn’s disease and Ulcerative Colitis)

Cerebral Palsy

Congenital/chromosomal conditions

Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome

Several trisomy conditions

Prematurity

Other conditions not mentioned in the link above include

Hyperemesis gravadarium, severe nausea/vomiting during pregnancy to the point of significant weight loss and electrolyte imbalance

Acute trauma requiring bowel rest

Eating disorders

This week, I want to promote visibility for disabled adults with feeding tubes. I didn’t know anything about enteral nutrition until I got sick. Once I had a confirmed diagnosis of gastroparesis, the reality that I was facing forced me to learn and adapt quickly to a completely life changing treatment. I know there are other adults like me, as well as tubie adults that used to be a child with a tube!

[reminiscingtonight]

neighbor, drunk, puppy

Alexia Putellas

Just A Doorstep Away (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

[WOSO Masterlist]

Alexia wakes up to something wet. 

Cringing, she jerks back. Only to let out a groan at the nausea that sets in at the sudden motion. 

The blonde lifts two hands to rub at her face. 

God, she’s hungover. A little too hungover. Guess that’s what she gets for going out with the team after winning another trophy.

After her 5th shot things started to get a bit hazy. All Alexia remembered was Ingrid shoving both her and Mapi into a taxi at some point, the Norwegian mumbling something about babysitting children.

Before Alexia can continue to piece together how her night ended, another wet dollop lands roughly against the back of her arm.

Grunting, Alexia slides one of her hands away so she can open an eye.

What she sees has Alexia letting out a frightened yelp, ignoring her nausea to scoot backwards on the bed.

There’s a dog, a very big dog, staring at her with big doe eyes next to the side of her bed. 

Almost as if it’s just realized Alexia’s finally awake, the dog lets out a loud bark. It’s tongue hangs out afterwards, the dog looking happy to have some company.

Alexia can feel her heart beating at a thousand miles per hour. 

Unless she made a purchase or dropped by a shelter sometime between going to the bar and waking up, there is no reason there should be a dog staring back at her like she’s a plate of meat. 

Now, Alexia isn’t a dog hater. She had Nala for quite a long time, of course. But the fact lies therein that Nala was a small, lap dog. Her precious little ball of fur.

This dog? Well it’s at least five times larger than Nala was, definitely larger than any type of dog Alexia would ever be comfortable owning.

“Buen perrito,” she whispers nervously.

The dog simply cocks a head at her before letting out another happy bark.

What happens next Alexia can only describe it as a mini stare-off, the footballer not daring to move and her four-legged alarm clock seemingly more than happy to stare right back at her.

Eventually, when it seems clear that the pup wouldn’t get another reaction out of Alexia, it turns on its heels, slowly trotting out of the room.

Sighing out in relief, Alexia rolls back onto her back. 

With her head pounding like a jackhammer, Alexia decides she’ll just have to deal with her uninvited guest at a later date. Forget giant, unexplainable dogs, Alexia’s got to go find some pain medicine and--

It isn’t until Alexia’s properly taking in her surroundings that she realizes that she is not in her bedroom like she originally thought. 

“Oh no.”

When Alexia finally musters up the courage to leave the room she’s in, she’s met with the aroma of something stomach-grumbling inducing and a woman standing in front of the stove.

Without turning around, you hum out a greeting.

“Er… good morning?” Alexia hesitantly replies back.

When you finally turn around to greet her, Alexia can feel all of her breath leave her lungs. 

Alexia’s a pretty simple woman who has eyes. And what she sees has her wishing she could remember more about how her night ended.

You gesture towards the counter and Alexia sits without a second thought. Mere seconds later you slide a plate towards her, filled with eggs, bacon, and toast.

The dog from earlier comes back around, headbutting Alexia’s leg as if to ask for some food.

“No es tuyo,” you scold, shooing away your dog. “Sorry, Maria begs for food from everyone.”

Alexia’s mouth twitches without meaning to. Mapi’s going to throw a fit when Alexia tells her about this hot stranger with a dog that shares her name later.

Speaking of explaining this to her friends later…

Alexia nervously scratches at her neck. “Thank you for the hospitality and breakfast but… did we do something last night? I think I drank too much.”

You snort. “I think that would be an understatement.”

Alexia can’t stop her hackles from rising defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head, ignoring the way her vision seems to shake at the motion. “Actually, sorry, do I even know you?”

“Nope. But I know you.” You seem to cringe the second the words come out of your mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make that sound so creepy. I’m 4B.”

When Alexia gives you a blank look you roll your eyes. 

“I live down the hall from you.”

This time Alexia frowns. Out of the scenarios she made up, neighbor was not one of them. “Not to be rude but why the hell did I wake up here if I live down the hall?”

You shrug, digging into your own plate of breakfast. Alexia pretends not to notice when you slip your dog a piece of bacon despite chastising her earlier. 

“Drunk you seemed to think that my place was yours. I could barely get you into the guest room, let alone drag you back home.”

Alexia flushes at your words. She drops her face into her hands in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

You laugh, a light sound that has Alexia’s heart skipping a beat. “It’s fine. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself to you for weeks. You just helped me get over my nervous phase. It’s hard to find someone scary when you’ve seen them trip over their own feet.”

Alexia lets out another groan of embarrassment, but this time there’s an amused smile on her lips.

You might be neighbors, but she can find herself getting used to this.

And the way you brush fingers on her way out the door an hour later tells her that you might want that too.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. VII

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @hueanhdang @thelastemzy @purple-1995 @pedro-pascal-love @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97

cw: blood, death, violence, threats

The minutes passed excruciatingly slow on top of Morningstar. Seamus pressed tightly against her back still, as if he was afraid of the dragoness trying to throw him off. Daenys wouldn't put it past her, honestly. If it wasn't a risk to catch her, Morningstar would buck him off like an ornery stud.

Even with the wind blowing past her at such a high speed and the altitude of the flight, Daenys only felt a flaming heat. It burned through her veins like fire, unrelenting with its assault. She became dizzy with the overwhelming thoughts in her mind. She hadn't foresaw this to her conscious belief.

Daenys couldn't go back to the Red Keep. Not until Rhaenyra was on the Iron Throne and could protect her. She would be trapped in a snake pit with no way out except for death. She would rather die than return alone. Aegon was a drunken cunt who found enjoyment in tormenting others, found his nightly entertainment in fighting rings, and found his pleasure in the many whores of flea bottom.

Aemond was even worse. He had great skill and wit to aid him, but his madness made him the most dangerous of the two.

Otto and Alicent were compliant with the brothers now that they were reigning. Unstoppable, Daenys knew. The Queen Mother wouldn't do anything for the defense of her step-granddaughter, not in a thousand years. Otto might even suggest for Aemond to take her as a wife in a display of dominance over Rhaenyra's claim. Her eldest daughter, sister-in-law to the King.

The thought did not help her nausea. She couldn't go back.

A better fate would be to die at a formal execution. A statement to the Realm; not even the high-borns were safe from treason.

She would die there. Body or spirit, it did not matter. Daenys wished to die on her own terms, not to the whims of a whore and a madman.

Her own mortality haunted her. A princess, eldest daughter to the Queen, meant to have the blood of the dragon. Destined to die on her dragon, yet not be honored with 'a dragonrider's death'. There was no being shot down by a scorpion in a great battle for the history books. No dragon dance to perform in the skies with another beast. Only a man. A craven.

She would be alone, only with Morningstar. Like her ancestor Aerea, who mysteriously disappeared for an entire year with her dragon to Old Valyria, only to return and die without telling her story. Daenys would be remembered for her madness, not her sacrifice. A footnote, perhaps, in her mother's reign. No chapter would be dedicated to a girl who did nothing.

It wouldn't matter. Daenys wouldn't be alive to care about her legacy. She was born with her dragon. She would die with her, too. The thought comforted her more than anything else could. She was a proud dragonrider, and that's all that mattered in the end, perhaps.

Seamus squeezed her waist, knife at his thigh, almost poking into hers carelessly. Not that it would matter if it did, she could return to King's Landing with no limbs at all, and Seamus would still be rewarded. "Can't this beast fly any faster? I thought dragons were supposed to be Gods."

"She cannot fly against the winds so easily." Daenys told him, resisting the urge to tell him it was common sense. She should've fed him to Morningstar when he presented her with the wolf's head. She was naive to believe he was clueless instead of slighting her intentionally. What a coward. He couldn't even fight Cregan head-on, despite his age and experience difference. Proudly, Daenys knew that Cregan was a rare once-in-a-generation talent. As a Stark should be. He would be in the history books of great and important leaders throughout Westeros history. Perhaps most known for his protection of all that resided south of the Wall or his aid to the Queen during the war for the throne. The Wolf in the North.

Maybe her death would inspire Cregan to send more bannerman than he originally planned, out of pity for the Queen's loss. Though, she secretly hoped it might be to avenge his short-lived lady friend.

He scoffed, "what a joke."

"Do you wish to walk to the crownlands?" She bit, regretting it when he dug his blunt nails into her skin. She would be left with plenty of bruises littering her skin on the morrow.

"Watch your tongue girl, or I will remove it."

She nodded quickly, refraining from speaking any further. When had she grown so mouthy? Only days ago, she would've never imagined saying such things to a man who had a knife to her back, or anyone, for that matter.

Daenys grinded her teeth, looking ahead sharply. It was only clouds below, grey skies spanning for miles ahead. If Cregan was following on horseback, he would've long since lost sight of her. She prayed that he was, even if he could not do anything from such a distance. The thought comforted her.

Morningstar shrieked, the sound jarring even to Daenys' tuned ears. It was higher-pitched than usual, like she was calling out for another dragon. Or a person.

A thought formed in her head. Morningstar did not have to bite someone to kill them. She, like many of the other dragons, had one thing unique to her. Baelerion had his unmatched size. Meleys was the fastest of the living dragons, even with her large form. Caraxes had a long neck, resembling a bloodwyrm. Sunfyre had his renowned beauty. Syrax had a regal grace to her that no other dragon matched.

Morningstar released a blue fire from her chest, burning hotter than the orange and red fires of her kin. She seldom used it, other than to cook her food. It scorched everything it touched in less time than other dragonfire. Daenys bit her cheeks anxiously. She would not live to the sunrise.

She would not see the bruises form and eventually fade.

She would not see her dear brothers again, nor race in the skies with Vermax and Arrax.

She would not feel her mother's warm embrace.

She would not see Cregan's kind eyes again.

But it would be her choice. Her sacrifice. For once, Daenys would do something. Perhaps not heroic, like her fathers', or significant like her mother. She would prevent herself from being held hostage with her timely death. Daenys knew that if she were taken, put to the gallows publically, Rhaenyra would back down in order to save her only daughter. It was obvious what the smarter option was, objectively.

She swallowed down her nerves, coming to a solemn acceptance.

Sliding her hand up her bunched skirt, Daenys slid the dagger slowly down her leg, uncaring if she nicked her skin. She could only feel the cold pommel in her grip and the hot adrenaline in her blood. On one side, she clutched her dagger. On the other, she reached for Seamus' weaponed hand. She snatched his wrist in a chokingly tight hold, trying to force his hand to open and drop his dagger. He jerked in surprise, not expecting the underwhelming Princess to act out. In his sudden movement, the dagger grazed her neck, drawing an angry red line of blood from it. She gripped the wrist tighter, his body acting against him and opening his hand up to drop the dagger. It fell to the forest floor, long out of his reach. She whipped her other hand down on his, stabbing it straight through his hand and into the saddle.

Seamus screamed out in pain, howling curses at the girl. "Forget alive! The King will have you returned in bits and pieces!"

When he tightened his arm around her waist again, she pulled the dagger back to her chest, allowing his blood and twitching hand to smack her across the jaw wildly. She twisted and fought in his grip, hot blood smearing across her face and neck. Seamus' eye was squeezed shut painfully from a scratch she managed to give the eyeball directly; the sight pridefully reminded her of Aemond. They both heaved with effort, fighting each other and to stay on the saddle. Below, Morningstar fluttered her wings in a panic, hearing Daenys yelp into the cold air.

He reached for her dagger, grunting when she continued to slice at his exposed hand's flesh. They continued their struggles, both covered in blood now. Daenys turned at the waist, taking the flying fist at her eye with a crazed look in her violet eyes. She stabbed the dagger into his soft belly, satisfied at hearing him cry out. When he pushed her into the front of the saddle, hands trying to keep a grip at her neck, she cried out. At her struggles, he slammed her repeatedly into the hard material of the saddle by the tight grip of her scalp, leaving her breathless and light-headed. "Stay still, you little brat!" He growled into her ear.

"Dracarys!"

Morningstar repeated her cry, refusing the command fiercely. Seamus left the dagger in his stomach to keep himself from bleeding out, though he was tempted to in order to kill the Princess faster. He would have to be satisfied with feeling the breath leave her throat.

"Dra—arys, Morn—!" She yelled breathlessly, wheezing at the excertion. The pressure was too much, black spots filled her vision.

Finally, after much reluctance from the white beast, the skies erupted in a beautiful icy blue light. Daenys, still pinned to the front of the saddle, could only shield her face uselessly with a single arm. Seamus, enchanted with the sight, had sat up. Daenys grinned hauntingly, baring red teeth to no one. Blood smeared across her lips and face, giving her the appearance of the dead already. At least Morningstar would return to Cregan. He would not be left clueless.

Morningstar easily flew through the impossibly hot flames, her dragonscales keeping her unscorched. Seamus, however, was not so lucky. His pain-filled screams didn't last very long, the blue fire-lit man lighting up the clouds like a thunderstorm. Daenys, too, was covered in the dazzling light, but her throat made it impossible to scream.

Morningstar knew the fate of her rider, mournfully calling out for her one final time. She sung the song that Daenys was always happy to hear, sometimes singing back when they were alone. The dragoness did not waste time flying any further toward the crownlands, descending toward the snowy woods and to the nearest clear patch she spotted. The smell of burning flesh filled the area that she landed in, the sound of two bodies individually thumping to the melting ground. But Morningstar refused to look at the bodies, refused to have the sight of Daenys tainted with what she had done. Killing her own rider, a sacred bond broken. The dragon curled in on herself, waiting to join her rider in death. No matter how long that took.

🗡

Daemon ruled over Dragonstone's council in Rhaenyra's absence. Jacaerys and Daenys have both yet to return, not yet receiving the dreadful news. Rhaenyra had left on dragonback immediately after the raven came, searching for anything to let her see the truth of it for herself. Daemon mourned Lucerys, too, in his own quiet way. He had to be strong for his family, for the living.

He left the council in the afternoon, wandering the empty halls of Dragonstone. Missing three children from its vast halls, the castle was a shell of its former vibracity. Daemon passed Jace's chambers on his way to Joffreys room, then paused when he noticed Daenys' door ajar.

He remembered that it had been closed when she left. Daenys had always been particular about who went in her room, constantly reminding her younger brothers to knock before they entered. Carefully, he creeked the door open, hand resting on his sword.

No one was inside.

Only a few scattered books and pages on her desk that Daemon knew wasn't the work of his daughter. She was a tidy person, never a thing out of place in her quarters. It brought her peace within her little bubble. Perhaps Joff had gotten curious, rumaging through her 'girly' romance books, as the boys liked to tease her for reading.

He approached the desk, ready to organize the books and place them back onto her shelves. He noticed the scribbles on the pages, the first instinct he had to associate with them was Joffrey's childish writings, but upon closer inspection he saw that they were a repeat of the same words.

Dates were placed at the top of each page that he turned to. A personal journal, Daemon concluded. Curiosity got the better of him, sitting to read what the contents were. He wished he had put the book back when he delved into the rabbithole that was Daenys' mind.

Every day, for the last seven years, was dated throughout many journals. Some worn, some newer. She started to document her 'dreams' after Laenor's death. There was one most nights. Some mundane—forseeing what she would eat the next day. Others painful—like Daenys knowing that she would take a tumble from the steps of Dragonstone's cobble steps. Others, on a rarer occasion, prophesied important events in their family's life. Most of these dreams were documented in an obsessive way. Sentences were written down hundreds of times, no doubt mindlessly by Daenys, who was still deep into her vision.

She foresaw Viserys' death, Aegon's usurping, Meleys killing hundreds of smallfolk in the dragonpit, Rhaenyra losing Visenya to stillbirth. Why hadn't she ever said anything, before hand? The dreams are always dated either the night before they happened or merely a few days later. Daemon flipped furiously through the journals, looking for answers.

Daenys kept returning to one dream. One, that wasn't foretold. Laenor's death by fire. She had never trusted her mind to tell her the truth after it had not warned her about her own father's demise. She cursed the Gods boldly in writing and cursed herself for letting her father's life slip out of her grasp.

She did not know a truth from a lie, though all those that haunted her after were true. Still, she did not confess them to Rhaenyra or Daemon in fear that she would be wrong. One wrong warning and disaster might strike from ill preperations. Daemon rested his head in his hands, rubbing at his temple stressfully. It was Rhaenyra who went through her journals, too. She must have searched through every word of them for a glimpse at Lucerys' fate but found nothing like Daemon had. Daenys left Dragonstone before she could foresee his death. Daemon couldn't find it in himself to be cross with his daughter. It was his fault she never confessed her visions anymore. He had plotted with Rhaenyra to fake Laenor's death, keeping it a secret to all in the realm except for themselves, even Laenor's children.

Could this have been prevented? All of this, the war, the usurping, Luke's death. If only Rhaenyra and Daemon had confessed their sins.

🗡

It was hours that Cregan spent on horseback, looking between the trees and the skies in hopes of spotting the white dragon. Dusk had gone ahead, running at a pace that a horse could not keep up with for nearly as long. He was forced to walk most of the time, lest he killed Red by exhausting the poor horse. Every second that passed by was torture. His mind never let him forget the terrified look in Daenys' eyes.

He let her slip away again. This time, due to his own stubbornness. He distanced himself from the Princess, a hundred reasons why nagging in his brain. But none of them mattered now, when he had allowed her to go off on her own. He knew she was upset. He knew that she was leaving the campsite because of the unbearable silence.

Cregan knew, and still let her out of his sight. He failed again after promising that he would protect her. Those sad violet eyes, which had looked at him with all the trust in the world, were out of his reach.

Taken hostage on her own dragon, being used for Knott's selfish desires. Cregan knew he would be a man damned to eternal suffering if he believed in the New Gods. For the first time in his life, he regretted not following them. His only punishment would be his own guilt, which would eat away at him for the rest of his mortal life.

Cregan straightened in his seat when Dusk came sprinting to Red's heels, barking urgently. Cregan signaled for the direwolf to go on again, commanding Red to gallop in a chase. What had he found? Cregan hadn't seen or heard Morningstar since they had left, only instinctively going straight South like he knew Daenys woukd guide Morningstar. Dusk must have heard something that his owner could not.

The direwolf held himself back in terms of speed, staying at a pace that Cregan could keep in his sights at all times. It was not another half hour before Cregan spotted Morningstar curled up in a clearing. Dead? No, that was impossible. There were no threats to the dragon so far North.

Cregan slowed Red to a hault, jumping from the mount with a frantic resolve similar to his wolf's. His whole body was tense at the sight of Morningstar alone. If Seamus had forced Daenys to land and took her somewhere on foot, the dragon would be at the treeline, tearing out trees one by one to get to Daenys.

Where was she?

He almost didn't want to know.

Cregan approached Morningstar slowly, holding his hand out and brushing against the dragon. No response. No growl, no purr, no lifting her head to see who had approached her. He would assume the dragon was dead where she laid if he did not watch her middle slowly move up and down, as if she were only in a deep sleep. "Morningstar," Cregan murmured, coaxing the dragon to wake up.

Only the winds of the North filled his ears as they rustled through the trees. Dusk's growl perked his ears as he focused on the dragon, futility attempting to make her wake.

"What is it, boy?" Cregan asked from the other side of Morningstar. He walked around to where Dusk's call came from, freezing upon the sight. A large, extremely burn body lay dead on the floor next to the dragoness' wing. It was pure black, no sign of any distinguishing features that once dorned the body. To Cregan's relief, it was the size of an adult male. Seamus was dead.

But where was Daenys? And what happened to make Morningstar not be pleased at her work?

Dusk nudged at someone stuck under the body, whining and sniffing at it loudly. Cregan dragged Seamus' corspe away from it, tossing it aside with a disgusted sneer. Serves the bastard right.

It was Daenys, bare as the day she was born. Curled up instinctively to protect her own body heat, though the fire from Seamus seemed to have done that well enough. How was she alive? Unburnt, unharmed? She looked serene, peaceful, as if she were simply taking a nap in the forest with Morningstar. Cregan stiffended, realizing the situation. He swiftly covered the girl with his cloak, taking her into his arms like one might a wet and shivering kitten. Her skin burned to touch, almost making Cregan drop her: but he persisted through the burn.

Cregan considered himself an avid learner of the histories. It was his duty as a Lord and The Warden of the North to know everything about the Seven Kingdoms and all their houses. That included the Targaryens'. Never once, in any of the expensive texts he can arduously labored over in the late nights after his father died when he was only three and ten, was a fire-proof man or woman every mentioned. A secret, mayhaps, hidden by the Targaryens to not give away their strategies.

It was hard to say. When she woke, Cregan would simply have to ask her himself. For now, though, all that mattered was that the sweet girl was alive and in his arms again. As it should be.

Cregan lifted his head from looking at Daenys' worry-less face. When she was awake, she always had some underlying fear hidden behind all her other emotions. It dominated her, consumed her. Cregan saw it even when she was laughing, when she was safe. He wished to make it go away, to chase off what haunted her soul. But even the strong Lord could not fight internal battles for someone else. He could only hope that she gained enough strength of her own to save herself.

Like tonight. Daenys saved herself from her kidnapper. Cregan would soon figure out how she did it and how she survived it. He had a dark feeling that he would not like the answer.

He brought Daenys to Morningstar's eyeline. Shut, like her rider's, Morningstar looked a mirror image of Daenys. They both looked so much more at peace when not plagued by their thoughts.

"Here, girl..." Cregan murmured, lifting Daenys for Morningstar to notice. The dragon lifted its eyelid slightly, the scent of Daenys filling her nostrils. Immediately, the dragoness' violet eye widened and she jerked up. Delight washed over her features, as much expression as a dragon could have. Morningstar rosed to her wings and hind legs, sniffing at Daenys as if this were only a deceitful dream. Cregan grinned at the sight of the beast being active once more, assuming she had become despondent due to her rider being injured or presumed dead.

He shared in her relief and delight both.

After allowing her to reunite with the Princess, Cregan mounted Red carefully, placing the woman in front of him, facing him to lean on him in her sleep. The cloak still covered her, leaving a slight chill over the Lord's back and shoulders. It did not matter, as long as she was safe. The whole ride, taking well into the sunlight, was spent with one arm clutching the reigns and the other firmly across her waist to keep her safe and close. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in her smokey scent, content to be in her presence again. Even a minute without her felt like torture, not knowing how she wad faring all alone in a perilous situation.

Finally, once they reached the campsite again, Morningstar flying far ahead to it and waiting, Cregan placed her into his tent and bundled the Princess up in more furs. He did not wish to dress her, so it would have to do. He didn't sleep, watching over her and the campsite as he waited for the Princess to awaken.

It took nearly a full day for that to happen. Cregan grew more worried with every passing hour. Night had come, making it almost twenty-four hours since Daenys had been taken on dragonback by Seamus Knott. He stared at her intensely, watching every breath she took and every twitch mistaken for her waking up. He began to wonder if he should turn back to Winterfell, or even continue foward to the closest house, coincidentally Knott. He would be reluctant to take her to the very house where the vile man who hurt her was breed in, but a maester was a maester.

Daenys woke with a pained gasp. Cregan nearly jumped with her, stunned at the movement. "Cregan..." She called for him before she opened eyes. When she did, eyes bleary from her long sleep and likely more unpleasant dreams, Daenys teared up at the sight of the man sitting in front of her.

He was quick to wipe away falling tears, ungloved hands gently caressing her soft skin. "You're safe, my girl. He is dead. He can not hurt you again." He promised her, brows turned up in sympathy for the distressed Princess.

"I know he is dead. I killed him." Daenys sobbed into his warm touch, clutching onto his wrists like a lifeline. "I didn't—I wasn't even sorry for it, when it happened. I was glad that he would die, to hear his pained screams."

Cregan brought her to his chest, wrapping her safely in his embrace. "You cannot blame yourself for what you felt. You are not a bad person for it. Men kill all the time for selfish reasons. You killed to save yourself. It is okay."

"It does, Cregan. It does." She insisted, shaking her head vehemently as she gripped his tunic.

Cregan felt unsure of how to comfort her. He was never the best with words. He killed his first man because of his duty as Lord and Warden. Executing a deserter of The Wall for his crimes and disloyalty. He felt no guilt because he knew it had to be done. Such was the way of his station and the Old Way.

He could only hold her, stroking her hair while she cried. They stayed like that for as long as it took for Daenys to calm. Even after she quieted down, they stayed in one another's arms for the familiar feeling of bittersweet solace.

"I knew you would come for me. Thank you, Cregan." Daenys spoke up hoarsely. Cregan looked down at her, placing a strand of hair behind her ear and ignoring the spots of blood on her face.

"I would've ridden all the way to King's Landing to find you."

She truly believed him.

"I should've headed your advice, then." When he gave her a confused look, she continued. "When you wanted him gone. You didn't trust him from the start, I was naive to believe a kinslayer could ever have honest intentions."

"You wanted to see the good in him, even after I told you his crimes. That is not a sin, Princess. If you only ever saw the bad in your subjects, you would never trust again. You were fair in giving him a chance." Cregan mused, resisting the urge to rest his chin on her head. This position was too familiar for a Princess and a Lord—especially when both were unwed. They ignored that fact multiple times throughout his journey.

Was Cregan a fool for not caring? A better man would've surely escorted her back to Winterfell days ago when the wolf attacked her. The North was no place for a princess. He was a selfish man.

He was not before he met Daenys.

At the very least, he hoped that she did not think him bawdy or vulger for being so close to her. He had never known himself to be a slave to his baser desires, never visiting brothals at every want and whim or taking a mistress before he was wed. No, he was not like most men in that regard.

But oh, how he yearned for her. To simply be in her presence was a blessing from the Old Gods. To hear her brilliant laughter or speak her mother tongue so gently with her dragon. Every little expression she allowed him to bear witness to; joy, sorrow, fear, regret. He wanted it all, forever. Wanted Daenys to be kept safe in Winterfell with him, at least then he could always know she was sound.

She had grown so much in her little time with him. So shy and guilt-ridden to even be stepping foot in his home, though it was well within her rights as a Princess to do as she pleased. She remained gentle although she witnessed the brutal killing of a predator who nearly took her life—killed a different kind of predator herself. The little rabbits and the wolf were given kind words and careful handling even after they felt no pain. The titleness man being mourned and cried for even after he had attempted to use her for his own grab at power.

Cregan wished to covet all of her purity and goodness for himself. To keep her away from all things tainted lest they successfully drag her into their clutches. In Winterfell, she would be safe to flourish. Like a rare winter rose, which could only grow and bloom in specific conditions, Daenys could not do so in King's Landing–or even Dragonstone.

He decided then that he would make the offer to Queen Rhaenyra. His council had advised him of such things when Aegon first usurped the Iron Throne, telling their Lord that the Queen would ask for men, and it would be wise to ask for something in return.

If that made him a selfish man, then so be it.

🗡

Daenys wished she didn't wake up from her tumble off of Morningstar. It would be easier if she burned alongside Seamus. From the moment she gained consciousness, memories and guilt flooded her senses. She killed a man without remorse. For her own defense, Cregan had valiantly reminded her, but that didn't do anything to sooth the bile in the back of her throat.

She was a foolish, spoilt, and naive girl for trusting such a man. She would not make that mistake again. Daenys was glad to see the winter Lord, as well as Dusk and Morningstar, but all that did little to lift her mood. The night passed slowly with Daenys staring at the tent's roof, counting the passing seconds until Cregan woke and they would start their journey once more. She glanced at him, admiring his sharp features in the little light provided by the moon. She was vaguely aware of her state under the furs, and even more aware of how he had seen her before he wrapped them around her. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to care for her modesty.

A nagging question burned in her mind.

Why hadn't she caught fire like Seamus did? Her kin had never recorded such an event in their histories, nor had she dreamt of such things happening to herself nor other people. Laena Velayron was burned to death by her dragon, Vhagar. So clearly, the bond was not what saved her. Daenys wished to test herself once more against fire, but feared that she would not be so lucky a second time. There was no way to know her true condition for certain until she returned to Dragonstone. In the castle, all Valyrion texts were kept and passed down the generations straight from Lord Aenar Targaryen.

Beside her, Cregan stirred. He was closer tonight than he had been previous nights. Much closer, in fact. Their breaths mingled warmly when she faced him, and his arm lay outstretched slightly towards her own. She was exceedingly grateful to the man for all he had done for her over their time together. Patient with her trances, teaching her to hunt and defend herself, comforting her in her dark thoughts. Slowly, Daenys interlocked her fingers with his, squeezing once. She shifted to her side, planting herself close to his body heat and comforting scent. She slept beside him for the remaining hours of the night.

🗡

get yourself a ride or die (literally) like Morningstar, who was determined to let herself starve to death because she couldn't live without her best friend.

i hope cregan's little monologe didn't sound dark or controlling, he truly does love her and wants her safe, knows the south lands would not be good for her because they never have been.

how does one write in a man's pov? I will never know. I feel like I always made them too dark or cold. anyway, I hope yall enjoyed the chapter 🩷 feedback appreciated

[03jyh23]

🩶⌇nights like these┆choi san

established relationship, idol!san x gn!reader

│synopsis: the one where you are san's priority

│genre: hurt/comfort

│trigger warnings: descriptions of chronic illness, pain, nausea, and emotional distress

│words: 2.4 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there my lovely people! this one is a requested work that is very important to me! the person who requested it shared their struggles with me, so i put a lot of care and effort into writing this piece. i hope it brings them comfort and resonates with anyone else going through similar challenges. thank you for trusting me with your story. ♡

love, monika ♡

you: sannie, im sorry but im not gonna make it tonight, have fun! love you x

You barely typed out the message and leaned deeper into the soft pillows. You hated feeling that way, feeling completely out of control of your own body. It was as if your own flesh and bones had turned against you, conspiring to ruin the moments you had been looking forward to. Another rush of nausea hit you, stronger this time, and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort. The persistent and haunting question lingered in your mind: Why were you so out of control? You wished you could muster the strength to push through, to be by San's side, but tonight, your body had other plans. You were helpless against a body that sabotaged all your important plans. You wanted the energy to be with San, to support him and not to disappoint the person you loved yet again, but tonight, you knew there was nothing you could do to feel better. You just needed to lay through it  

After all this time of having this health problem, you learned just how to live with it, so since early morning you tried to push the symptoms aside, focusing on getting ready. It was a routine you had perfected—ignoring the pain, the nausea, the overwhelming fatigue. You had become a master of disguise, hiding your struggles behind a cheerful facade. But tonight, even your best efforts weren't enough. 

Usually, you would go about with your day, that's why you were currently lying flat on your bed dressed in that pretty outfit San bought for you especially for tonight, all ready to go and celebrate with him. Just as you were about to leave, the usual symptoms hit you with the power of a train. It was as if your body had chosen this exact moment to remind you of its frailty, to assert its dominance over your will. Tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight, you were supposed to be standing beside San, holding his hand and cheering for him. You had been looking forward to this night for weeks, planning every detail. The thought of disappointing him weighed heavily on you, maybe even heavier than the nausea. You knew how much it meant to him to have you there, and the guilt gnawed at you from the inside. 

A burning stomach pain flared up, adding to the discomfort. It felt as though your insides were on fire, each wave of pain more intense than the last. You clutched your stomach, curling up tighter, wishing for some relief. The pain was relentless, a cruel reminder of the battle you were fighting within your own body. It was moments like these when you felt most defeated, most vulnerable. 

"Baby?" you opened your heavy eyes only to see San kneeling beside the bed, eye level with you. You didn't even notice you had fallen asleep. His eyes were filled with concern, his short, black hair was styled back, making him look incredibly elegant. He wore a white shirt with the first few buttons casually unbuttoned. His eye makeup was minimal, with just a hint of eyeliner to accentuate his eyes, exactly the way you always liked it. He must have rushed out straight from his dressing room, you thought as you blinked a few times to get rid of the tiredness. 

"Sannie? What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

San reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. 

"I just had a feeling that today is rough on you. You didn't reply to any of my calls, so I rushed home," he said softly, his voice filled with concern and love. "I couldn't just leave you here alone," he said softly. "I wanted to be here for you." 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to ruin your night," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. 

San shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Hey, don't say that. You could never ruin my night. I just want to be here with you, make sure you're okay," he reassured, his hand gently stroking your head. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, overwhelmed by his kindness. 

"I just hate feeling like this, being a burden," you admitted, your voice trembling. 

San’s expression softened even more. His fingers traced the few tears that managed to escape your eyes, then he kissed your forehead whispering, "You never are nor never will be a burden." You closed your eyes, feeling the gentle touch of his soft lips against your skin, a tingling warmth spreading through you. The tension in your muscles began to melt away as San’s fingers traced soothing patterns along your arm. You took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of his presence to envelop you. The pain and nausea, though still present, seemed to fade into the background as you focused on the steady rhythm of his touch. 

"But the party?" you mumbled out, "The boys must be so disappointed." 

San shook his head gently, his expression softening even more. "Don't worry about them right now. The boys understood, and Hongjoong reassured me it was all good. What's important is that we take care of you," he said soothingly, his fingers continuing to trace comforting patterns on your arm. 

"Thank you, Sannie," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "For being here." 

He kissed your forehead again, lingering a bit longer this time. "Of course, my love. Always," he whispered back, his breath warm against your skin. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it eased some of the guilt that had been weighing you down. "Can you stand up? We need to get you in something comfortable first," San suggested gently, his hands ready to help you. You nodded weakly, grateful for his help as he eased you out of the outfit and into something more comfortable. 

"Is it any better now that you've slept for a while?" he asked, his voice filled with gentle concern as he rearranged the pillows on the bed. He brought an extra blanket, knowing you would likely get cold. 

"A little," you admitted, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. "But I can feel the migraine creeping in slowly," you added, your voice tinged with fatigue and frustration. 

San nodded, his brow furrowing slightly with worry. "I'll get your medication and some water," he said, standing up to fetch the items. 

"I don't think I can take the medications," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "It feels like if I swallow anything, I would just rush to the toilet." 

San paused, his eyes filled with concern. "Okay, let's not push it then," he said softly, returning to your side. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to rest your head on his shoulder. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, a soothing rhythm that started to calm your racing thoughts. He began drawing gentle patterns on your back, a gesture that always made you relax, his touch tender. 

You breathed in his cologne and felt your stomach clenching. The scent, usually comforting and familiar, now seemed overwhelming to your already sensitive senses. You backed out from his arms, holding a hand to your face to stave off the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake you. San looked at you with wide eyes, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion and concern before it hit him. "Love, I'm so sorry, it's the perfume? Too strong? I'm gonna change," he said hurriedly, already moving towards the closet to find something else to wear. 

"It's okay, Sannie," you mumbled, trying to muster a reassuring smile. "I just need a moment." 

But San had already swapped his formal shirt for something more comfortable and less scented. He returned to your side, "Better now?" he asked softly, his eyes searching for any sign of relief. 

You only nodded, and he took your hand, guiding you to the bed. "You are babying me too much," you mumbled as you followed in his steps, your voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and mild embarrassment.

San shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Hm...." he scoffed dramatically, "I think I don't baby you enough, though?" 

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh despite the pain and discomfort you were feeling. San's dramatic tone and exaggerated expression brought a moment of lightness to an otherwise heavy night. "Really?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him, trying to match his playful energy. 

"Absolutely," he replied with a grin, sitting down beside you. "Now, let's get you settled." You settled back into the bed, feeling a bit more at ease with San by your side. The pain and nausea were still there, but somehow, with his presence, they seemed a little more bearable. "Do you need me to bring something?" San asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. 

You shook your head slightly, feeling the weight of his love and care enveloping you. "Just stay here with me, that's all I need," you whispered.

"Alright, I will just put the curtains in case the migraine hits," he said as he quickly darted through the room to the windows. You watched him with tired eyes, the room dimmed as he drew the curtains, blocking out the harsh light that often worsened your migraines. The soft, muted light that remained was much gentler on your senses. 

San returned to your side, his movements gentle and deliberate, as if he were afraid of causing you any more discomfort. "Scoot over," San said softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips. You shifted slightly, making room for him on the bed. He carefully climbed in beside you, wrapping his arms around you. 

"Thank you for being so patient with me. I really needed you tonight," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. 

San held you a little tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what," he murmured softly. San was drawing small circles on your back, your face buried in his chest. Your eyes were heavy, the migraine setting in, and you could feel the pressure building behind your temples. The gentle, rhythmic motion of his hand was soothing, a small comfort amidst the pain and discomfort, allowing you to relax slightly despite the throbbing in your head. 

Just as you began to drift off to sleep, your body started trembling uncontrollably. The sudden tremors jarred you awake, and you felt a wave of panic wash over you. San immediately noticed, his grip tightening around you in a protective embrace. 

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here," he whispered, his voice steady and calming. He gently rubbed your back, trying to soothe your body. "Just breathe, love. I'm right here with you." You focused on his voice, on the warmth of his presence, trying to steady your breath. The trembling slowly began to subside, and you clung to San, feeling a mixture of fear and relief. "Are you feeling dizzy again? Like the last time?" San asked, his voice tinged with concern. 

You nodded weakly, the dizziness making it hard to focus on anything. "Yeah, it's just... everything is spinning," you managed to whisper, clutching onto him. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as San's presence provided a comforting anchor. The room seemed to tilt and spin, but his calming voice and gentle touch helped you stay grounded. "I'm sorry, San," you murmured, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. 

San shook his head, his expression filled with love and reassurance. "Don't apologize, my love. You can't control this, and I'm here to help you through it," he murmured softly. "I will keep you safe," he whispered, his voice filled with unwavering determination and love. "Just rest," he murmured softly. "I'll be right here with you." You nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. San's hand continued to trace soothing patterns on your back, his touch gentle and reassuring. Gradually, your breathing steadied, and you found yourself relaxing into his embrace. 

As you drifted in and out of sleep, you could feel San's steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, a rhythm that grounded you. Hours passed in a blur of half-conscious moments and deep, dreamless sleep. Every time you stirred, San was there, his presence a steady source of comfort and love. You could feel his fingers brushing through your hair, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your head. He held you through the worst of it, never once leaving your side. 

When you finally woke, the pain had dulled to a manageable throb, and the nausea had receded enough for you to sit up slightly. San was still there, his eyes filled with concern and relief as he saw you stir. 

"Hey," he said softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he looked at you with concern. "How are you feeling?" 

You took a deep breath, assessing your condition and trying to gather your thoughts. "A bit better," you admitted, your voice still weak but more stable than before. The remnants of fatigue lingered, but you felt a small spark of improvement. 

"I'm glad to hear that," San replied, his smile growing a bit wider with relief. "Do you think you can eat something light? Maybe some broth or a bit of toast?" 

You nodded slowly, appreciating his care and the gentle way he always seemed to know what you needed. "I think I could try," you said, feeling a bit more hopeful at the thought of eating something. 

"Alright, let me order something, hm?" San said, giving you a reassuring smile as he gently helped you sit up against the pillows, adjusting them to make sure you were comfortable. 

"Thank you, Sannie," you whispered, feeling a surge of gratitude for his unending support and the way he always put your well-being first. 

San smiled warmly, his eyes filled with love and tenderness. "Anything for you, my love," he said, placing a soft kiss on your lips, his touch gentle and comforting. As he reached for his phone to place the order, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and love for having someone like San by your side, through thick and thin. 

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

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[koqabear]

Like Cat and Mouse!

☆ Playlist! ☆

"You seemed to have garnered quite the reputation for you on campus— one that had the word “trouble” following you like a shadow. But when you give Beomgyu an offer he couldn’t possibly turn down in exchange for helping you get your grades back up, how could he refuse? You can’t possibly be that hard to handle, right?"

Beomgyu x fem!reader, ft. Hueningkai

Genre: college au, slowburn (kinda..?), tutor!gyu x rich girl!mc, fluff, angst, smut

Word count: 37.1K

Warnings: mc is a bitch, and maybe a bimbo? gyu wears glasses, and he’s like super super shy, mc gets sick for a scene, she rambles but its part of her character ok!, toxic relationships, pining/unrequited love, Yunjin is so fake here im sorry Yunjin, mentions of alcohol/drinking, the puppy gyu agenda is fucking strong here !!!

Smut warnings: multiple smut scenes first of all, fwb!huening, dom!hyuka, switch!mc, sub!gyu, (the worst case of sub gyu yet), virgin!gyu, breast play, dry humping, biting, pet names (f rec: princess, m rec: puppy, good boy, baby, slut, etc.)  mentions of bondage (f. rec.), spanking (f. rec.), degrading, praise, praise kink, finger sucking, oral (f. & m rec.), handjobs, mouth fucking, cum eating (?), explicit, verbal consent is not stated in two scenes but both parties are willing! Semi-public sex, overstimulation, slight thigh riding, marking, hair pulling (m. rec. lol), begging, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, cockwarming

notes: i don't even know what to say... there's really no reason for this to be so long, how did we get here. i hide my face in shame.

It all starts as an accident— a very inconvenient accident.

Really, it wasn’t your fault; how were you supposed to keep up with these endless assignments that only seemed to get worse as time went on? You had better things to do with your life— studying is way too much of a headache for you these days. 

Instead, your days have been filled along the lines of parties and trips your friends hold, gaining connections with people that always help things go next level; Empty vacation homes, yachts, even a private jet once— you were lucky enough to land a friendship with these type of people, the thought of taking things slow and worrying more about your education not crossing your mind anymore once you got a taste of the fast life. 

Which is exactly how you got where you are now. 

“There goes your man,” Yunjin’s elbow is sharp against your side as she whispers teasingly, the jab only making your frown deepen as you weakly attempt to shake her off. 

“Shut up.” That’s all you can manage as you go to lay your head down on the dining hall table, your appetite long gone as your head swims and your stomach twists with nausea; her single jab is enough to remind your body of its terrible shape, your eyes shutting tightly as you fight through the urge to hurl then and there. 

You’re not even sure of what she might mean— you don’t remember telling her about any recent hookups— hell, you don’t even remember gawking at anyone in your vicinity; so for her to be teasing you about this “man” of yours was strange, a pout forming on your lips as you try to focus on the cool feeling of the wood beneath your skin.

“I gotta go,” Yunjin says abruptly, your eyes opening to send her a confused look. All she can do is give you an eager smile, patting your head as she grabs her now empty coffee cup from the table. “Your man is coming this way.”

Before you can ask her what man she could possibly be talking about, she’s off, not bothering to look back as she sends you a little wave over her shoulder, perfectly manicured nails glittering under the sunlight that shines through the windows. 

The seat in front of yours is quickly filled. 

“You weren’t at our study session yesterday.”

Jesus. 

There’s not much you can say to that, clearly guilty as you choose to press your forehead against the cool table in response. Maybe, if you close your eyes, he’ll disappear— if only it were that easy. But instead, you’re stuck with Choi Beomgyu and the warm scent of coffee that follows him— god knows how many cups he drank as a substitution for sleep. Your lashes flutter against the table as you attempt to drown out his whines, surprised that he hasn't taken your unresponsiveness as a hint to go away.

“Have you ever gone to Paris?” You ask, the sentence flying from your mouth and interrupting his rambles. It’s enough to shut him up, sitting up as you plant your hands firmly on the table in a weak attempt to not lay your head back down.

“No, I haven’t.”

His response is typical— you didn’t care whether or not he would say yes, leaning into the table as you stare into his eyes; it’s clear he’s flustered by the action, leaning back in reciprocation as his pupils land everywhere but on you. 

“If you had the chance to go to Paris right now, would you?” It takes a moment before Beomgyu nods his head hesitantly, mouth opening as he prepares a new line of questioning for you. But you’re quick to cut him off again, clapping your hands in satisfaction as you stand up— his eyes follow your every movement, face resembling a lost puppy as he watches the way you get ready to leave.

“Exactly; Paris really is beautiful by the way, definitely recommend going. So you can’t blame me for ditching our study session yesterday, can you?” Tilting your head, you watch the puzzles connect in his mind. “We can always make it up or whatever, not that big of a deal.”

Turning around, you don’t bother saying goodbye to Beomgyu; your only thoughts center on your beautiful, comfy bed and how you’ll spend the rest of your day in it. You can hear him calling out to you, the sound of a chair scraping against tile catching your attention as you force yourself to walk faster. 

“We have class in fifteen minutes— where are you going?!”

He’s gaining up on you. You don’t care if you have to sprint out of the building, but the last thing you’ll do is get stuck in another of Beomgyu’s self-righteous rambles as you curse wildly under your breath. 

“Home— I’m sick!” 

Carelessly, the exit door is slammed on Beomgyu’s face— by accident, of course. Glancing back, you’re able to catch a glimpse of his pathetic puppy face, clearly discouraged from trying to continue chasing after you. 

Normally, one would be compelled to feel guilty— but the day is simply too nice, the weather so perfect as a spring wind brushes past your skin; the sun that slightly worsens your headache truly doesn’t seem that bad anymore. 

A perfect day to drive around and shop, in your humble opinion. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 

This new purse would be divine in your collection. 

The luxury bag in your hands is sleek and smooth as your fingertips glaze over the details, entranced by its chic beauty as you let your thoughts wander— formal events, birthday dinners, oh, the places you could take it…

The price tag is no joke— it has you counting numbers in your head, pondering just how much of your monthly allowance you have left; if you buy it now, you’ll have to say goodbye to the girls’ trip at Yunjin’s beach house in Cancun…

Treat yourself, a tiny voice whispers in your mind, you can always beg your parents for more money. 

The devil on your shoulder is compelling— it warps your vision, a pout forming on your face as it practically forces your eyes to see the item in a heavenly light; the last item in that specific collection, and it’s right at your disposal, only a card swipe away…

“Pretty bag,” your little devil hums, “It would look nice with that little black dress you’re always looking for an excuse to wear.” 

His hand is delicate and teasing on your shoulder, his hold on you tight as he pulls you into him protectively. You’re not as surprised as you should be as you look up at Hueningkai, pouting face innocently looking up at him as you shake your head in distress. 

“I shouldn’t. I’m supposed to go with Yunjin to Cancun during spring break,” you whine, petulant as always as you refuse his reasoning— yet also refuse to let go of the bag and walk away. 

Anyone who knows you knows how you get about accessories— how obsessive you become with collecting them, your closet always filled to the brim as your need to buy becomes a borderline addiction. 

Maybe that’s why Hueningkai finds your dilemma so amusing, deft fingers snatching the purse from your hands and walking away wordlessly, leaving you to trot behind him as you continue to rant and stall, lingering by his side as a new item catches your eye; you inspect it curiously while the words uncontrollably fly out of your mouth. 

“I mean it’s not like I don’t have enough money, cause I could always ask my parents for more— and they’d gladly give it to me— but I always feel so horrible to ask for more, especially now that I’m supposed to be getting more independent, even though they always talk about spoiling me because I’m their only daughter, but still, I really want it but if I buy it I’ll have to ask them for more money, and it’s not even a big deal but it feels—“

“Oh my god, okay!” It seems you were too distracted by the tweed Chanel bag in your hands to anticipate the shopping bag that Hueningkai thrusts into your hands, exasperated at your ramblings as he swiftly manages to shut you up. 

You’re left speechless, sorting through the filling paper dumbly as you’re greeted with the same bag that Hueningkai snatched from you— your sparkly eyes look up at him in awe, unsure of what to say as he simply smiles at your reaction. 

“Huening…” you pout, clutching the bag to your chest with one hand as you slap his chest with the other— his very firm, strong chest… “you shouldn’t have.”

He’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you into him and guiding you out of the store as he leans into you; you can smell his cologne so perfectly, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers softly into it.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, endeared by the way your eyes shine with anticipation to his words, “I know of a few ways you can make it up to me.” 

There’s no need to call your driver— Hueningkai knows the way to your apartment like the back of his hand, one relaxed at the steering wheel while the other plays with the hem of those skirts you always like to wear.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

“You’re such a tease,” Hueningkai’s lips are plump and bitten at as you smile against them, his hands never straying from your ass as he grasps at it, enjoying the way you grind against him expertly.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” you pant, the warm feeling of his hands on your tight-clad thighs making you whine, your pussy slotted perfectly against him as you feel the way he grows harder underneath you.

“You’re always so good to me…” you trail off the moment his lips begin to wander down your neck, attempting to pull off your thin sweater as his hands immediately find themselves on your breasts. He can only let out a breathy laugh at your words, his teeth sinking in the plump flesh softly before his fingers are working your bra off. 

“Always buying you your favorite things?” He rasps, groaning softly at the sight of your breasts, fingers playing with your nipples as he looks up at you teasingly, “my princess will do anything for a pretty purse, hmm?” 

Frantically, you nod, his hips bucking into you as you feel the way his cock presses against you effortlessly; he’s as eager as you are, warm tongue on your skin making your thoughts run wild as you imagine what it would feel like to have him pressed against your cunt, helpless to your needs as your fingers card through his hair.

“Come on pretty girl, show me how grateful you are,” your thoughts are immediately dispelled as Hueningkai pushes you off, a gentle hand pushing away your hair before he’s guiding you down to your knees; his favorite sight, your doe eyes fluttering at him innocently as your hands make quick work of his belt. He can’t help but groan at the sight before him, lip caught in his teeth as he silently wishes for you to hurry. 

Hueningkai takes the belt from your hands, placing it to the side as he smiles down at you coyly— you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation, your mind going back to the many memories of your face pressed into the mattress as your bound hands desperately begged to touch him. Your fingers are delicate as they pull down his zipper— he’s become impatient, lips parting as he gets ready to make a witty comment. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a persistent ringing of your doorbell. 

He’s devastated as he flops back into your mattress— a loud groan escapes him, brows furrowing as he grows irritated at the ringing that echoes throughout your apartment. 

“Jesus, what the fuck is their problem?” He complains, running a hand through his hair before he sits back up; he’s smiling fondly at you as he caresses your cheek, sighing softly as he nods his head towards the door, “go see who it is, won’t you princess? Make it quick.” 

The look that you two share is nothing but mischievous, his lips connecting with yours in a chaste kiss as he helps you up; he’s tugging your sweater roughly over your chest, straightening your skirt before he’s sending you off— not without one last feel of you, the stinging sensation that lingers on your ass making you yelp as you send him a playful glare— he can only send you a sly look in return. 

This better be important, you can’t help but think, sighing heavily as another three persistent rings of your doorbell echo throughout— you groan, rolling your eyes as you swing the door open wildly.

You can’t say you’re surprised as Beomgyu stares back at you in shock, his wide eyes blinking rapidly as he takes you in.

“What.” Your tone is unwelcoming as you lean against your doorframe, arms crossing to cover your chest as you raise a brow at him in anticipation— he stutters uselessly, pushing up his glasses as his eyes fly about your apartment wildly— refusing to look at you for more than a second. 

“You didn’t answer my messages,” or calls, he whispers weakly, tugging at the hem of his sweater as he stares down at his dirtied shoes, his other arm hidden behind his back. He clears his throat, gulping as he looks into your eyes, pushing past the annoyed look that greets him as he continues, “You didn’t look well this morning, so I wanted to check up on you.”

You’re not sure what to say as Beomgyu whips out what was hidden behind his back—you’re leaning back as you stare at the cute, floral lunch bag that Beomgyu thrusts into your face, hesitantly taking it as you look back at Beomgyu in confusion; it feels warm in your arms.

“It’s soup.” He says, his ears reddening as he takes in the bewildered way you’re staring at him, “It’s my mom's recipe, it’s— it’s really good.”

“Yeah? We’ll be the judge of that,” Hueningkai has snuck up behind you as he wraps an arm around your waist, effectively pushing you back against him— you can feel how hard he is against the swell of your ass, eyes widening as you get what he’s hinting at, impatient fingers digging into your skin softly. 

Beomgyu seems just as surprised as you are at Hueningkai’s appearance, if not more. It becomes your turn to become embarrassed as you look over your shoulder to meet Hueningkai’s smug smile, his eyes glistening with curiosity as he looks back at Beomgyu, tilting his head as he frowns.

“Who are you anyway?” 

Beomgyu seems quite offended by his statement, looking at you in shock. You’re scrambling to cut Hueningkai off, letting out a soft laugh as you place a firm hand on his chest— the last thing you need is for Hueningkai to drive away one of the few people that would be willing to tutor you. 

“He’s just helping me out in some classes, that’s all,” you say, placing the lunch bag in his hands before you’re shooing him away, “Put this on the kitchen counter— I’ll see you in a bit.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t miss the look the two of you share— if anything, it makes his stomach twist in embarrassment, wanting to do nothing more than turn around and pretend as though he hadn’t interrupted you while you were— whatever it was. Hueningkai is cheery as he walks back into your apartment, not bothering to spare Beomgyu another glance as he disappears from your sight; your clearing throat is what gets Beomgyu’s mind back on track. 

“Right. Well,” you say, smiling awkwardly as you reach out for the door, “I’m feeling better. Thanks though!” 

Beomgyu is unable to get out another word as you’re closing the door on him, sneaking in a last comment as you cheerily yell “tell your mom I said thank you!” Uncaring of his reaction as the door shuts in his face; he suddenly thinks back to this morning, shuddering at the memory of him having to walk back to the other exit of the dining hall, towards the building his classes were in— your shared class, specifically— forced to ignore the strange looks everyone gave him as he stared straight at the ground. 

“Isn’t he younger than us? Why was he talking to me like that,” he quietly pouts, his protests left unheard as he’s forced to walk back home, eyes glued to the sidewalk in dismay— the feeling is dreadfully familiar.

“Well that’s sad,” Hueningkai remarks, peeking through your blinds as he watches Beomgyu’s figure grow smaller, “Are you actually gonna eat that?”

His eyes flick back to the lunch bag that sits innocently at your counter—you simply shrug, feeling oddly protective of the item as you tuck it behind you, leaning against the counter as you sigh softly.

“His mom made it, I’d feel bad if I didn’t,” you say, biting at your lips as you watch the way Hueningkai laughs in disbelief. You feel a bit bad as you think back to the way you turned him away, his expression pitiful and sad as you slammed the door on his face for the second time today. Yet you don’t get much time to think about it as Hueningkai begins to approach you, hands effortlessly finding themselves on your waist as your head tilts to meet his lips in a sweet, slow kiss. 

“Can’t believe he interrupted us for so long,” you feel him smile against your lips as he presses you back against the counter, ready to hike your skirt up as his other hand is eagerly wrapping your leg around his waist, “will you make it up to me?”

Beomgyu disappears from your mind like smoke— the smile against your lips is contagious, your hand gently pressing against his chest as you roll your hips teasingly into his, a broken moan falling from both your lips. 

“Of course.“

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

The rest of the day is quite underwhelming. 

You’ve been left with a good fuck and a nice purse, but as you lay in your bed, you can’t help but notice the way your headache never really left— it’s been nothing but a dull ache until now, the pain persistent and growing as you sigh in exasperation; none of your usual remedies have worked for you so far. 

Your body feels hot and weak, yet you’re left shivering as the blankets keep endlessly stacking on top of you. Not even your weighted blanket can lull you to sleep, your figure restless as you toss and turn in your bed, your phone buried in your puzzle of fabric. You’re in nothing but pain— you hate feeling like this, and the sudden grumbling of your stomach truly isn’t helping either. 

Left with no other options, you trudge to the kitchen, opening your fridge as you mentally brace yourself— it’s been a while since you’ve shopped for groceries; there’s not much in there that you could eat quickly, and you can’t find any energy within you to cook. 

The cool fridge door is welcoming against your skin— yet it’s also bothersome as you begin to shiver at the cold, closing the fridge quickly as you frown to yourself; whatever your body has come down with, it sure is annoying. Taking a moment to think, you suddenly find your eyes gravitating to a certain item; ergo, the floral lunch bag that remains untouched on your counter. 

It hasn’t been that long— an hour or two, at most. Whatever Beomgyu gave you couldn’t have spoiled by now, right? 

It’s soup, you recall him saying, biting your lip as you take the lunch bag to your small table, my mom's recipe. 

Unpacking the contents, you hum in surprise— yeah, this looks like a mothers cooking. The Tupperware he’s provided you with is filled to the brim with a nice broth that is still warm to the touch, a side of rice and vegetables also packed inside for you; you’re unable to stop a small awe from escaping you as you take out a small container of tea that has been stored inside for you as well, surprised at how much Beomgyu’s mother packed for you. 

Does she think we’re friends? Is this her way of making me stick with him? You wonder, biting at your lip as you hold back a laugh at the thought— a poor momma’s boy, struggling to make friends as his mother attempts to subtly help him. 

It’s no secret that Beomgyu was a bit of a loner— that’s why you reached out to him in the first place. You knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse you, because he couldn’t even give you the excuse that he had no time; that, and the hefty sum you gave him in exchange for tutoring someone as difficult as you. 

To a degree, you were self-aware— but it only came after the fifth person rejected your offer, saying that you probably wouldn’t even commit once you started. No matter how pissed you were when you were first told that, you were unable to disagree; unfortunately, it also sparked a deep spiraling of self-reflection as your new self-awareness brought you to Beomgyu; by then you were so desperate and ashamed that Beomgyu probably only accepted because he felt bad. 

Tutoring with Beomgyu had its benefits; he was nice, and quite the pushover as well. He never protested too much when you canceled on him, and the most you ever got from being annoying was a long scolding or an exasperated sigh from him— plus, now it seems that free food has been thrown into the mix.

Settling down at the table, you found yourself oddly restless as you went to fetch a small blanket from your bed— it was only then that you were able to find your phone, gasping as it landed roughly on the floor. Going back to the kitchen, you were now able to make yourself comfortable, sitting at your table as you took off the lids of everything that was packed for you— even the tea was still nice and warm in its thermos, everything packed with such care and attention to detail that you couldn’t help but take a picture of it. 

It was delicious as well; the soup was comforting and not too overwhelming on your senses as you mixed in bites of the white rice, fluffy and cooked to perfection as you melted in your seat with every spoonful. The vegetables were steamed and well seasoned; you practically squealed from happiness as you ate, not used to having such a big meal cooked by someone else these days. 

It filled you up quickly— the ginger tea was soothing against your throat, the taste of honey and lime mixed in leaving you warm and fuzzy as you tiredly trudged to bed; you’d have to beg Beomgyu to invite you to his mother’s house later. 

Maybe it did work, you briefly think to yourself, your mind quickly emptying as you make yourself comfortable in your bed, that only made me want to talk to Beomgyu more— maybe it wouldn’t be too bad being his friend. 

A soft laugh escapes you at the thought— your eyelids feel heavy as you struggle to stay awake, eager to sleep through this brief sickness that threatens to overtake you. After this, you’re sure it’ll be an easy recovery.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You think you’re dying. 

You’re hot and sweaty as you kick away your blankets for the umpteenth time, irritated as your body quickly begins to shiver instead. You’re only able to sleep for a few hours at a time, on the verge of tears as the clock on your bedside table reads nine pm— you’re unsure of what to do, already taking medication a few hours ago that seemed to do nothing. Your body is burning up as you toss and turn a bit more, dreading the new train of thought that enters your mind.

Maybe you should call someone.

Maybe they’ll know what to do, you think, holding back nausea that threatens to knock you out as you slowly sit up; scrolling through your contacts, you hesitantly press call to the first person you could think of. 

It rings once— then again, then a few times more before it goes straight to voicemail. 

“Hey, you’ve reached Yunjin’s voicemail. Please leave a messa—“ you sigh as you hang up, attempting to call a few times more before you give up entirely. 

She’s probably at a party. Or with some boy. 

Scrolling through your contacts, you choose your next person carefully— you’re sure they’re not busy right now, they’ve never been one to go to parties as often— 

Ning Ning’s phone goes straight to voicemail as well. 

Groaning, you lay back as you feel your head pounding, your mind racing as you attempt to go through a mental checklist of who you could call— but all you can conclude is that they’re busy, wouldn’t want to help, or you’re simply not that close to them.

“What the hell,” you mumble, pressing your face against your pillow as you sniffle softly— your headache has become unbearable, and you’ve always been a big crybaby whenever you got sick. 

“Do I not have any friends?” You ponder, your stomach sinking at the thought— there’s no way! If anything, your phone was always on silent from the number of notifications you got in a day; you always knew at least ten people when you walked in a room, the elite definition of a social butterfly— the last thing you would consider yourself is friendless. 

Maybe it’s just an unlucky time, you think, playing Russian roulette with your contacts as your finger presses on a random one; Hueningkai &lt;;3 glares back at you in bright letters, your eyes narrowing as you consider calling— he’s always been one to spoil you, so it wouldn’t be too far-fetched for him to help you this once, right?

You’re nervous as the phone rings out into your room, your fingers tapping on your bed impatiently as you wait for him to pick up— just when you think he won’t, his voice greets your ears like a miracle. 

“Hey baby, what’s up?” His voice is a bit rough as he speaks, his speech slow and relaxed as your eyes narrow at the sound; he’s probably high again. 

“Hueningkai,” you cry out softly, unable to help the way you become emotional in your state— your voice is muffled, your face buried in your pillow as the pain becomes far too overwhelming. 

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice has become more alert at the sound of your sniffling, the sounds of rustling from his side making you wince, your hand going to lower the volume of your phone. 

“Dunno. I’m sick,” you say, flipping over onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling— you feel tired, yet you’re unable to get comfortable enough to sleep. You hear more rustling on the other side of the phone— Hueningkai sighs, mumbling something to himself before he clears his throat.

“Why don’t you go to the doctor, hmm?” You frown at his words, shaking your head at the thought— you weren’t really expecting this outcome. 

“I— I can’t really get up, I feel dizzy…” you confess sheepishly, the realization that you truly don’t have enough energy to even stand for too long weighing down on you, “I was wondering if you could come over?” 

“Come over?” Hueningkai echoes, humming softly at the thought— it’s silent, the tension leaving you biting at your lips as you wait for him to respond.

“Listen, uhm,” you sigh softly at his words, closing your eyes as you attempt to ignore the way your stomach dips with disappointment, “I’m kinda busy right now. But if you want, you can call me tomorrow and I can take you to the doctor, ‘kay?” 

Attempting to swallow down your disappointment, you nod, a moment of silence passing before you realize that he can’t even see you. 

“Yeah. Okay.” There’s a lump in your throat as you speak, and you can’t help but feel the way your body heats up as the line falls silent; from embarrassment, this time. It’s awkward, but you can’t bring yourself to care as Hueningkai mumbles a soft “okay then. Goodnight,” the sound of him hanging up the last thing you hear before you’re shrouded in complete silence, the darkness of your room threatening to swallow you whole. 

The sound of your stomach growling angrily is the only thing that breaks the silence. 

A frustrated groan tears through you— you’re oddly emotional as you force yourself to sit up, pausing as you attempt to maintain balance; your head is spinning, and you’re beginning to realize how long it’s been since you last ate. The floor is cold under your feet as you trudge to the kitchen; you can’t bring yourself to turn on the lights, your slippers lost somewhere in your room as you feel a shiver wrack through your body. 

What will you do? Your fridge is practically empty and takeout doesn’t sound too appealing to you; you can feel tears well up in your eyes once more, a pout forming on your face as you slump down on a chair in defeat. Sighing, you think back to earlier— the homemade food Beomgyu brought to you, so soothing and filling it almost reminded you of the meals your cook back at home would make for you— maybe you could call your driver to take you home for a bit. 

It’s hours away and he’s probably off right now, you frown, checking the time on your phone just in case— 9:45— yeah, he’s definitely home by now. Of course, nothing is stopping you from calling him and telling him it’s an emergency, but then you’d feel far too guilty about ripping him away from his family just for you. 

He spends enough time at our home as it is, you think, placing your phone on the table as you go to massage your temples weakly. You need to eat something— maybe you’ll get some energy from it. But, picky as always, you can’t seem to find anything that sounds appealing to you; even the restaurant you frequently eat at doesn't seem to be doing anything for you, your mind inevitably going back to the one thing you were avoiding. 

Hesitantly, you pick up your phone— you can’t believe you’re actually going to try this, you think, biting at your lip before you finally press call; then again, this isn’t entirely out of character for you.

A lonely college student that doesn’t have many friends— if anything, he’s probably up studying right now, you think, frowning as you press your phone firmly to your ear, and if he was willing to check up on me, he should be willing to do this small thing for me too. 

“Hello?” The relief that floods through you is surprising; you’re becoming lax against your seat as the sound of Beomgyu’s uncertain voice meets your ears— his voice is gruff and soft as he speaks, unsure of whether or not you called him on purpose. 

“Choi Beomgyu,” you whine, already feeling yourself becoming unnecessarily emotional as you allow yourself to rant to him, “I’m sick. Can you do me a small favor?” 

On his end, Beomgyu is oddly surprised— why would you go to him of all people? He’s a bit weary as he listens to you carefully, thinking back to the way you were able to shut him out effortlessly; if anything, he must’ve been your last resort.

“What is it?” 

You’re unable to hold back the sigh of relief that escapes you— a smile graces your lips, and for the first time during this miserable experience, you don’t feel helpless. 

“Okay, hear me out please,” you start, sitting up as you clear your throat; unbeknownst to Beomgyu, you’re about to begin one of your infamous ramblings. 

“I know you might be busy studying or whatever, but I promise I’ll be quick. So, you remember the food you gave me earlier? I actually ate it, and it was really good! Your mom is a good cook, but then again, I’m pretty sure all moms are pretty good cooks. But like, I’m gonna be honest with you, I forgot to get groceries earlier this week, so I don’t really have much to eat— I could go order takeout or something but the thought of eating something greasy right now makes me wanna puke. I was thinking that since you probably don’t go out that much your mom might have given you extra servings of that soup, and I know it sounds really entitled and a bit bitchy but do you think you could please please please drop some off? 

“I promise I’ll pay you whatever and you seriously only need to drop it off at my door, it’s just that her cooking was really good and I almost started crying when I ate it— I get really emotional when I’m sick so I also think it’d be best for you to leave as quickly as you can; please please please please I promise I won’t ditch our study sessions for a good week at least, I’ll be good and study! I just think I’m gonna pass out right now and your mom’s food is the only thing I can think of right now… please?”

You feel out of breath as you finally finish your seemingly endless ramble— on the other side of the line, Beomgyu lets out an exasperated laugh. 

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there.” You’re not sure when you began to get emotional over nothing, but you’re surprised to feel hot tears streaming down your face at Beomgyu’s words, a few hiccups escaping you as you let out a soft really? “Yeah, I’ll just leave it at your doorstep.”

Standing up, you stumble a bit as you wipe your tears away. If you hadn’t scared Beomgyu away before, you surely did now. 

“Drop it off inside. My door’s gonna be unlocked.”

There’s an odd pause after you say that; you’re about to question what happened before you hear rustling on his side of the phone, Beomgyu’s soft hum the last thing you hear before he lets out a soft “okay. I’ll be there.” You’re unable to thank him as he’s quick to hang up— and the exhaustion that has been building up inside you all day is suddenly released, the promise of food making your brain at ease as you slowly make your way over to the couch. 

You’re so tired— a small nap wouldn’t hurt, right? It would be nice to wake up to the sight of food at my doorstep, you think, a small smile easing onto your face as you find yourself curling up at the end of your couch; oh, you really can’t help yourself— your eyelids are becoming excruciatingly heavy. 

For the umpteenth time today, you allow yourself to sleep— even if it’ll only last twenty minutes at most. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Beomgyu is a little off-put as he peeks inside your apartment. 

He feels odd, extremely guilty, and a bit shameful as he pops his head inside, all of his calls have gone to voicemail as he chose the next best option— you did say your door was unlocked, after all. 

He expected you to be scolding him for taking so long after forty minutes had passed, but he found himself pleasantly surprised (and somewhat worried) when his phone remained entirely unbothered; so now here he stands, multiple heavy bags filled with ingredients in his hands as he kicks off his shoes clumsily. 

He finds you fast asleep on the couch; he’s extremely concerned at how trusting you are, but he decides to chalk it up to the fact that your skin is burning hot to the touch and you’re probably not thinking straight— Beomgyu is quick to pull his palm away from your forehead the moment you stir even slightly, jolting into action as he flees into your kitchen instead. 

Placing the bags on your table, he looks back at you in worry— all he can do for now is wet a few paper towels, wringing out as much water as he can before he’s making his way to you cautiously; you’re burning up and sweaty as he dabs the towel on your skin, tutting softly as he finally places the towel on your forehead. 

“I knew you weren’t feeling well,” he scolds you softly, pulling the blanket that has fallen off your shoulders back on you carefully before he’s pulling away, rolling his eyes at the sight, “you’re lucky you practically pay my bills.”

Quietly, Beomgyu gets to work— he feels a bit bad for rummaging through your kitchen so boldly, but he’s sure you wouldn’t really mind if you woke up; you’re the one who invited him in the first place. 

At some point, Beomgyu finds himself quite comfortable in your kitchen— it’s quite spacious and allows him to get lost deep in his thoughts; he gets so comfortable, in fact, that he’s unable to pick up on the fact that you’re wide awake and slowly trudging your way to him. 

“Choi Beomgyu,” the sound of your voice is enough for him to practically jump out of his skin, narrowly missing his finger as he hurriedly drops the knife in his hands, spinning around wildly as he presses himself tightly against the counter— your tired and puffy face is eerily close to his as your lidded eyes stare up at him, still heavy with sleep as you frown softly. 

“What,” you mumble softly, taking in his flustered expression before your eyes are wandering to the mess behind him— the cutting board of vegetables, the stovetop that is busy with two pots simmering away, a familiar aroma filling your apartment; your eyes flick back to the way he seems both guilty and embarrassed, your head tilting as he watches you slowly piece everything together, “what is all this? Where’s your mom's food?”

Well, maybe not.

Beomgyu sighs— the sight of him shaking his head in dismay is enough to have your eyes widening with surprise, watching as he slowly turns his back to you; the constant rhythm of him cutting vegetables is the only sound that fills the room, and it seems that Beomgyu won’t be answering your question any time soon; you’re ready to protest and annoy him until he talks, but it seems he’s quick to beat you to it. 

“My mom wasn’t the one who made it,” he sighs, putting his knife down as he quickly goes to the pot of soup to give it a mix; your eyes are fluttering shut at the smell, a small smile gracing your lips as you fight the urge to have a taste then and there; but you’re snapped back to reality from his words, stammering as you look at him in confusion. 

“But— you said it was—“

“My mother's recipe,” he draws out, dropping the seasoned vegetables into a third pot as you watch them get steamed, “I’m the one who made the food.”

You think back to the floral lunch bag he handed to you hours earlier; how he seemed so hesitant to give it to you, oddly pouty as he watched the way you were quick to hand it to someone else— you feel yourself become embarrassed by your behavior, oddly defensive as you remember how much you begged for him to give you another taste.

“Oh. Okay,” you say, clearing your throat as you slump back down on a chair— you found it entirely too exhausting to be standing for that long, “it was the next best thing for me anyway— my driver is off right now so I have no one to take me anywhere.”

“I see you’re feeling better,” Beomgyu mumbles, rolling his eyes at your actions as your usual bratty self resurfaces; he almost found your delirious, emotional self from earlier more welcoming than this, forced to listen to more of your ramblings as you watch him cook. 

“No. Not at all actually,” you complain, the ache in your body suddenly much more noticeable than it was a few minutes ago as you cross your legs on the chair; you’re huddled up in your blanket again, staring at his back as you practically take out your pain on him, “my head feels like its gonna explode— my body’s so fucking hot but I can’t take this blanket off or else I’ll feel like I’m freezing my ass off. I don’t know what to do because I never get sick like this; if anything, I should’ve called our family doctor instead of you.” 

You feel a bit bad as the words come out sharper than you intended— Beomgyu is easy to read as he flinches at your statement, head ducked down and an awkward silence permeating the room as he says nothing in response. 

“…you’re lucky your mom taught you how to cook,”  you backtrack, your voice oddly soft as you press your lips together; you refuse to say anything more as you curl up tightly on the chair, laying your head down on the table as you attempt to let your blanket shield you from the world— you’re back to your unpredictable, emotional self as you feel a lump forming in your throat, a feeling of longing forming inside you as you wish you were home instead of here, pestering your poor tutor in exchange for a hefty sum of money.

“Hey,” his voice is much closer than you expected it to be as you peek up from your small fortress, raising a brow as you stare at the glass of water and pills in his hand, “take this. I’m guessing you haven’t taken any medication for your fever in a while.”

A soft ‘hmph’ is all that leaves you as you reluctantly accept the medicine (because the truth was that he was right). It isn’t until he shows you what he’s giving you as you take the pills begrudgingly; you hate that he can see through you so easily. Chugging down the glass of water, you fail to notice how he waits beside you patiently, sending him a petulant look as you wait for him to say something— instead, he raises a small thermometer to your forehead, taking your temperature as he lets out a soft tsk.

“Your temperature is way too high. Eat, then go back to sleep,” he says, only leaving your side to get you a proper serving of soup; it’s the same meal you had earlier, but you’re oddly excited as you notice the hefty amount of rice he gave you, a new side of him peeking through as he watches you carefully— it’s only when you send him a questioning look that he becomes red in the face, clearing his throat awkwardly as he points back to the mess behind him.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it,” he mumbles, not bothering to look you in the eyes as he quietly begins to take care of the dishes. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you remark, your mouth still full of rice as you scoff softly at his excuse— you find yourself oddly annoyed with him as you take in just how much he’s doing for you, unable to fathom anyone else doing all this for you, unprovoked.

He must really need the money, you reason with yourself, unsure of why else he would do such a thing— you roll your eyes at the thought, any intimacy that might have come from all this dissolving into thin air as you become oddly irritated with him. 

But you will admit, this soup really hits the spot. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You’re out like a light moments after. 

If Beomgyu said he was surprised, it would definitely be a lie; you were barely awake on your couch for more than five minutes, and by the time Beomgyu finishes cleaning up and putting away the leftover ingredients in your fridge (which was criminally empty for someone who had so much money) you’re already curled back up in your corner of the couch, your temperature only having gone down slightly as you begin to toss and turn in your sleep. 

The wet paper towels that Beomgyu had placed on you earlier are folded neatly on your coffee table— Beomgyu huffs softly as he discards it, wetting some more before he’s placing it carefully on your forehead; he’s unsure of what else to do now, standing back awkwardly as he considers staying to watch over you— your condition seemed pretty serious from how high your temperature was, and it certainly didn’t help that you straight up rammed into the kitchen table and injured your shin from how unstable you were. 

And that’s when you became a crybaby once more. 

He can still see the lingering tears that cling to your lashes, a soft pout forming on your lips as you shiver slightly at the touch of the cool towel. What to do, he ponders, sitting on the couch opposite to you as he watches over you carefully, he’s not sure if there’s anyone else that could take care of you. 

Hell, the fact that he’s here of all people is enough to prove that to him; but also, he should really be studying for that upcoming physics exam that has been concerning him a bit. He glances back at you— calm, undisturbed, only shifting every once in a while as you tuck yourself deeper into the blanket you wrapped tightly around yourself— and he sighs, finding himself oddly torn as he wonders whether he should leave you or not. 

He could go back home and study, but he knows that he wouldn’t get very far, thoughts of you and your condition plaguing his mind as he desperately tried to focus. His thoughts are disrupted as you groan softly in discomfort, shifting restlessly on the couch before your eyes are fluttering open, locking with his instantly. 

“You’re still here,” you murmur, squinting at him as you cough softly, “thought you’d be gone by now.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him; it’s oddly condescending as he finds himself standing up instantly, clearing his throat as he looks away from you and your searing gaze. 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling strangely flustered as he makes his way to the front door; your eyes follow him the whole way there, and he feels so small under your gaze as he goes to slip his coat on. “I was just leaving.”

“Oh. ‘kay,” you shrug, shifting restlessly on the couch before you’re turning your back to him, curled into a ball as you wave at him weakly, “I’ll Venmo you later.”

He can’t help but feel bristled at your careless attitude, still not used to the way you’re always ready to spend money at the drop of a hat despite tutoring you for weeks now. Tying his shoes, he can’t help but glance at you one last time; it pains him to admit he’s slightly worried for you, but the rational part of him tells him it’s just because he doesn’t want you calling him to come back the moment you’re feeling nauseous again. 

Yet you remain still, resembling a rock as your figure is hidden under countless piles of blankets— judging by the steady rise and fall of it, he figures you already fell back asleep. 

It takes Beomgyu an embarrassingly long time to leave— but only because he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t wake up spontaneously and start whining, of course— you remain dead to the world the whole time he watches over you. 

By the time Beomgyu finally makes it out of your doorway, he feels more frustrated than anything. Because even once he gets home to study, he can’t help but keep his phone close-by, worried that you’ll call out of the blue asking for help. 

His phone remains silent all night.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

The next time Beomgyu sees you, he’s reminded as to why you had so many difficulties getting a tutor.

You’re flashy and perfect as always as you stand in the doorway of his apartment, arms crossed and eyes no-doubt narrowed behind your expensive designer shades. Your foot is tapping impatiently at the concrete outside as you tilt your head in annoyance— Beomgyu had made the mistake to ignore the first few rings of his doorbell, much too distracted by his game to remember that it would be you waiting for him.

“So? You gonna let me in, or do you need to tidy up first?” Beeomgyu’s mantra consists of how short your lesson will be today and the paycheck he’ll get out of it— one of the perks of you being desperate was that Beomgyu got to raise his rates shamelessly— and it takes Beomgyu a second to push past your intimidating and prickly demeanor to nod his head and step aside, watching as you push your shades up and secure them on your head.

It takes you a second to slip out of your shoes as you daintily put them aside, and Beomgyu can feel his ears become hot as he watches the way you wince slightly at the pair of guest slippers he hands you— though he tries to tell himself you don’t mean to be like this, a soothing lie that lets him lead you to his living room as he ignores his insecurity.

“Wait, can’t we just go to your room? I don’t feel like studying on the couch right now,” the yawn that rips through you is uncontrollable as you face away and cover your mouth politely— Beomgyu tries to not let his jaw drop to the floor in response. For someone who had never been to his apartment, you sure were demanding. He shouldn’t feel too surprised though, given how blunt you’ve proved to be the entire time he’s known you. 

He’s unable to say no as he gathers the textbook and notebooks on the table and leads the way; he can feel his heart pounding against his chest in fear that you’ll judge him, heart pounding slightly as he goes to lead you to where his room is. (He just hopes you’ll judge him internally, at the very least.)

Meanwhile, you’ve been biting back a smile this whole time; you know you’ve been quite bitchy to him this whole time, but you’d like to think it’s karma for making you study first thing at nine in the morning— his excuse had been the long shift he’d have to cover straight after the tutoring session. 

You’re quite surprised at the size and state of his apartment, expecting something much… cheaper, as you kept in mind how quick Beomgyu was to do something whenever you offered him money. Yet as you walk to his room, you’re left quiet as you take in the way everything in his home practically shines; his coffee table, the couch that lacks any crumbs or trash, and his carpet that seems to be recently vacuumed. 

You find yourself so caught up in the appearance of his apartment that you fail to notice another presence in the living room; specifically, one that lets out a loud chirp, your body jumping back from the startle and eyes growing wide as you search for the source of the sound— your eyes land on a cage tucked in the corner of the room, a bright green bird with big eyes staring at you curiously from within. 

“What the fuck is that?” you say softly— much louder than you intended, really— and Beomgyu is turning back around to see what you’re talking about, eyes widening as he realizes you’re currently staring down his bird with a slight wonder. 

“Oh— that’s Toto,” Beomgyu says, rushing to put everything in his arms down and scurrying after when he notices you beginning to get closer; he’s hovering over you, taking in your expression of curiosity carefully before he continues. “He’s my parrot.”

You let out a soft oh. You seem rooted to your spot as you watch the bird continue to climb around the cage, clearly much more active now that Beomgyu is nearby; the said man notes your obvious curiosity, and before he can stop and have any second thoughts, he’s reaching over you to open the cage. 

“Wait wait, what’re you—” a yelp escapes you and you’re jumping back the moment Beomgyu is reaching inside, hiding behind him and peeking over his shoulder to watch the way he extends a finger out to the bird— Toto— your mouth falling open dumbly as you take in the way the bird immediately climbs onto his hand.

Beomgyu is careful to take him out; you’re still peeking from behind him as you stare down his bird with wide eyes, body tensed as though it could fly away any given moment— you’re flinching in surprise when he’s turning to face you, hands coming up in defense as the bright green bird swings along, not a thought in its beady eyes as it’s suddenly thrust into your face— you step back again, the movement sudden and startling the bird as its wings flap slightly, which in turn startles you again— Beomgyu merely watches in amusement, and he tries his best to contain his laugh in fear of facing your prickly attitude. 

“What the hell,” you breathe out softly, brows twitching and knitting together as you stare at Toto as though it were a foreign creature you’ve never seen, “It’s so… weird looking.”

Beomgyu can only gawk at your comment. 

“He’s— he’s not,” is all Beomgyu can say in rebuttal, offended as he looks over at Toto, examining him in reassurance before he pulls his pet closer to his chest. 

“He’s a handsome little bird,” Beomgyu mutters, and you’re sure you definitely weren’t supposed to hear that, watching in amazement as Beomgyu strokes Toto’s head fondly, the said bird bowing its head so he can get better access, “you’re such a cool guy, don’t listen to her Toto.”

Glancing back at you, Beomgyu seems to realize what he’s just said, and blushes a soft pink— though you’re not sure why he’s acting so shy, you’ve literally been standing there the whole time— and he clears his throat awkwardly, casting his gaze back to his pet and running his finger along the bird gently before he’s speaking again. 

“Do you wanna hold him?”

“I— what?!” you say indignantly, eyes growing the size of saucers as you stare at him, acting as though he’s just told you something extremely offensive, “I don’t want that thing near me, what if it— it…”

You’re trailing off slowly— Beomgyu looks absolutely dejected. You can tell he’s trying not to show his hurt, avoiding your gaze and staring down at Toto instead, but he simply reminds you too much of a kicked puppy to let you continue your baffled ramblings; a moment passes where the two of you don’t say anything, but you finally break the second Beomgyu looks like he’s about to put Toto back in. 

“Fine.”

He looks back at you immediately; his eyes look like they’ve been filled with stars. 

“Give— give me the bird,” you mumble offhandedly, outstretching your hand awkwardly and finding yourself unable to look at him for once; you can feel the heat of embarrassment threatening to creep onto your skin, but you will it away and bite your cheek as you wait for Beomgyu to do something.

After a second, you feel it; the pressure on your finger, the weird texture and the claws that dig into your skin as the bird’s little feet wrap around you, unable to contain the way you shudder at the feeling; your arm has gone rigid and you’re reluctant to look at the pet that is now perched on your hand, afraid that it might attack you or something— but after a deep breath and some mental encouragement, you do it anyway. 

This thing is so fucking creepy, you find yourself thinking, face screwing into one of disdain as you take in the way it simply remains still, freaking you out even further when it suddenly tilts its head in curiosity. 

It begins to climb up your arm. 

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” you breathe out in a panic, extending your arm away from you as steadily and quickly as you can, the thing now perched on your forearm as you bite back a squeal of fear— you’re looking over at Beomgyu in a haste, expression blatantly screaming help me!— and he quickly springs into action the moment your eyes meet. 

“Toto,” Beomgyu coos, clicking his tongue and reaching out to place his hand at Toto’s feet; but the bird only continues to climb up and runs away from Beomgyu, a long, slightly terrified, groan leaving your lips as you can only watch it in horror, much too afraid to jerk your arm and send Toto flying; the moment it’s talons find its way onto your shoulder, you find yourself looking away and praying. 

“Toto,” Beomgyu tries again, a little stressed now as he watches his bird perch peacefully on your shoulder— you, on the other hand, are in utter distress, shoulders tense and eyes screwed shut as you mentally pray for the thing to not peck at you— you think you’ve started to hold your breath now. 

Through your eyes that peek slightly in fear, you’re able to see Beomgyu reach down at the storage unit beneath the cage and grab something; Toto seems to shift on your shoulder from the sight, and you grow tense as you wonder what the hell the man could be up to— with another call of Toto’s name, the bird finally jumps off your shoulder and over to Beomgyu.

Your body practically slumps in relief. 

Beomgyu is back to holding Toto in his hand; your brows furrow at the sight of it eating something strange, your obvious confusion making Beomgyu smile slightly.

“It’s millet,” he explains, slowly moving to put Toto back in the cage before he places the said millet inside as well; with one last gentle scratch at Toto’s head, Beomgyu closes the cage. “It’s like a treat for him.”

“Whatever,” you say dismissively, glancing at Toto one last time before you shudder and turn away, “I don’t wanna see him again.”

Beomgyu isn’t too offended by your comment; if anything, he smiles in amusement, muttering softly that Toto seems to like you— you make a point to blatantly ignore his comment.

Any confidence Beomgyu had built up from before disappears the moment you finally arrive before the door that leads to the room; he’s found himself nervous once more, shifting the materials in his arms and reach out to open his door cautiously; he hopes you didn’t take notice of the way his hand shook slightly.

His room is no different than the rest of the apartment as you stand in the doorway, curiously surveying it all; your brow raises in amusement as you take in the way his personality is scattered throughout the small room. His bed is neatly made and the sheets are pressed to perfection, and the nightstand contains a stack of books that are both thick and annotated. 

In front of you, you watch Beomgyu awkwardly place the books in his arms down on the bed, pushing up his glasses as you allow your eyes to continue drifting around— they instantly land on the desk setup in the corner of the room, your eyes widening as you’re able to recognize how expensive the setup is; two monitors display a random game you seem to recognize, and you let your curiosity get the best of you as you approach it slowly. 

The keyboard is lighting up before you and a headset is hung on one of the monitors, and you let out a soft tsk as you take in the empty coffee cups beside the mouse, the only messy thing about his whole room; you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s spilled the liquid over the setup before. 

What surprised you the most however, are the countless picture frames and cute figurines that are scattered all over the room— a lucky cat is perched right at his windowsill, waving at you repeatedly as you’re unable to hold back your laugh of bewilderment; everything seems to be dusted and well taken care of, you’re surprised Beomgyu can ever find the energy to do such things. 

“You play League of Legends?” Is all you say, turning around as you meet Beomgyu’s flustered face; Beomgyu had been on the verge of melting into a puddle of embarrassment the entire time you looked around his room, unsure of what to say or do the moment you approached his gaming setup. He was sure you’d make fun of him, but instead he’s pleasantly surprised as he silently hopes his face isn’t a raging red at the moment. (It definitely is, but you’re kind enough to give him a break and not tease him about it.)

“Oh— yeah. You play?” It’s oddly adorable to watch the way his eyes light up and his whole body perks up excitedly, but you find it even more adorable to watch the way he deflates as you bark out a laugh of surprise, your whole face lighting up as you cover your mouth in apology, feeling a slight pity for managing to make him look like a kicked puppy again. 

“Fuck no!” You say in amusement, unable to imagine yourself doing such a thing, “Huening used to be obsessed with it though.” 

You roll your eyes at the memory, recalling all the nights back in high school where he’d leave you alone in his bed, staying up late gaming with his friends while you hid in his room during social gatherings— but now he “outgrew that childish game,” according to him. If anything, you think he outgrew gaming all together, especially after you expressed how ridiculous the whole thing seemed to you. 

“Huening, the guy from your apartment?” Beomgyu says meekly, eyes downcast as he flips through his notes mindlessly; you scoff, flopping on the bed next to him as you cross your legs daintily.

“Yeah, the guy from my apartment,” you say, leaning in to try and catch his gaze, “what, you jealous?” 

Your comment is enough to have Beomgyu a sputtering mess; you don’t think he could get any redder than he is now as he shoves his notebook into your lap, clearing his throat weakly as he scoots away from you, leaving an offending amount of space as he squeaks out a defensive no. 

“Wouldn’t blame you if you were,” you tease, staring down at the notes as you try to decipher what the hell it could all mean— it’s embarrassing when you’re left on your own for a good minute, unable to say anything about the material before Beomgyu is finally jumping to your aide and explaining things to you; slowly, you settle down and allow him to begin the session. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You’d like to pat yourself on the back for lasting so long. Lasting so long without being difficult, that is, because the hour of peace Beomgyu got was short lived before you became a short-tempered brat before him—the only thing that surprises him at this point is the confidence you get to be like this all the time.

“I seriously don’t get this stuff,” you whine, kicking Beomgyu softly as you hold back a smile— it was clearly done to tease him— laying back on his bed as you cross your arms childishly, “I think I should just change my major.” 

Beomgyu isn’t surprised that you find that so easy to say— for a moment, he dreams of being able to do the same when times get tough, but he was quick to come back to reality as he watched you kick at him petulantly; you managed to lay on his bed and make yourself comfortable, splayed over his pillows as you continued to mess around with him. 

“Can’t we take a break? I’ve been good,” you pout, tapping your fingers on your bicep as you look at him sweetly— Beomgyu has to look away in order to say no, tapping his pencil on his notebook as he quietly prays for you to settle down and focus again. 

“Come on, you’re lucky I showed up in the first place,” Beomgyu’s gaze is glued to his notebook as you roughly sit up, your denim shorts riding up your thighs as you kneel close to him; taking a deep breath to calm himself proves to be a mistake as he gets a good smell of your expensive perfume, biting his lip as he watches you try to get his attention by getting closer to him.

“You only showed up because I did you a favor,” it’s odd that you find the way his voice trembles and his ears turn red adorable, but then again, you’d be a little sad if a man didn’t react that way to you. 

You have him wrapped around your finger— it’s a fact that dawns on you as you watch the way he doesn’t shut you down and forces you to study. Scooting closer to him, you lean down, pressing your cheek against his bicep as you stare down at the countless notes that lay before him. 

“Well, that and because you’re kinda cute,” you admit, holding back a smile at the way he flinches at the sudden contact, “But seriously, I’m so bored.” 

Beomgyu thinks you might have gone insane as he watches the way you take the materials in his lap away from him, setting it to the side before you’re stringing yourself across his lap, stretching cutely as you stare up at him with wide doe eyes— he’s quickly looking back up as he fails to find the strength to push you off. 

“I can’t believe I actually came here this early,” you say, adjusting yourself on his thighs before you’re grabbing his hand, playing with his sleeve coyly as you wonder how far you can take this, “How’d you afford this place all by yourself? It’s in a good area too.” 

“I didn’t,” Beomgyu stutters out, clearing his throat as he pulls his hand away from your grasp shyly, “I have a roommate— Yeonjun.” 

“Choi Yeonjun? Captain of the baseball team?” You say, eyes widening as you watch Beomgyu nod softly; you’re sitting up, ignoring the way Beomgyu visibly relaxes at the action, “Is he here right now?” 

“No, he’s out,” Beomgyu frowns, watching as the gears turn in your head, your pout obvious as you take in his response, “he won’t be home for another three hours.” 

How in the hell did he and Beomgyu become roommates? It’s a question you’re quite literally fighting the urge to ask, but knowing that one of the most attractive guys you’ve had your eye on currently lives in the same house as the man before you makes you want to stick around longer— though you think you might be too obvious about it, judging by the way Beomgyu’s frowning at you. 

“That’s nice,” you hum, feeling a bit bad for the way Beomgyu looks away in defeat, “but that means we’re all alone here?” 

Your question is enough to have Beomgyu sitting up straight— your tone is so dangerous, the way you slowly crawl to him even more so.

He quickly finds himself scooting back, eyes flying around wildly as he almost falls off the bed— you’re quick to catch him, pulling him by the collar of his sweater as his adam’s apple bobs visibly. His long hair falls back and his face is left exposed to you, your body finding comfort on top of his as you straddle his thighs comfortably. His glasses are left on the tip of his nose as his ears quickly turn red, cheeks dusted with the same color as he uselessly props himself up on his elbows; you’re practically nose to nose as you tower over him, your cute blouse hanging and exposing your breasts in a way that has Beomgyu staring straight above your head— in return, the reflection of your sunglasses is all that meets him. 

“Do you ever take a break?” You ask, letting go of his collar before you’re gently smoothing it out; he’s shivering at your touch, eyes fluttering shut nervously as he exhales at the feeling of your warm hand— he knows you can see the way he tenses as you begin to trail your palm down his chest, pressing teasingly where his heart resides as you tilt your head cutely.

“Ever stop studying and just…. Take care of yourself?” The implications of your words couldn’t be more obvious with the way your voice drops, your thighs clenching around his body as you watch his breath hitch at the action; your fingers delicately drum against his chest as you wait for him to say something, to push you off and tell you to never speak to him again— instead, he shakes his head, his shyness intensifying as his eyes remain shut. 

“Will you let me take care of you?” You breathe out, entranced with the way his eyes finally open to meet yours— within them, he sees no malice or mockery, just an intense fire and need that has his stomach twisting and his hands grabbing at his neatly pressed sheets in anticipation.

Softly, he nods. 

You’ve never experienced this before; you’ve never had a man pliant and weak under you, ready to take whatever you give him with adoring eyes that sparkle under the lights. You’re so used to being the one in that position, of allowing yourself to be used and molded how they’d like— so to say you’re quite surprised at the thrill you feel is an understatement. 

“You’re like a little puppy,” you mumble sweetly, reaching up to caress his heated cheeks— the whine that escapes him is involuntary, your eyes clouding with lust as you take in the way he reacts to your nickname; leaning up, you grab the collar of his sweater as you guide him to sit up with you— you’re in awe of how obedient he is as he follows your command, hands hovering politely as he waits for your next move. 

“Do you like it when I call you that?” You tilt your head, laying your hands by Beomgyu’s collar bones before they’re sliding up, intertwining lazily behind his nape as you’re leaning in teasingly; you’re so close to him, you can feel his breath fan on your face as you tease the corner of his lips with your own— you’re pulling away the moment he tries to chase you, giving him an expectant look as you wait for him to answer your question. “Puppy?” 

“Y—yes, I…” he’s unable to finish his sentence the moment he feels your chest press against his, soft breasts teasing him as he squeezes his eyes shut; you’re everywhere, your lips planting feather-like kisses on his cheeks as you begin to overwhelm his senses. Your warm thighs that encase him, your hands that play with the nape of his hair, your perfume that he gets to inhale as you tilt your neck closer to him— hell, as you reach his jaw, he’s able to smell your shampoo, the scent addicting and no doubt expensive as you press yourself firmly against him.

This is insane. There should be no universe where Beomgyu should have one of the richest girls in his university pressed against him and on his lap, and there’s no way he’s the one submitting himself so pathetically in it. Yet here he is, practically leaning into your touch and chasing after you the moment you pull away, feeling a whine escape from his throat as he finally finds the courage to place a hand on your hip; keeping you in place, fingertips splayed over the swell of your ass as you try and fail to hide the smile that breaks out on your face. 

“Stupid puppy wants me to kiss him?” You pout mockingly, and instead of feeling the usual shame bubbling within him from your condescending tone, Beomgyu can only feel himself melt pathetically, pouty face and shining doe eyes begging you to give in as you brush away a strand of hair that fell in his eye; Beomgyu’s eyes flutter shut at the gentle touch, lips parting before he finally feels you swoop in and take him by surprise. 

Your lip gloss is sweet and sticky as you ravish the boy below you, able to feel his inexperience and eagerness with the way he’s practically ready to push you back into the mattress— but he holds himself back, allowing you to swipe your tongue along his lip and tease him before you’re venturing further. 

It’s all so lewd and desperate, and Beomgyu feels dazed by the time you’re finally pulling away, a Cheshire grin on your face as you swipe his bottom lip that’s shining with lip gloss and saliva; like instinct, his lips part and close around your thumb, eyes never straying from yours as you feel his tongue swipe over the finger teasingly— your gaze darkens at the sight, mind racing with all the things you could do to him as you watch the way his plush lips circle around the digit. 

The pop that sounds throughout the room when you pull away is enough to make you let out a soft groan, your eyes tracing along his body until you finally find the very thing you’re curious about— smiling, you’re not as surprised to find his dick straining against the neat fabric of his trousers.

“Can I touch you, pup?” You ask, your voice breathy and deep as you wait patiently for his answer; once again, he gulps, shining eyes just as dazed as you are before he finally lets out a soft yes; slowly, your perfectly manicured hand makes its way down to his khaki trousers, playing with the button before you’re finally undoing it— the sigh that Beomgyu lets out once you undo his zipper is practically lethal, your lips twitching in delight at the sound.

It’s cute to see the way his hips buck up into the air as you reveal his boxers, helping you pull down his pants until you’re face to face with the very thing you’ve been wanting the most. It’s odd, but it seems as though Beomgyu brings out a side you didn’t think existed, a teasing smile creeping its way onto your face as you plant your core firmly on him; he’s letting out a strangled gasp at the sudden pressure and warmth, his eyes screwing shut as his lips are falling open, the sight tempting as you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

Beomgyu is like an instrument under your touch, and you’re eager to learn how to play as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth; the reaction is instant for him as he bucks up into you, whimpering cutely as his eyes remain shut the whole time. Your thighs feel so soft against his own, and he’s sure he won’t last long if he’s forced to inhale your intoxicating scent the whole way through. 

It isn’t until you’re climbing off his lap that Beomgyu’s eyes are finally flying open, meeting yours in a confused haze as he allows you to push him back and tower over him as he lays; he looks so enticing and pretty with his hair splayed out around the sheets, lidded eyes and fucked out expression oddly addicting to you as you go to straddle one of his thighs. 

“You’re so cute,” you coo, pushing his sweater up as you run your nails teasingly over his stomach— you laugh softly as he flinches at the feeling. Slowly, you’re pulling the waistband of his boxers down until his cock is finally springing out and smacking against his stomach; his tip is red and sticky as a line of precum is left connected to his stomach, his eyes shutting in embarrassment once more as he turns his head to the side in an effort to turn away. He’s so long as you take him in, appreciating the vein that runs along the curve of his shaft with a soft hum.

“Please,” he whines, covering his face with his hands as his body grows hotter the longer you stare at him; you can only laugh fondly at the sight, watching the way his hips buck up uselessly at the sound. 

“My puppy, you’re so pretty,” you sigh, spitting in your hand before you’re finally reaching down to grab ahold of him; the feeling is unexpected as Beomgyu lets out a soft yelp under you, his cries dying out the moment you’re beginning to stroke him teasingly. 

“How long has it been since you let out some steam?” You tease, running your thumb across his tip and spreading the precum along as he simply moans in response; he’s so whiny and breathy as none of your words seem to register in his head, enamored by the pretty girl that’s sitting on his thigh and stroking his cock so well. 

You can’t help yourself when you readjust to kneel between his legs, his face still covered by his hands as he doesn’t anticipate your next move— Beomgyu swears he almost came the moment he felt your mouth wrap around his tip. Your mouth is practically watering around Beomgyu’s cock as you slowly take him in, surprised by his length yet determined to hear more of his pathetic gasps and whines as you slowly take him in. 

“Oh god, oh god, you’re so— y-you’re so warm, oh,” Beomgyu is a babbling mess as his hands land helplessly on your head, unsure of what to do with them as he feels the tip of your nose press against his navel; his eyes are practically rolling back as he feels the mess you’re making on his cock, your mouth so hot and wet he can’t help the way he subtly thrusts into it.

“I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to…” his words are dying on his tongue the moment he feels you reach for his hand and pull back, guiding him to set the pace as you run your tongue over his tip— that’s enough to have Beomgyu whining and out of breath, but he’s able to pull himself together as he slowly begins to fuck your mouth. 

“Shit, you’re so pretty, I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Beomgyu breathes out, fascinated with the way you remain completely cool even as he begins thrusting his cock into your throat, “so good.”

The sudden confession doesn’t process in Beomgyu’s mind, but it has your mind reeling as you close your eyes, determined to make this man fall apart under you as you ignore the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. 

It takes Beomgyu a second to find his pace as he’s gently stroking your hair, face warm and shining with embarrassment as he tries to ignore how inexperienced he may seem— contrary to what he might think, you don’t really care; the only thing you care for is how melodic he sounds as his hips begin stuttering into your mouth, the feeling of your tongue running along his shaft too much for him as his breath hitches pathetically. 

“Wait wait wait— oh my god, I’m so— Ah, please don’t stop,” he’s whimpering and babbling at your touch, his hand attempting to pull you off as he nears his release; you only sink further in retaliation, the loud moan that Beomgyu lets out giving you satisfaction as you feel his cum spurting against the back of your throat— your eyes are barely able to catch his expression as he throws his head back, hips stilling entirely as he rides out his orgasm. 

Beomgyu is still trying to catch his breath when he feels his hips bucking subconsciously, the feeling of you pulling away making him whine softly from the sensitivity. Slowly, his eyes flutter open, his glasses skewed and his vision a haze as his gaze meets yours— he’s able to catch the way you swallow, your mouth empty as a teasing grin sneaks onto your face.

His stomach flips at the sight. 

He’s unsure of what to do as you sit up, your hair mused and your clothes in disarray as you take him in with an intense stare— he feels oddly shy as he tugs down his sweater to cover himself, gulping nervously as he begins to wonder if this was all a twisted joke— some sort of childish dare, anything that was meant to humiliate him. 

Instead, he feels you reach forward to fix his glasses, brushing away the hair that was stuck to his forehead as you smiled sweetly; Beomgyu thinks he forgot how to breathe as he takes in your proximity, left frozen as you leave a slow, chaste kiss on his lips. 

“I should go— you have work, right?” The question is enough to snap Beomgyu back to reality, nodding softly as you finally get up from his bed; turning to his mirror, you fix your appearance, brows raising in curiosity as you notice the guitar that’s propped up beside it— you briefly wonder if he’s good at playing it, and find yourself wanting to ask if he can sing; you refrain. “I’ll let you get ready then.”

There’s not much Beomgyu can say as he watches you go to his door like nothing happened; he flinches in surprise as you turn back to him one last time, a grin on your face as you send him one final goodbye. 

“This was fun.” 

Beomgyu is left to decipher your words and intentions as you walk away. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Why did you do that. 

“Oh god, why did I do that?” 

You’re a puddle of embarrassment as you roll around in the back of your driver’s car, your hands plastered on your face as you try to melt away from this reality— instead, the memory of Beomgyu’s flustered and fucked out face is the only thing that meets your eyelids. 

You’re not sure what took over you— what in the world possessed you to fuck your tutor? You knew that if you told your friends you’d never hear the end of it, but you think you might be at risk of losing the only thing that was helping you get your grades up after this. 

It was already difficult to get Beomgyu to agree to be in a room alone with you— and now you had to absolutely fuck up and push the boundaries to a place where you’d never return. 

Out of all the men, it just had to be Choi Beomgyu. It’s a fact that makes your face heat up and your head hit the back of the car seat in defeat as you stare out the window in dismay; instead of going for someone who was in your league, you chose to go after a nobody. 

You didn’t even get anything out of it! The thought is humiliating as you shut your eyes and groan, ignoring the way your driver glances back at you in concern; you sucked his dick and dipped— that is so unlike you. 

Everything about the situation is unlike you— you would never go after someone like Beomgyu, he didn’t align with your type at all! The feeling of dread in your stomach is only worsened as you mentally go through the people you’ve been with in the past, cringing the more you realize how much of an outlier Beomgyu is. 

“Mr. Kim,” you call out, pulling down your shades as you avoid the rays of sunlight that are hitting your face. He’s perking up in response immediately, glancing at you through his mirror before he nods his head to indicate he’s listening. 

“Take me to Hueningkai’s house please,” you say, taking your phone out of your purse as you absentmindedly text Huening that you’re on your way— Mr. Kim’s yes ma’am is left unanswered as you watch Hueningkai respond within seconds— all you can do is sink further in your seat at his eagerness to see you, the implications of his message more than clear to you.

The drive to his home is long and silent, and you’re forced to reflect on yourself the whole way through— the more you do, the more flustered and confused you feel, forcing yourself to set those thoughts to the side as Mr. Kim pulls up to Huening’s driveway.

Yet even as you’re walking to his doorstep, an eager smile forced on your face as you wait for Huening to answer, you can’t help the way your thoughts stray. It all seems to linger on the same subject, gulping nervously at the way Beomgyu’s small whines still ring out in your head. 

“Hey,” Hueningkai smiles, leaning against the doorway as he takes you in; you try to ignore the way his hungry eyes take you in, greeting him softly before you’re pushing past him and going inside, kicking your shoes off at the doorway. 

“What’s up?” Hueningkai immediately asks, noticing the way you don’t indulge in any of his games or teasing, your face blank as you plop down on the couch. “You need something?” 

“No,” you say, oddly defensive as you lay along his couch, crossing your legs as you proceed to do the same with your arms, “Can’t I just chill at your place without needing anything?” 

Hueningkai raises a brow at your huffy comment. Tilting his head, he smiles, a gesture sly and teasing as he watches the way you stand your ground. 

“Well, whenever you come over it’s usually not to just chill,” he says, repeating your words with clear amusement, “so forgive me for thinking something was off.” 

You’re in a bad mood today; Hueningkai is quick to pick up on it as you scoff at his words, looking away from him and pouting as you remain silent. Slowly, he makes his way to you, testing out the waters before he’s sitting down at your feet. 

“What’s wrong baby?” He asks, slowly beginning to hover over you until you can’t help but look at him; he’s everywhere, a holding himself up with a hand by your head while the other finds its way to your hip— playing with the hem of your shirt, slowly teasing you until he’s pushing past and caressing your skin— you flinch at the feeling of his cold hand. 

“Come on, we can talk,” he says, but you know he doesn’t really mean it with the way his leg is trying to pry your thighs open, pressing up against your core as he feels something unexpected— his eyes are lighting up as he smiles down at you, raising a brow as he takes in the small change of your expression. 

“Or maybe you don’t wanna talk?” He says, the surprising heat that meets his thigh is more than welcome as he watches you become flustered under him. 

“Fuck off Huening,” you groan, pressing a hand against his chest as you turn away from him— all you get in return is a dark laugh, his lips ghosting along your jawline as he presses a firm kiss under your ear, his hand pushing your shirt up as it wanders towards your breasts. 

“Hmm, are you sure?” He huffs, adjusting his position so that he’s able to place a hand on your hip, grinding your hips against his thighs as he bites his lip at the sight, “won’t you put those pretty lips to use at least?” 

The irritation that had been brewing inside you is far too much to handle as you scoff at his words, your head snapping back to glare at him as you push against his chest firmly, catching him off guard as you knock him off his balance entirely; he’s knocked out of his lusty reverie as he stares at you with wide eyes from the other end of the couch, lips parting as he attempts to say something, only to be cut off by you. 

“Seriously Huening, I’m not in the fucking mood!” You snap, pulling your top back down harshly before you’re standing up— he’s left to watch in confusion as you readjust yourself, your brows furrowed in a mean frown as you glare at him once more— and to think you thought you’d be able to spend more than five minutes with Hueningkai without him wanting to fuck you. 

“Come on baby, you know I didn’t mean it like that—“ 

“Do you ever think without your dick when you’re around me?” It’s annoying to see how nonchalant Hueningkai is as he laughs off your words, crossing his arms defensively as he tries to play off what just happened. 

“You didn’t even think to check up on me when I was sick!” You thought you were over the bitter moment, but the memory still seems to sting as you remind him of a time where you needed him the most, “ever since we started this whole… stupid friends with benefits thing, you’ve been acting like such a prick!” 

“Don’t be like this,” Hueningkai groans, throwing his head back as he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re being dramatic.” 

“Oh my god!” You bark, left in disbelief as you pace around his apartment, “like seriously, are you listening to yourself right now?!”

You’re more than fed up as you make your way back to the entrance, gathering your things and slipping on your shoes as you hear Hueningkai following close behind, spouting excuses and other nonsense to try and make you stay. 

You’ve opened the door when Hueningkai grabs onto you desperately, tugging you back into his chest and asking you to listen to him as he sets firm hands on your hips; you’re looking at everything but him as you remain silent, your hands pressed defensively against his chest as you give him on last chance to redeem himself. 

“Come on baby, you know I don’t wanna lose you,” he says, his voice soft and vulnerable as he leans in, watching as you tilt your head away from him and continue to refuse to meet his eyes. Feeling him press you harder against him, your jaw clenches as he places a sweet kiss on your cheek. 

“Lemme make it up to you. Please?” 

You know perfectly well what his words entail as you push him away from you once more, swinging your purse and smacking him harshly as you let your anger out on him. He has the audacity to laugh and cower away from you as he apologizes, telling you that it was just a joke as you continue to hit him relentlessly. 

“Fuck you!” You say, out of energy and left a huffing mess as you swing the door open behind you, “asshole!” 

You don’t stay around to see his reaction as you slam the door shut, storming away and walking along the sidewalk as you pull your phone out. 

Pick me up please. 

Huening’s being an asshole, I’m waiting outside. 

It’s moments like these where you regret being irresponsible with your car, left with nothing but your driver as you still wait for your precious baby to come out of the repair shop; to this day your parents still scold you for an accident that happened over a month ago, the words “bad driver” tacked on along with the rest that curate your reputation.  

In a perfect world, Hueningkai would’ve come out by now; he would’ve gone after you, apologizing and hanging his head in shame in regards to his behavior— in a perfect world, he wouldn’t have turned into the person he is now, forgoing your friendship entirely to satiate his needs— you hadn’t given much thought to what the consequences to this “friends with benefits” thing would be, but if you could go back in time to the moment where he drunkenly proposed it to you, you would’ve been quick to shut him down with an incredulous laugh. 

It was your fault for having a soft spot for him. Your fault for wondering what his lips would feel like one too many times, for being caught staring at him back when you were just kids and you were forced to attend dinner parties together, trying and failing to conceal the way he could fluster you with just a single smile. 

Now that his desires have been satiated, you doubt he has any use for you now— which is why you find yourself waiting pathetically outside his apartment, not used to this feeling that festers in your stomach as you wait patiently— whether it’s simply for your driver or for the glimmering hope that Hueningkai will own up to his actions and take you back, you’re not sure.

But what you do know is that you’ve never felt so small. 

Moments later, your driver arrives; you swear you try to hold back, but you can’t help yourself from turning around and taking one last peek at Huening’s quiet, dull apartment— gritting your teeth, you flop inside, groaning obnoxiously as you rub your temples in annoyance; your driver is unfazed by your behavior— meeting his eyes, you sigh. 

“I need to go shopping.”

Wordlessly, he nods— you don’t bother to stare out the window once you finally feel the car moving, in fear that your mind may begin to imagine scenarios that simply won’t happen. 

The car ride is silent, and you realize with a frown that you may have left with a mood worse than before.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

This department store is useless.

Geez, did you piss off some god above or something? Because as you stand in your tenth store in the past hour, nose scrunched and brows furrowed unpleasantly, you feel as though you may be getting karma for something— though what it may be exactly, you’re unsure. 

Everything around you is either already in your closet or simply outdated. Your fingertips tap rhythmically against your crossed arms, eyes narrowed as you take slow strides around the aisles of the stores— a part-time employee follows closely behind you, hands folded neatly and a pleasant smile glued to face as she comments on every item your eyes fall on, even if it’s just for a second; your jaw ticks at her cheap tactics to sell to you. 

There’s only one thing that would make your mood at this time— a limited edition purse you have had your eyes on, trying your best to catch your usual stores at the right times in hopes of getting your hands on it. Yet, with every failed attempt, your frustrations and efforts only grow, and you’ve found yourself visiting these stores more often than you’d like, always leaving with an item or two despite telling yourself not to do so. 

“Excuse me,” you say sternly, your steps coming to a halt as you slowly turn to the employee. She’s meek and her voice is airy as she speaks to you, eyebrows raised as though she seems genuinely interested in what you might say next— her act only displeases you more. 

“I’m trying to shop in peace, please leave me alone.” you say, watching as the woman simply flinches at your comment, smile stiffening on her lips before she’s swiftly apologizing seconds after— if you weren’t careful, you could’ve missed the way her lips turned up with irritation as she turned, muttering quietly to herself as though you weren’t two steps away to hear it.

Rich snob, you pick up, blinking in surprise as you watch her steps becoming hasty with her retreat. You don’t allow yourself to be fazed by it, a smile tugging at your lips from amusement before you turn back around; scanning the store, you glance at the mannequins on display, taking in the outfits briefly before you catch onto something else— and before you can control yourself, you’re walking again. 

Don’t be stupid, your brain tells you, yelling at you as you exit the store with haste, pushing past the people standing around as you make your way to the store across, Don’t do this, this is a bad idea, don’t—

Do it, your heart tells you, pounding against your chest as you adjust the purse strap on your shoulder, gulping slightly as you swing open the door, you’re not here for him, you’re here for the very thing you’ve worked so hard for. 

And if it so happens to be in his hands right now, then is it really your fault that you find yourself standing before the very man that hurt you mere moments ago?

“Cute purse,” you breathe out, eyes glued to the way it shines beautifully under the lights of the store, “Though I don’t really think it’s your style.”

Hueningkai doesn’t bother looking up. He’s too busy handling the limited edition purse that you’ve so desperately been searching for, nimble fingers running over the details as though he were actually taking his time to inspect it; instead, he hums softly at your words, pretending to ponder for a second before he’s frowning. 

“You really think so?” he asks, tsking softly to himself before he’s shaking his head, straightening up before he runs a hand against the surface; you watch the way his fingers slide across the material, teeth tugging at your lip as you fight the twitch of your brows, wanting nothing more than to take the item from his hands and walk away. 

You stand there in silence, for a moment; you wonder slightly if Hueningkai is simply ignoring you, and the idea is enough to have you bristling with anger, your jaw clenching as you decide that it’s better to leave now than to look helpless before him— but he’s looking up at you, lidded eyes catching you in a daze as he tilts his head, sending you his signature charming smile. 

“It wasn’t for me,” he says, looking down at the purse in his hands and holding it close to him, as though gauging its weight, “It was going to be a gift.”

“A gift? Quite the gesture on your part,” you scoff, looking at the display area in exasperation— fuck, the only purse in this awful store is in his hands, you realize— leaving you with no other choice but to hope that he’ll stop playing games and leave the purse he clearly never had any intentions of buying, “But I don’t think those other girls you talk to would be very interested in such a specific item like this— I’d suggest appealing to their own interests a bit more.”

With gritted teeth, you reach out to take the bag; an impulsive move on your part, not exactly surprised with the way Hueningkai immediately backs up and holds the bag close to him. You can practically feel your blood boil from the sheer anger that’s taking over from his antics, unamused entirely at the way he merely sends you an innocent smile. 

“Don’t be rude,” he smiles, taking yet another step back, making more distance between you two, “Who are you to say what they would or wouldn’t like? Plus, I saw this first, and I had full intentions of buying it.”

You remain silent— whether you’re too baffled to speak or are simply trying to not explode and yell at him in the middle of the store, you’re not entirely sure— but, as you watch him raise a brow challengingly, you can only find yourself thinking one thing. 

Fuck this. You’ll just order it online. 

The idea takes away the very joy of being able to find it by chance, but you’d rather die right now than grovel to Hueningkai— like he very clearly wants— in hopes that he’ll take pity on you and give you the purse; spinning on your heels, you make your way out with brisk steps.

You don’t get very far before you hear him calling out your name— but you ignore it, a baffled scoff escaping you in response to his sheer audacity to act so shameless after belittling you a few hours prior; you’re a few steps away from the exit when you feel a tug on your wrist, jolting you back and preventing you from leaving.

“What, Hueningkai?” you say, huffing exasperatedly as you shake off his grip on you, “Can’t you just leave me alone for once? I’m not in the mood to play your stupid games.”

“Well then why don’t you talk to me instead of running away childishly?” he says sharply, and you have to bite your tongue in order to not point out his hilariously hypocritical statement, “you’re acting so weird, what the hell happened?”

You think you might just do something that’ll get you banned from the store— but something catches your eye before you can act out on your impulses, and you’re ripping your wrist from Hueningkai’s hold with one last harsh tug. Your gaze is no longer on him; he tries to follow your line of sight, but fails to catch onto what you’re looking at. 

“Get out or leave me alone,” you say, giving him one last cold look before you’re brushing past him, “I’m not interested in talking to you.”

You’re weaving through the displays and getting out of his sight quickly— and Hueningkai is left with a purse he had no interest in buying, looking down at the item before he scoffs; he throws it off at a random shelf and exits promptly after. 

Your footsteps are haste and your heels click rhythmically on the tiled floor; you’re making your way to the cash register, watching his meek stance and the way he flinches under your gaze, a flush running up the back of his neck and coloring his ears red— but you don’t dare to look away from him, placing a rough hand on the counter and leaning close as you inspect him.

“You didn’t tell me you worked here.”

Beomgyu is attempting to stutter out a weak response; his cheeks are colored and his hair is tied back neatly, and you can see the way his hands twitch, undoubtedly resisting the urge to run a hand through the neat style. 

“Why— why would I tell you? It’s not something you’d need to know. Or– is it…?”

You’ve confused him, that much you’re sure of. His brows have knitted together and he remains flustered beyond belief— you’re sure you can guess what’s running through his mind right now, and you fight the twitch of your lips at the mere thought.

“I thought you worked as a server.”

“I– I do?” he’s tilting his head in confusion, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose slightly, “I have two jobs.”

“Three,” you quip, drumming your nails against the counter rhythmically, “you tutor.”

“I… guess…?” Beomgyu says, fighting back the urge to correct you that he really doesn’t— you’re the only one he’s ever tutored before.

“Why would you need to work three jobs? How do you get the time for this?” you don’t really know why you’re pestering Beomgyu about this so much— but you’re also fascinated by it, now beginning to understand where Beomgyu’s lack of social life stems from. 

He’s unsure of how to answer your question again; you don’t seem to be particularly patient today, (but then again, when are you?) so you’re waving him off with a dismissive swat of your hand, shaking your head and clicking your tongue before you’re changing the subject; Beomgyu is left to watch as you pull your phone out, scrolling on it for a bit before you’re placing it on the counter and spinning it around for him to see— his eyes are narrowing in concentration as he takes in the picture.

“This purse,” you say slowly, tapping your nail on your phone screen, as though Beomgyu wasn’t currently looking at it, “do you have it in stock? This guy already got one, but I need to know if you have others— I’ve got to have it.” 

The urgency in your voice is a bit surprising to Beomgyu— he takes in your expression, solemn and a bit scary, and gulps— then he watches the way you melt in relief the moment he nods hesitantly. 

“I’m sure we just got a shipment in today— we, haven’t really, uhm, stocked up properly yet,” he stutters, wincing slightly at the sound while you remain unfazed; your brows lift expectantly, and he’s snapping out his daze and sending you a shaky smile, “I’ll go check.” 

He scurries out of your sight and into the employee door quicker than you can process— and when he turns around to take a peek at the small window, he finds you leaning on the counter and on your phone— probably texting, judging by the way your thumbs fly by on the screen— and he feels another heat of shame wash over him, his head spinning and his legs turning into jello. 

How can you act so casually? He wonders, glasses slipping down just a bit farther down his nose, nimble fingers pushing it back up with ease, like you weren’t just in his bedroom a few hours prior… like he wasn’t under you… 

Beomgyu practically jumps the moment your eyes flicker up and meet his; you simply smile, glossed lips stretching slowly before you give him a wink. 

In response, he spins around and begins to actually look— his heart hammers in his chest.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

So pretty. 

So perfect and smooth to the touch, cool under your fingertips— you take your time to feel, to trace over every detail, intricate and crafted by the gods as you let out a shaky sigh— your eyes meet Beomgyu’s, and you have half the mind to feel a bit sheepish, retracting your hand quickly and returning to a socially acceptable state of mind. 

“Sorry,” you say, beaming at him before you’re reaching into your current bag and handing him your card; his eyes widen comically at the smooth black plastic you place in his hold carelessly, “It’s just… all I could ever ask for. I can’t believe I finally have my hands on this…” 

Meanwhile, Beomgyu rings up your inexplicably expensive item, swiping your card and watching the way you don’t even flinch at the sum that shows up; he feels a bit jealous at your nonchalance. 

You’re carrying the purse like it were a baby; it isn’t until Beomgyu offers to bag it for you that you finally let it go, placing it gently on the counter and smiling fondly as you watch Beomgyu place it carefully in the equally luxurious gift bag, placing filler paper on top and handing it back to you, his movement practiced and calculated as he says his usual lines— his mind is running on autopilot once more, but you’re particularly eager to break him out of it as you reach out to take the bag from him, warm hand wrapping around his and tugging him slightly towards you. 

“Thank you for all your help today,” you purr, shining lips stretching into a coy smile, leaning against the counter and watching as he gulps, adam's apple bobbing, “I think I’ll do well on our upcoming quiz— you’re such a good tutor.”

You don’t bother to stick around after that; your steps are brisk and you’re hugging the purchase close to your body, as though someone were after it and ready to take it, confidence in your step as you exit the store— Beomgyu, on the other hand, practically crumbles the moment you’re out of sight, fingers turning white from how hard he grips onto the edge of the counter; his heart pounds and the sound of blood rushing fills his ears, mind inevitably going back to your teasing action before he’s flustering again. 

You’re laughing to yourself the whole ride home— his reaction plays on your mind like a loop, beyond amused by the sight as you pat yourself on the back for being able to come up with something so clever on the spot. 

What you don’t realize, however, is that there are consequences to your actions— consequences that are far beyond your control.

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

“Are you for real?”

“Uh-huh,” you grin, placing a fond hand on your cheek and batting your eyes at Yunjin, “totally aced it.” 

“That’s something I never thought I’d hear from you,” your friend says, poking her fork at her salad before taking a bite; she furrows her brows as she takes in your expression, mouth agape and eyes wide, as though you were offended. “What? It’s true.”

“Okay, first off— I’m not stupid, just lazy,” you clarify, pointing an accusing finger at your friend as you pout, “and second of all, you should really believe in your friend a little more.”

“I mean, it was a little hard to when all you would do was skip classes and go shopping instead,” Yunjin says, raising a challenging brow when you open your mouth to refute her claims— then proceed to promptly close it again, finding that you really can’t deny that— and a small smile tugs at her lips, the kind that lets you know that she’s about to say something really annoying, “but I guess your study sessions with your little boy toy really did work.” 

“Boy—?!” you’re in the middle of taking a sip from your iced coffee when she says that, the straw slipping from your mouth and a bit of the liquid escaping from the sheer surprise of her comment— you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling a slight heat rush to your face as you stare at her incredulously, “boy toy?” 

“I mean, am I wrong?” Yunjin challenges, tilting her head in curiosity while you simply try to deny her claims, “you were literally just telling me about the way you had him wrapped around your finger a while ago—”

“Not like that though!” you huff, feeling worked up from the mere idea of Yunjin finding out the complete and utterly stupid slip up you had a while ago, “god, he’s literally such a fucking loser, don’t try to pair me up with him— other people might get the wrong idea. It’s already bad enough that I had to get a tutor, because it’s not like I was doing bad in my classes until recently. I mean, it’s still my fault and I did let myself go, but I didn’t think I’d have to stoop so low! And now I have to take so much time out of my day to spend my time studying with him and even worse, you’re trying to insinuate something that definitely isn’t true—!”

“Yes! Okay! Enough of that please!” Yunjin says exasperatedly, glancing over your shoulder briefly before she’s taking another bite of her salad, muttering something about you having a motor mouth, “god, it’s just that… people have seen you two together a lot, you know? And with the way he’s looking over at you right now, anyone would think that he’s like… in love with you, or something.” 

You’re sitting up straight and whirling around at that; following Yunjin’s previous line of sight, you’re able to pinpoint the said boy immediately— sitting a few tables away, catching him staring at you over his laptop, clearly distracted from his work— the moment your eyes meet, he flinches, hunching down so the screen hides him; it doesn’t work very well, and you’re able to see his downcast eyes and reddening face with ease. 

Oh my god, you think with horror, a cold wave washing over you as you stare at him longer— and after a few seconds, he’s peeking back up from his screen, meeting your eyes once more and scrambling to hide unsuccessfully yet again. You decide to turn back around before anyone else around you catches on to this interaction. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, meeting Yunjin’s gaze as she simply nods at you, her face screaming I told you so, “how long has he been there?” 

“Like… basically this whole time,” Yunjin says casually, not fazed in the slightest by your horrified expression, “been staring at you for a while too.”

“Ugh, gross,” you groan, throwing your head back in defeat and staring up at the ceiling with a frown, “I think I might’ve gotten his hopes up too much.”

“C’mon, go easy on him,” Yunjin teases— your head is straightening up to look at her again, but a single glance is enough to tell you she merely finds this situation amusing, “it’s probably his first time properly interacting with a woman.”

“That’s even worse,” you mourn, slumping down and placing your head in your hands; a sudden reminder of your schedule is popping back into your head, and your peeking through your fingers in dismay as you relay the information to your friend, “and I have a study session with him today too.” 

“Aww!” she coos, clearly having a blast as she grins, glancing behind you and undoubtedly at Beomgyu once more, “I’m sure he just can’t wait to see you again.”

“God, please shut up,” you whine petulantly, but your friend brushes off your pleas with a mischievous smile, “you’re making me wanna throw up.”

“What, you gonna cancel then?” 

Silence. Any other day, you would’ve immediately jumped to say yes, pulling out your phone to text him and bailing like it was nothing. But today, you find yourself oddly reluctant to say this three letter word, unsure of why the answer is difficult to voice before you finally give in to the truth— your head slumps with defeat and you’re too ashamed to look Yunjin in the eyes.

“No.”

“Oh wow,” you hear her say, still blatantly teasing you as she laughs giddily— you don’t bother to react at this point, choosing to ignore the unspoken question of why you’re not ditching him this time.

“Hope you have fun,” she muses, taking one last glance behind you before she’s giggling to herself, “try to go easy on him, m’kay?”

Fuck, this was so embarrassing. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Today, you’ve changed up your meeting spot quite a bit; Beomgyu was thoroughly surprised when you asked him to study later on in the day, in a more secluded area on the upper levels of the library, telling him to pick a table and wait for you to get there after— usually, you tried to make your meetups as convenient for you as possible, choosing places that you could easily flee from. 

When you finally come into his line of sight, Beomgyu frowns. You carry your bag with you, along with a troubled expression and tense posture, glancing around you continuously even if there was no one around, even if the table was hidden behind bookshelves— as though you were afraid of getting caught for something. 

You’re dumping your things onto the table unceremoniously— and instead of taking your spot across from Beomgyu like always, you’re sitting next to him, catching him off guard and missing the way he tenses at the action— you’re scooting your chair closer to him and filling his senses with your scent, making him gulp thickly as he tries to not let his mind wander off; he realizes with dread that it’s really not working. 

Beomgyu is a stuttering mess today; you pick up on it with ease, frowning at the way he continues to blunder through his explanations and having to repeat things to you multiple times, hands shakier than usual as he points out certain things in the text before he’s relating it back to the assignment. 

“That— that’s one of the things the… the uhm, the professor said would be important to remember,” Beomgyu stutters, feeling his body heat up at the way you raise your brows at the sound of his cracking and meek voice. With one glimpse at your (clearly) judgemental and demeaning expression that you didn’t even bother to hide, Beomgyu is scrambling to get his act together. 

It works, for a while; the two of you are left in silence as you work on the homework your professor assigned to you, and you remain unfazed at the feeling of Beomgyu catching glimpses at you from time to time; whether that be to look at what you had written down or simply to look at you, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. 

You’re snapped out of zone of concentration at the sound of rustling; a peek from your peripheral vision allows you to watch as Beomgyu has now begun to dig through his bag, wondering what he could be up to; with a roll of your eyes, you’re focusing back to the question you were working on, not bothering to glance back again even once the rustling has ceased. 

Without warning, something is placed gingerly on the open surface of your textbook; you’re blinking in surprise before you’re registering what it is that has been put before you, brows knitting together as you wonder how you should react.

It’s a… mini paper flower bouquet. 

You’re staring at the item for a solid few seconds before you slowly turn to look at the culprit. Beomgyu meets your intense gaze the best he can, putting up a confident front and fighting back the heat that threatens to engulf his face. 

“Y–You— I heard you did well on your test.” He says, glasses slipping down his nose and bangs falling into his eyes, gaze flickering away for a split second before he wills himself to look at you again. Your stare is dead and unreadable.

“I never told you that.” 

Beomgyu is losing this battle, his confidence visibly wilting away as his cheeks begin to get dusted with pink. His eyes are wide like a deer caught in headlights, unsure of what to respond as you give him a look that is expecting an explanation— his cheeks are now a bright red. 

Even without his explanation, you both know how he got a hold of this news— and you’re thinking back to Yunjin’s teasing, the fear of being seen with him during today’s study session, and the flustered boy in front of you— and your mouth is running faster than you can stop it.

“Choi Beomgyu, do you like me?” 

If the floor around you was already quiet before, it’s dead silent now; you’re even able to pick up on the stuttered breath Beomgyu lets out, his eyes growing comically wide as he simply stares at you; almost as though he couldn’t believe what you just asked of him. 

“Actually, don’t even answer that,” you wave him off, choosing to ignore the way this seems to spring him into action, stuttering and failing to put together a proper sentence to tell you that no, he definitely doesn’t— you just caught him off guard! 

But it’s not like you would believe him anyway, with the way he remains flustered long after you asked the question, unable to even look your way for the rest of the session, staring straight at the textbook and nowhere else whenever you would ask him a question— after a while, you begin to tire of his behavior. 

“Choi Beomgyu,” you call out again, soft and dangerous as you turn to face him— he was attempting to explain a question to you, words dying on his tongue as he took in your sudden proximity— leaning in toward him, you tilt your head as you observe his reaction, watching the way his lips press together and his adam's apple bobs as he gulps softly; his puppy-like eyes shine as he waits for you to say something.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, your voice beginning to dip into that coy lilt that you’ve used on him only one other time— and that’s enough to have Beomgyu’s mind spinning, the poor boy thinking thoughts that he’s tried to suppress this whole time— your affect on him is beginning to show once more. 

“You look a little…” your eyes flicker down beneath the table, a smile tugging at your lips before you’re looking back into the boy's eyes; catching where you were looking, Beomgyu can’t help but tug his sweater over his lap in embarrassment. 

You’re leaning even closer now— your breath is fanning against the shell of his ear, the boy’s face practically on fire as his hands remain clenched and tense on his lap— he’s practically a statue due to your proximity. 

“Distracted.” 

Your hands are mischievous; curious, setting your pencil down carefully before they begin to wander, sliding across the table before it falls off the edge, nails scratching at the wool material of Beomgyu’s sweater before it lands on top of his hand that covers his lap— you grin at the choked breath of surprise he lets out from the simple touch. 

“What— what, what are y–you—?” Beomgyu is about to bite through his lip at this rate, eyes wide and panicked as he watches your hand push his away, taking in the bulge in his pants as a flush of shame rises up his neck; you’ve caught him, but you don’t seem to be fazed in the slightest as you’re cupping him gently, looking up at him with doe eyes and lashes that flutter innocently— he thinks his heart might just explode from how quickly it’s pounding. 

“Wait, wait wait— we’re in— other people might—” he’s tripping over his words, saying so much yet nothing at all, but the way his eyes skirt over the perimeter is enough to tell you what he’s thinking— yet all you see are bookshelves that surround and hide you well— beneath the warmth of your hand that has yet to move, you can feel Beomgyu hardening within seconds. 

“It’s late. There’s no one else here right now,” you say sweetly, too sweet, a bit patronizing as you lean in close and coo the words directly into his ear— you’re brushing back his long hair with a gentle hand, tucking it behind his ears that he always seems to hide; they’re a pitiful bright red and decorated with silver piercings, absentmindedly caressing along his jaw with the back of your hand; his eyes flutter shut at the tender action, along with the feeling of your hand finally beginning to rock against his cock gently— and he melts into the chair, like putty in your hands as you watch his shoulders slump and cave into himself, his head hang at the stimulation; you’ve barely done anything, yet he’s already a mess— the sight surprises you.

“Go ahead,” you continue softly, hand cupping his jaw and cradling it carefully, attempting to get him to look at you again— and he follows your commands effortlessly, pretty eyes fluttering open and his head turning at the gentle push of your hand— and he’s looking at you with glassy, wide eyes, cheeks flushed pink and mouth parted as his eyes begin to flutter shut again— and your thumb is rubbing soothing circles along his cheekbone teasingly, leaning in slightly to whisper again, close enough that he can feel your breath fanning against the tip of his nose, “Puppy, look at me.”

He follows your command in a heartbeat; he’s met with another of your sickeningly sweet smiles, deceiving and comforting all at the same time. 

“Go ahead now puppy,” you murmur, any movements of your hand ceasing entirely as you watch him with eager eyes, watching the way he seems to sober up at the loss of your touch, “take my hand off— c’mon, take it off if you really want to.”

A moment passes— he really should be taking your hand off, shouldn’t he? But his mind is clouded now and you look so pretty under the warm library lights, pristine and perfect as always, glossy lips and lidded eyes encouraging him with a deceivingly fond look— but Beomgyu loves it, and he loves the way you laugh mockingly at him, unable to control the way he whines petulantly and shakes his head, giving you your answer by thrusting his aching cock into your hand desperately.

“Good boy,” you utter absentmindedly, a compliment that makes Beomgyu’s hips stutter as you finally begin to inch up his bulge, careful fingers making quick work to undo his pants— and with one last glance at the deserted area around you, you’re slipping your hand inside and past the tight waistband of his boxers. 

“Haah—!” Beomgyu is slapping a hand over his mouth and beating you to it, eyes wide and face even more flushed than before as he stares down at the way your hand disappears beneath the material of his boxers, expertly wrapping around his length and slowly beginning to jerk him off underneath the table. 

You don’t seem to be worked up by any of this at all; your eyes are lidded with a slight boredom, a tiredness he’s seen at every one of your study sessions, watching the way you turn back to your homework and begin reading the instructions, hand still working expertly at his length as you do; Beomgyu has to press another hand firmly against his mouth the moment your thumb is swiping over his tip, collecting the constant arousal that collects there and using it as lube— you don’t even bat an eye at him during all this. 

After a few minutes, you’re able to hear the slick sounds of your hand working against his cock effortlessly; the poor boy is aroused and leaking beyond belief, now sporting a wet patch against his pants that you seem to be dead-set on worsening— your pace is picking up and you don’t bother to glance at Beomgyu to check up on him, though you also don’t bother to hide the way your lips quirk in amusement at the sight of him trying (and failing) to keep his composure. 

“M–mmh, agh— close, s’close…” Beomgyu stutters out pathetically, bucking his hips up messily and turning back into that desperate and rambly mess from the first time you sucked him off; his voice is deep and breathy as he whispers out these pleas to you, begs to not stop, to go faster, to—

“Beomgyu,” you whisper coyly, using this chance to finally put your plan into action, “Beomgyu baby, d’you wanna cum? Hmm? Want me to make you feel good?”

He’s nodding thoughtlessly; of course he’s nodding, his mind has gone blank and there’s nothing else in there that seems to make sense except for the way your warm hand wraps around his cock so perfectly, unable to stop the choked whines he lets out every time he feels you squeeze him teasingly. 

“Then you gotta do something for me, okay pup?”  you coo out, making sure to use the nickname you know he loves so much— he lets out a choked whimper at the sound, brows knit tightly together and hair falling in front of his face with the way he hangs his head— and you’re leaning in close to him again, breath fanning on his skin and your palm slapping his cheek softly, tapping at it to get his attention; it works like a charm, and his glassy eyes are meeting yours once more. “Puppy, are you listening?”

“I’m—” his words get cut off by a weak whine, feeling your hand tighten teasingly around him, “I’m listening— I’m listening.” 

“Good,” you coo out, feeling the way his hips buck and he starts becoming restless, “now if you wanna cum, you gotta promise me something, okay?” 

Anything, anything for you, he breathes out absentmindedly, and you’re sure he has no idea what he’s even agreeing to at this point. 

“Don’t act like you know me when we’re in public,” you say sweetly, muddling his mind by increasing your pace, by doing exactly what you’ve noted makes him squirm and cry the most, “I don’t know you, you don’t know me— we’re strangers.” 

You notice the way his face is twisting up in confusion; his mouth is parting and he’s fighting to say something, to ask why— but you’re not giving him a chance to, brushing his hair back and cupping his face, turning him to look at you and digging your nails into his cheeks to get him to meet your eyes; through the intense pleasure you give him, you can still see the hurt that swims within. You let out a soft coo at the pathetic sight.

“Come on, promise me, okay?” you pout, “you’re a good boy, right? You’ll keep your promise?” 

His hips are stuttering and fucking into your fist again; you’ve got him pinned down precisely. Any coherent thought is fading out of Beomgyu’s mind and the only thing he’s concerned himself with is his impending orgasm, the feeling of pleasure that is only heightened with every string of praise you say to him. 

“Be a good little puppy and say you’ll promise me,” you say, thumb swiping over his bottom lip before you’re pulling at it, dark eyes observing the way he melts before your touch and finally gives in— he’s nodding, you’ve got him right where you want him, and all you needed was a little bit of mindless praise. “c’mon, say it, say it and you can cum.”

“I promise,” he breathes out, whiny and high pitched and strained, as though speaking was a challenge for him, “I’ll do anything, please— pleasepleaseplease, let me cum, I’ll— I promise.”

“There we go baby,” you hum in approval, pressing a peck to his pouting lips and taking in the way his waterline is filled with tears that hang precariously, “such a good boy— my good boy.”

His hips stutter, rising off the seat, and you’re feeling warm spurts of cum land on your skin. His mouth is falling open and you’re sure he might just let out a loud noise, so before you can think twice, you’re pulling his face close to you and smashing your lips against his; he whines weakly into mouth, and you’re swallowing it greedily, kissing him languidly and guiding him through his high with praise that makes his breath stutter and his knees weak. 

You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and good.

It takes a while before Beomgyu is finally coming to his senses. He’s panting softly against your mouth, lips swollen and bitten at, his cock sensitive as the feeling of you continuing to pump him slowly suddenly becomes too much; with a shaky hand, he presses against your shoulder and attempts to signal you to stop. You’re pulling away immediately. 

Beomgyu looks, for lack of a better term, absolutely destroyed. His face is flushed and his eyes are droopy with exhaustion, hair mussed and messy and his clothes in complete disarray; you look down, and you’re wincing in half amusement and half pity at the sight of the wet spot against Beomgyu’s jeans. He’s following your gaze, and if he could turn any redder, you’re sure he definitely would’ve; his ears burn. 

Your hand is messy; his cum is still coated on your skin, sticky and incriminating as it sticks to your fingers and pools in between, a grimace twisting your face into a look of dismay as you stare down at the mess— before you can even think of what to do about it, Beomgyu is handing you a tissue. 

His hand is shaky as he extends it out to you; your gaze is snapping up to meet his, only you’ve found that he can’t look at you at all— it seems as though the fog in his mind has already subsided and he’s realized what you’ve asked of him, lips pressed together and face still flushed as you finally take it from him. He turns away from you immediately, pulling his sweater over his lap and staring down at the disarray of textbooks and notebooks before him. 

The silence is suddenly unbearable. You feel awkward as you wipe at your skin, even more so when you’re stuck with nothing but a soiled tissue and a hand that’s still undeniably dirty, the tension between you two now growing tenfold by the second as you finally decide that you should probably just go— it’s not like he’d be surprised by it anyway. 

You’re opening your mouth to excuse yourself— to ignore the elephant in the room, to simply run away with a coy smile like you always do— but Beomgyu is beating you to the punch, and you can’t even hide the startled flinch your body does as he stands and begins to pack up hastily, shoving his materials into his book bag without a second glance to see if everything is perfectly aligned and neat.

You can only sit there and watch; it’s clear that your words seem to have gotten to him, and though you were expecting the awkwardness that would stem from it, you didn’t expect Beomgyu to be upset; your mind races to find reasons why, to try and wrap your head around why he would be feeling this way. 

“I asked the professor how you were doing in the class, since you never seem to want to tell me,” Beomgyu finally says, breaking the tension and adjusting the materials in his bag to be just the way he likes it; he zips his bag shut in one aggressive swoop, and you can’t help the surprise on your face when he sends you a harsh glare. 

“He says you’ve been improving greatly; said you were a good student from the very start, that you only needed to catch up on the materials.” he’s slinging his bag over his shoulder, pushing the chair in and taking a step back from your dumbfounded figure, “so it looks to me that you achieved your goal with our sessions.”

A moment passes— and your eyes widen slightly, catching on to what he’s trying to tell you, finding that you really want to deny the professor’s claims, even if they are true. But your pride impedes you from uttering a single word, knowing that it would kill you to try and coax Beomgyu to stay with you, to keep these study sessions going— and through this sudden urge, you catch yourself wondering why you would even want this to continue.

“I’m glad my help seemed to work— but it seems that you don’t even need it anymore,” Beomgyu finalizes what he needed to say, and you can see the way his shoulders practically sag from the relief of getting his thoughts across; his hand goes to tug his oversized sweater down, completely covering his lap and the mess you left— he grimaces softly. 

“What? So that’s it?” is all you can say, watching his face harden at your words, “Just like that? What about me?”

His face twists up in anger— your words have struck a nerve, and suddenly, he’s remembering why no one wanted to tutor you in the first place. 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” is all he says, taking another step back and increasing the distance between you two, “anyone would be willing to tutor you with the rate you like to offer.”

You both know what he really wants to say— just use your money on someone else to get what you want, like you always do. You find that you can’t really say anything to that. You remain silent.

Beomgyu turns around, and leaves; he doesn’t bother to say goodbye, and you’re left to watch his retreating figure, the hastiness of his pace and the way he continuously tugs his oversized sweater down over and over, even if it doesn’t move an inch. 

That’s it, you tell yourself, leaning back against your chair, staring down at the display before you, at the notes you were actually taking, the work you were finally doing, you finally got what you wanted. 

After a moment, the seat next to you is feeling a lot emptier than it did seconds ago; the room feels endless, as though you were left alone in this lonely labyrinth. Beomgyu’s words echo in your head, and you frown. 

Is this what you wanted?

 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Beomgyu has kept his promise well; you haven’t seen him in weeks. 

Not around campus, not around the dining halls, not even in the library, a place you’ve found yourself actually attending regularly— not even in the only class you shared— and it seems as though he’s vanished off the face of the Earth. 

You’ve found yourself thinking about him more often than you’d like; wondering if he’s okay, if he’s off at one of his many jobs again, if he’s resting— it makes you shiver with disgust every time you catch yourself, grimacing at the idea that you would even find yourself worried about him— and while you tell yourself that you’ve finally gotten rid of one of your biggest burdens, you can still feel the nagging feeling to talk to him every time you see his contact in your phone.

“Did you finally get him off your trail?” Yunjin asks you one day, when you’re busy checking the due dates for this week’s assignments online, making a mental schedule of what to work on first as you leave your food untouched; her words are snapping you out of your trance, looking up at her with a gaze that screams I wasn’t listening, what? 

“Your little plaything— the loser guy?” she drawls, watching your face carefully, taking your small reaction as a sign that you’ve caught on, “did you finally shake him off?” 

“I— yeah, I did,” you say apathetically, letting out a soft tsk as you’re looking back at your laptop, “finally.”

“Wow, look at you,” Yunjin awes, seeing the way your brows furrowed in concentration and you have yet to eat, too immersed in your course load to roll your eyes at her clear, mocking tone, “looks like he really did a number on you— I didn’t know you used your laptop for anything other than shopping.”

“Yunjin, come on,” you sigh, jaw clenching as you suddenly don’t find yourself in the mood for her teasing, “I mean, I know I’ve been slacking really bad recently, but you know that’s not true.”

She doesn’t seem to take you seriously— then again, no one ever really does, a constant in your life that makes you jaw tick and your eyes mentally roll— and she laughs, shaking her head and pouting as though you were a thing to be pitied. You wonder how much of this is supposed to be friendly teasing. 

“Yeah sure,” she sighs, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand and leaning over to look at your screen, “Don’t work too hard though, it might hurt your brain.”

You ignore her comment; Yunjin doesn’t seem to care about your silence, doesn’t bother to gauge your reaction as she continues to poke at yet another of her salads, pushing the contents around with her fork in boredom as she speaks up again. 

“You know, hopefully he has the same effect on me.”

This gets your attention immediately. Yunjin is looking at you with surprised eyes that feign innocence, raising a confused brow at your narrowed eyes. 

“What do you mean by that,” you ask slowly, attempting to keep your tone indifferent as you speak.

Yunjin shrugs, as though what she was about to tell you next wasn’t of any importance— and it really shouldn’t be, but you still can’t ignore the way it makes your body feel like you’ve been shocked with a wave of electricity. 

“I mean, your little tutor seemed to be such a good influence so…” she stabs at her salad lazily, bringing up the fork to her lips before she’s sending you a small smile. “I thought I’d give him a try.” 

You bristle quite visibly at that; your mind is running a million miles an hour, wondering where this sudden idea is coming from, being friends with Yunjin for longer than you can remember as your mouth begins to run before you can stop it. 

“You said your parents have tried to set you up with multiple tutors— the best in the country,” you say, brows knitted together as Yunjin simply shrugs her shoulders, raising her brows as if to say and? “You said you’d rather die than to get tutored— you said it was a waste of time.”

“Yeah… but…” Yunjin shrugs again, and you wonder how much of this is just an impulse from her as she continues, “I don’t know, my parents are on my ass again about giving me a tutor, and I don’t wanna deal with all those stuck up pricks they send to me.”

She admits her true motives with her next words. 

“And I don’t know… he’s kinda cute?” she says, laughing like a schoolgirl who was embarrassed to admit a crush, “In like, a pathetic kinda way— and now that he’s done tutoring you, I’m sure he has a slot that opened up.”

Your mind is spiraling with things to say to her; you want to tell her to stay away from Beomgyu, to not try to mess with him— tell her that he’s a loser that isn’t worth her time, a nerd with an obsession with a lame game and the owner of a creepy bird— but you catch yourself, biting your tongue and taking in the way Yunjin simply looks at you expectantly; as though waiting for your embarrassing outburst, you realize.

With a scoff, you’re slamming your laptop shut— Yunjin flinches in surprise. 

“I’m sure one did— I’m leaving,” is all you say, knowing that nothing would change, even if you tried anything. Yunjin scrambles to try to get you to stay, but all attempts fall short— you tell her there’s an exam you need to study for, and she sighs in defeat. 

“You’re coming to the party this Saturday, at least?” she says, clearly annoyed at your sudden sensitivity, at your sudden change in attitude, “you promised you would.”

Your mind is attempting to remember what she could be talking about— then you’re finally remembering the event she spontaneously planned a few weeks back, telling you that she hasn’t seen everyone together in one place in so long— and while you found yourself agreeing excitedly back then, you don’t have much energy to do so now. But Yunjin is staring at you expectantly, raising a brow at your silence, and you find that there’s really not much of a choice for you. (There is, but you know there’d be consequences if you chose wrong.)

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Perfect!” she beams, eyes crinkling and her hands clasping together happily, as though there was no previous tension between you at all mere moments before, “I’ll see you then.” 

You merely nod, turning around and taking your food to the nearest trash can— you weren’t really hungry, anyway. 

You can feel Yunjin’s eyes pinpointed on you the whole way out. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

You’ve always loved parties. 

You loved to dress up, make yourself look pretty and catch the eyes of everyone with your pretty dresses and makeup done to perfection; loved the attention that came with it, the way you could let loose for once and not worry about your image, drinking and feeling your body become loose, mind finally being allowed to forget about any worries you had. 

You were known to be a social butterfly; the pretty airhead that couldn’t stop talking once you got her started— always the life of the party, never one to cling to the wall and stare at the dance floor wistfully. 

Standing before the beach house of Yunjin’s parents, one they didn’t use as much as they once did when Yunjin was only a little girl with an affinity to the sea, you begin to wonder where that part of you has gone. 

You feel dreadfully out of place. You haven’t even gone inside yet. 

Music is blasting and the windows are dark, save for the bright neon lights that come from an unknown source; Yunjin has always been a sucker for that club vibe, anyway. You want to go in, want to walk inside and pretend like it’s nothing, but this time, you can only stand at the bottom of the steps and tug your dress down a little more. You feel like a prude. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself— one in, one out, your chest rising and falling slowly as you  try calm your racing pulse— and with a silent okay of reassurance to yourself, you will your body to begin its trek up the steps. 

The door is unlocked; it’s not like you needed to knock to get in, anyway— only those with an invite even knew this party was happening. The place isn’t packed— nor is it meant to be— but it’s a bit crowded at least, filled with familiar faces for the most part; all people you grew up with or around, sons and daughters of influential families that grew to be nothing but partiers and troublemakers. In other words, your usual crowd. 

There are some exceptions to these guests, however. People you’ve seen around campus, student athletes with a scholarship and business majors that have already found themselves internships to the companies others in the room are a part of— and it seems that no matter how much everyone here tries to pretend and deny, they can never really separate their personal lives from the responsibilities passed down to them at birth. 

Your first instinct is to beeline it to the kitchen; in other words, to the makeshift bar Yunjin always sets up, an impressive display of alcohol and even a hired bartender making drinks left and right— you immediately ask for two jello shots, something Yunjin always made for herself and in extension, you, not in the mood for anything stronger as you opt to get this nervous energy out of you instead; you proceed to get two more a second after, just out of habit.

You should find Yunjin; let her know you’re here, make sure she doesn’t try to scold and bitch at you for promising to go to her party only to end up ditching— you’re sure she’d never believe you unless she saw you with her own eyes. 

The kitchen is empty. The makeshift dance floor seems to be empty as well, spending a few minutes scouring the place and shrugging off any passing advances; with a heavy sigh, you decide that you should check upstairs, just in case, ready to make your way up before a rough hand is grabbing at your elbow and tugging you back; the smell of alcohol greets you before Yunjin can. 

“You actually came!” Yunjin yells over the music, her face flushed from the alcohol and her balance off as she stumbles slightly; you make a quick move to catch her, eyes drifting down before you’re catching sight of the uncomfortable heels she dons— meeting her gaze once more, she pouts. 

“I don’t even know why I wore these,” she groans, running a hand through her auburn hair, watching the way it falls back into place perfectly— she then proceeds to scan over your own outfit, letting out a sound of awe as she smiles, “you look great! Pretty as always.”

She’s muttering something else, but you can’t really hear it over the sound of the music; eventually, you find your eyes drifting away to the dancefloor, wondering if there’s anyone else you could recognize— your eyes lock with a particular, infamous athlete’s, one that you’ve been dying to get with since the beginning of the semester— and you’re suddenly thankful for the buzz the jello shots provided you, Yunjin eventually following your gaze and cheering at the realization of what you were planning. 

She’s pushing you forward before you can even think things through; the man with dark hair simply smiles at you, coy eyes beckoning you closer— and with a deep breath, you decide to let go of any worries you had and go back to being your airheaded, carefree self— even if just for a moment. 

“Hey,” he says simply, a hand going to rest on your waist; the music is much too loud for you to converse properly, but you don’t really seem to mind as you allow yourself to get lost in the rhythm instead— that, and because your tipsy brain has forgotten his name, and the low lights that obscure his face aren’t exactly helping either. 

But it seems as though he was thinking the exact thing; he’s leaning down to ask the exact question you were wondering into your ear, deep voice and pouty lips that brush against the shell of your ear making you shiver— you’re muttering your name into his ear, tilting your head toward him to allow him to do the same.

Yeonjun. Your head seems to clear for the moment. 

“Looks like we finally meet,” he grins, still close to your face in order for you to be able to hear him; your face twists up in confusion, and he laughs softly before continuing. “You’re just as pretty as I’ve been told— my friend talks a lot about you. You’re trouble, hmm?”

“Your friend?” is all you can say in response, placing a hand against his chest and leaning in closer, the music muddling his words slightly; his hand continues to hold you steady, and the two of you continue to sway to the rhythm. 

“Yeah,” he laughs, staring at your face that’s twisted up in obvious confusion, “My roommate, Beomgyu? I heard he tutored you for a bit.”

His name is enough to clear your head entirely, as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over your body and drenched your figure. 

“He— he told you about me?” you ask, mentally slapping yourself for sounding so pathetic, for feeling so curious as you stare at Yeonjun with undeniably hopeful eyes; instead, all you get is another amused laugh from him. 

“Are you kidding? You practically traumatized him!” he jokes, though you don’t find yourself laughing along to that, lips twitching and a frown threatening to take over your features, “You’d think he was scared of you from the way he talked about you.”

You don’t respond to that; you’re not sure how you would respond to that anyway, letting out a weak laugh and falling silent as you look over his shoulder and fall back into the beat of the song— but it seems as though Yeonjun is too drunk, and frankly, unaware to take in your reaction, because he’s leaning into your ear and murmuring words that strike the final blow into your heart.

“He’s here, actually— Yunjin and him really seem to be hitting it off. Didn’t think he had it in him”

You chose to bite your tongue, biting back a bitter comment about how he really doesn’t have it in him to woo someone like Yunjin. But Yeonjun is too amused by his own comment to pick up on the sudden sourness of your mood, mouthing the lyrics to whatever’s playing and guiding your hips with a hand, a smile tugging at his lips as he sends you a wink. But you’re too shaken by this sudden news that you no longer feel the need to play along, much less try to hook up with him tonight. Now that you think about it, the once superficially important goal of chasing after the athlete before you had been pushed down the list of your priorities long, long ago. 

“‘M gonna get a drink,” you mutter miserably, pushing against Yeonjun’s chest and ignoring the way he immediately begins to complain, untangling yourself from his grip as you leave with one final, half-hearted sorry!

Screw jello-shots, you think to yourself, stumbling back to the kitchen with sore feet, I need something stronger. 

Something stronger comes in the form of a mysterious drink you let the bartender make for you; you didn’t exactly keep track of the ingredients he listed off to you, simply nodding instead when he asked if that’s what you wanted— if you think it’s strong enough, you replied with a smile, choosing to ignore the hesitant nod he gave you in return. 

The speed at which you downed the drink was enough to have the bartender at your side with a water and a warning look— you ignored it, of course, drinking the water with a slight pout, only bothering to drink half before you were back to the dancefloor; maybe you could distract yourself with Yeonjun for a while, you think. 

But any plans to track down the said man come to a glaring halt the moment you’re stepping out the kitchen; your eyes widen, surprised expression mirroring Hueningkai’s as he stands before you— his eyes scan over your figure, running back up and stopping at your hazed eyes and flushed face, the slight sway in your movement helping everything click in his mind; you’re a few drinks away from getting utterly wasted, and it seems as though that’s the path you’re getting ready to take. 

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” Hueningkai says, watching your face scrunch in confusion, taking a step forward to hear him better, “Thought you’d be too busy doing another study date to come.”

“Shut up,” you sneer, rolling your eyes and scoffing at the implications of his words, “And why do you care? I’m surprised you’re not fucking a random girl in Yunjin’s bathroom right now.”

“I tried,” Hueningkai rolls his eyes, smiling in that obnoxiously smug way as he watches you frown. He leans in, placing a hand on the doorway and above your head as he reaches out to grab your waist; tugging you close to him, lips ghosting the shell of your ear as he mumbles quietly, “but she wasn’t anywhere as good as you.”

“You’re gross,” you glare, leaning back as you let your lips upturn in disgust, already knowing what he’s implying— asking of you— with a simple look at his face. “Leave me alone, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Are you still mad?” Hueningkai asks, beginning his chase even after you’ve successfully escaped his clutches, ignoring him with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms and make your way out to the living room, “you never even told me what was wrong, you just ran away and kept bitching at me.”

You huff; it doesn’t seem like Hueningkai will give up anytime soon, so you’re whirling around and sending him a pointed glare as you finally give him the closure he so desperately keeps asking for. 

“I did tell you what was wrong,” you start, clenching your jaw at the way he immediately opens his mouth to refute that, “you treat me like nothing more than a fuck buddy, acting as though we weren’t actually friends before that! All you do is make me feel worthless, then you have the audacity to turn around and play the victim?! Like seriously, Hueningkai, is this all you see me as? A body to fuck?”

Hueningkai began asking you to keep it down the moment you felt yourself get riled up; volume rising, face heating up, you ignored him, ignored the odd looks you got from others, deciding that since the man before you wanted to hear your thoughts so badly, you’d let it all out.

“We used to be friends. We grew up together!” you say, feeling ridiculous for continuing to grieve the past, the days where things weren’t so complicated and all you felt for Hueningkai was a harmless crush. “I can’t believe I let you use me like this, just because I thought I liked— god, I’m so stupid.”

You don’t give him a chance to retaliate; you’re turning around and ready to weave your way through the faceless people and go outside, only making it halfway before Hueningkai is grabbing at your elbow and asking you to wait. His persistence garners yet another roll of your eyes.

“You what? Hang on, what was that last part?” he asks, trailing behind you and desperately asking for an answer— because of course he would hone in on that part. You continue to ignore him, tugging your arm out his hold and beginning to push through the crowd at the dancefloor— seriously, how many people did Yunjin invite? You seem to have severely underestimated the capacity of this place.

“You— did you like me? Do you like me?” Hueningkai’s last attempts to get something, anything from you are childish and do nothing but make your stomach churn, “Come on, we can talk this out, be mature about it— I can fix things, I can make it up to, yeah? Hey, don’t bail on me now—”

“Enough!” you yell, getting yet another round of side glances and strange looks from others; listening in like always, pretending horribly to be ignorant to it all.

You’re right before the doorway; so close, yet you know that if you leave now, Hueningkai will continue to follow and pester you— so as horrible as the timing is, you realize with a heavy feeling that now is your chance to do what you’ve been debating on for so long. 

“Please, I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say, your words weak as you look right into his eyes— and everything surfaces into your mind once more, the innocent hope you once had of stealing his heart one day, “Let’s just end this— everything.”

The words feel familiar on your tongue, only this time, you realize that this is the person you should’ve directed this message to in the first place.

“We don’t know each other,” you say, jaw clenched at the way it takes Hueningkai a second to process things due to the music that tries to drown you out— you still catch onto the exact moment where it all registers in his head, eyes widening and mouth opening to protest— but you beat him to it, not giving him another opportunity to try and haphazardly fix thing, albeit momentarily. Your eyes meet his, and your heart wrenches upon seeing that he’s more annoyed than hurt. 

“Don’t talk to me— we’re strangers now.”

The final blow is like a weight that is immediately taken off your shoulders; you reach to open the door and slip out. This time, Hueningkai doesn’t follow. 

The air is cool on your face and a nice contrast to the stuffy air inside the house. Slowly, you make your way to the corner of the porch fence, stumbling over due to the soreness of your feet and the alcohol that still runs through your system. So many emotions course through you, seemingly wanting to bring about a wave of nostalgia and sadness, lingering feelings for the man you’ve just let behind— but you won’t allow yourself to cry over him, scoffing instead at the way you allowed yourself to foolishly bend over backwards for him for so long. 

“Wow,” you hear a voice say, not bothering to look back as you immediately recognize who it is; Yunjin joins you, leaning against the fence and craning her head forward to properly survey you— you don’t bother looking at her, even more so when she finally continues,“That was harsh back there.”

You sigh. Because of course Yunjin heard that, and of course she’s the one to bring it up immediately after. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually cut him off— I thought you’d always be like, head over heels, hopelessly in love with him— like a little girl, you know? You never seemed to grow out of him.” You glare at her, but continue to remain silent; she laughs, throwing her head back at the sight, only to wobble back slightly from the sudden motion.

“Oh come onnnnn, you know it’s true!” she coos, proceeding to poke at you teasingly and twist her voice to sound like you, “Huening called me pretty. Huening bought me the purse I really wanted. Huening wants me to go with him to dinner with his parents. Huening Huening Huening—!”

Her laugh is obnoxious, even after you’ve hissed at her to be quiet; she continues to mock you under her breath, drunkenly quoting things she overheard from your outburst, and you realize with a disappointed sigh that she definitely won’t be stopping soon. 

“Heyyy, don’t get all sensitive on me now!” she whines, grabbing your hand and tugging you back when you attempt to leave; it doesn’t work, and you merely tug yourself out her grip, not even bothering to respond to her cries to stay.

Yunjin pauses her dramatics the moment you’re turning and leaving, scoffing at the way she offhandedly apologizes, words slurring together as she says that she’s sorry if you feel offended! You’re shaking your head at that, making your way back to where the stairs are, glancing back at the home one last time— and you’re freezing for a second when you meet Beomgyu’s gaze, the boy wide eyed and awkward as he stands at the doorway. Behind you, Yunjin cheers drunkenly. 

“Beomie! Hey, could you tell her to stop being so dramatic? Like come on, I’m just trying to have fun,” Yunjin’s rambles are left unacknowledged by you both, and you finally find strength within you to walk away after a second; it’s not like you and Beomgyu had anything to talk about, anyway. 

Behind you, Yunjin calls for Beomgyu to go to her and give her attention; her pleas fade from your ears and you’ve finally made it onto the beach, pulling out your phone and fumbling through your contacts before you’re finally ordering an Uber to pick you up instead— it was too late in the night for you to bother your driver. 

The closest driver will be here in fifteen minutes; you’ll spend those fifteen minutes sitting before the ocean, clothes riddled with sand and body still sobering up slowly, your shoes placed to the side as you dip your legs into the water— fifteen minutes of silence, allowing you to ponder if these people are really the ones you’ve chosen to affiliate with for half your life. 

You’ve become so entranced with the white noise of the waves that you couldn’t pick up on the approaching footsteps of another; it isn’t until the said person is sitting at your side that you’re finally snapping out of your trance. 

Beomgyu settles down beside you without a word. You watch him for a second, taking in his appearance— he must’ve been dragged here, if anything, his attire not straying from the usual sweaters and jeans— and you look away, staring back out into the horizon as silence continues to drag down between the two of you. 

“You’re not sensitive,” Beomgyu suddenly says, his voice so quiet and hesitant you almost missed it, “Or dramatic.”

You laugh humorlessly. 

“I know.”

“You deserve to feel wanted,” Beomgyu adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, taking in your troubled expression and distant gaze, “...And, your friends are all assholes.”

“...I know.”

It’s quiet. You’re staring down at your feet, at the waves that slowly make their way up your shins before they retreat. Tonight made everything clearer than ever— why did you ever bother to associate with those people? Family and social status was the answer, but as you sit on the beach and away from the rowdy, ruthless crowd, you realize that you feel much more comfortable where you are. 

“No one ever takes me seriously,” you say suddenly, staring at the ground and tracing shapes into the sand, “I mean, I never really gave them reason to; it was all just fun and games at first— since I was a girl, I mean. Everyone thought that because I was so obsessed with superficial things that I just didn’t have anything going on in my head, and I guess that was enough to let me become a joke to everyone. A pretty airhead who just thinks about makeup and clothes and purses.”

“I mean, I worked hard to get to where I’m at, y’know? There’s more to me than just that. I won’t deny that my parents and their wealth helped get me a lot, and I certainly won’t deny that I seriously slacked this semester, but I— I don’t know, I just wish people wouldn’t take the shit I say and do like an absolute cosmic joke sometimes; that everyone I know and surrounded myself with wasn’t so superficial and fake.”

Your mouth just began running without you realizing it, forcing you to spill everything that’s been weighing on your mind; you don’t even bother stopping yourself, refusing to glance at the boy beside you as you continue. 

“And you wanna know what the worst part is? For a while, I started to believe what they thought of me, started to play into it if it meant them… liking me more. Ugh, that sounds so pathetic, seriously. I need to get it together.” You roll your eyes, tossing your head back as you scold yourself midway through your rambling, “I thought that if I acted all cute and stupid, if I just molded myself into what they liked, they… he would choose me. Would decide to keep me around for more than just a fuck. Would reciprocate years and years of pining and pretending to be cool with him fucking around with other people— all while he got all sulky if I even mentioned other guys.”

Silence. You go quiet for a moment, hand stilling for a moment, brows knitting together as you stare at the mess you’ve made in the sand; Beomgyu opens his mouth to say something, but is swiftly cut off by the sight of you sitting up straight abruptly. 

“But I’m worth more than that, y’know? I deserve to have someone take it slow with me, to like me for who I am, to really take me seriously. Even if I act ridiculous sometimes.” You sigh, your lips twitching in a soft smile as you finally look up from the mess in the sand and at Beomgyu; his eyes meet yours, doe-like and wide as always. You laugh at his expression, and his face heats up at the sight. 

“God, I’ve been really insufferable, huh?” you laugh, looking away from him the moment you felt your heart beating a bit faster, “I just never shut up, I’ve been told it’s really annoying— I didn’t mean to dump that all on you like that.”

“It’s alright,” Beomgyu says hastily, biting at his lip and averting your gaze as he continues, “I like listening to you talk.”

Your eyes widen and his words echo through your mind, bouncing off the walls and repeating the message over and over. I like listening to you talk. 

Your mind seems to have entirely blanked out at that; how do you even respond? All you know is that your body seems to heat up entirely after a second, shivers running through your spine as you attempt miserably to find something to say, something that’ll probably shatter the mood entirely— but you can’t, and you’re stuck in a silence that grows tense as minutes pass. 

The ding of a notification sounds from your phone; the two of you are looking down at the screen that lights up, and you immediately scramble to leave the moment you read that your car is here.

“I— I have to go,” you say lamely, wincing at your accidental stutter; you don’t give Beomgyu a chance to say anything more, wiping the sand off your clothes and giving him a half-hearted wave goodbye. “See ya.”

If anyone accused you of running away like a coward, you wouldn’t even bother to deny such claims— because it’s true, and you all but sprint away in order to get out of Beomgyu’s sight, eyes frantically sweeping over the street until you finally spot your Uber, sending a small wave and getting inside quickly. 

“Sorry about the mess,” you say sheepishly, glancing down at your shoes that tracked in remnants of sand; slowly, the car begins to move, and you’re staring out the window and watching Yunjin’s beach house pass by— in the very distance, your eyes catch onto Beomgyu, who remains sitting still by the shore. 

Your mind echoes his words to you, and you’re failing miserably to push down the way your stomach seems to be filled with a flurry of butterflies, the way your face heats up and a smile threatens to break through your face. 

Fuck, you think to yourself, realizing with dread that you’ve only felt something this intense one other instance, many years ago.

Fuck. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

It’s been a few weeks since Yunjin’s party; a few weeks since you stopped talking to her, a few weeks since you dropped all your snobby friends you only made for connections, a few weeks since you finally broke things off with Hueningkai. 

A few weeks since you realized that you might see Beomgyu as more than just a nerdy, pathetic loser. 

You’ve found that you have a lot more free time these days; now that you’re no longer worried about attending worthless cocktail parties or going golfing to help Yunjin impress a CEO’s son who she’s had her eye on for days, you’ve found that your life has become a lot more peaceful— or rather, boring. 

Your social life is nonexistent; what else did you expect, after cutting off practically everyone you knew? You’ve become a homebody, much more focused on your work and finding more mundane hobbies— your grades have never looked better. 

Avoiding Yunjin and anyone associated with her was simple; it was nothing, passing by her and pretending like you two never knew each other, like the two of you weren’t once attached by the hip. It never phased you to be in the same room as her, not even batting an eye when she found herself sitting a table away from you in the dining halls. 

You just wish you could say the same about Beomgyu. 

God, what the hell has gotten into you? You’ve become a fumbling, ridiculous mess, not even able to look him in the eye when you spot him in the halls, in the library, in cafes; your body heats up and words get stuck in your throat whenever he’s so much as close in proximity, always finding a way to flee as soon as possible— you don’t even bother being inconspicuous anymore. 

It was apparent to anyone who knew you that this behavior was a complete switch from your usual self— cocky, flirty, bold— and Beomgyu, who had to spend hours on end with you, knew that better than anyone. 

He’s able to spot your odd behavior immediately. Though unfortunately for him, he’s unable to come to a proper conclusion as to why you may be acting like that, and simply decides that you must be holding up your promise still; the promise to act like complete strangers, that is. 

Beomgyu frowns, staring at your back as you stand in line at the cafe across the campus library; you’re rigid, as though turning around and acknowledging the man behind you could kill you. Did you really hate him that much? He thought he made progress back at Yunjin’s party, your moment of vulnerability allowing him to see you in a completely new light— because after a moment of thought, after you fled the scene with an awkward wave and an empty smile, Beomgyu began to think; he really didn’t know anything about you. He didn’t even know your major.

All he knew about you were superficial things— and Beomgyu found himself oddly irritated by the thought, wondering if he was any better than the very people you were complaining about; it weighed his mind, finding himself prattling off to Yeonjun about it one day, laying on the couch and petting Toto absentmindedly as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“She’s an architecture major,” Yeonjun said from the kitchen, looking up from the stove and meeting Beomgyu’s surprised gaze, “Yunjin told me once that she’s been working to try and get an internship at her father’s company— starting from the bottom up and everything. Heard it’s super competitive over there.”

You were a lot more hardworking and studious than Beomgyu— or anyone, really— gave you credit for. And as he watched you recite your order to the cashier, something so convoluted that the boy wondered if it was even good, he found himself wanting to learn more about you. You stood off to the side, staring down at your phone with a concentrated pout, and he wondered if he should bite the bullet and finally attempt talking to you. 

Just as Beomgyu was mustering up the courage to say something, just as he was about to open his mouth, your name was called and you picked up your drink with a swiftness he’s never seen before, making your way out and passing Beomgyu in the blink of an eye. He’s left waiting for his drink long after, snapped out of his reverie by a text notification. 

Huh Yunjin:

im at the library rn r u coming ??

dont keep me waiting :(

Beomgyu sighs, and trudges his way to the library with a pout; the feeling is reminiscent, but he can’t help but find himself thinking that it was you he was studying with instead. He spots Yunjin’s bright head of orange hair instantly, eyes glued to her phone and brows knitted together in a soft frown— and though Beomgyu apologized for being late and asked her to start without him, she didn’t seem to bother to even get her materials out. 

Internally, Beomgyu finds himself rolling his eyes— But he’s masking that with a soft clear of his throat, his calm voice asking Yunjin to get her textbook out so they can start their session— and she finally looks up from her phone, bright eyes filled with confusion before she smiles sheepishly. 

“Oh right, the textbooks,” she murmurs, looking over at the seat next to her where she’s placed her bag, then across where Beomgyu sits; his eyes widen at the sight of her collecting her things, standing up and rounding the table before she sits next to him— before he can question what he’s doing, she scoots her chair closer to him, shoulders touching as she sends him an innocent smile. “I… forgot mine… you don’t mind if we share, right? You said you took this class last semester.”

Beomgyu can’t contain the way he lets out an exasperated breath; he pulls out his laptop, pulling up his digital copy as he mentally complains about how unprepared and demanding Yunjin always seemed to be— he can’t remember the last time she actually brought her own supplies; if anything, Beomgyu was sure she hadn’t even bought her required texts. 

And as he scrolls through the index in search of the needed chapter, he feels Yunjin leaning in closer; all under the guise of seeing the screen better, but Beomgyu knows better than to believe that her intentions are all innocent. And despite Beomgyu’s multiple attempts to scoot away from her, he quickly finds himself trapped by the girl again, frowning at the way she laughs at everything little thing he says and tugs at his sleeve when she’s confused about something. 

For a moment, Beomgyu wonders if she might actually be hitting on him— but he soon catches onto the way she peeks over his screen after each attempt to be touchy, how she glances in the same direction after every soft coo of that same nickname that makes him wince— and he follows the path of her gaze eventually, not entirely surprised at what he sees; if anything, it helps everything click together. 

Beomgyu spots you sitting two tables away, face twisted up in concentration and headphones obstructing your ears, head bobbing rhythmically as you scribble things on your notebook, glancing back at your laptop’s screen ever so often; he catches sight of numbers and equations, and he realizes that you must be working on math homework. 

Without realizing, he’s found himself staring at you; this side of you that he never saw much, private and calm and hardworking, the image you said you wished others saw in you— and, as though you could feel it, you’re looking up from your work, meeting Beomgyu’s eyes instantly and watching as he flusters and looks away; your eyes then fall onto the girl who has him backed into the corner of the table, who leans into him and glances over you with a slight quirk of her lips— she sends you a small wave, then turns back to Beomgyu, calling out his name softly. 

Undeniably curious, you lower the volume of your music slightly— you didn’t expect Yunjin to actually go through with her plans of getting Beomgyu to tutor her, and much less her lasting this long— you’re bringing up a hand to your head as subtly as you can, moving the right side of your headphone away from your ear slightly and allowing yourself to listen in to whatever it is they talk about. 

While Beomgyu attempts multiple times to tutor her and teach her materials, Yunjin can’t seem to stop steering away in a completely different direction; asking him entirely unrelated questions, blatantly flirting and acting coy as she pulls at his sweater everytime he seems hesitant to answer— the sight is slightly amusing, but you can’t deny the way it makes you wince with annoyance. 

“Today’s your day off, right?” Yunjin asks eventually, smiling widely when he nods, albeit hesitantly, “Great! You know how you said you’d take me to dinner if I got a good score on my test?” 

You hear the sound of Yunjin’s nails clicking against a screen; undoubtedly searching for something, the soft mutters of Beomgyu’s you were the one who struck up the deal, making you bite your tongue in a desperate attempt to remain inconspicuous; from the corner of your eye, you’re able to catch the way the said boy glances over at you. 

“Well… ta-da!” Yunjin squeals happily as she shoves the phone into Beomgyu’s face, allowing him to see her results for the said test. Beomgyu hums absentmindedly at the sight. 

“Your place at seven?” Yunjin grins, poking his shoulder teasingly; Beomgyu doesn’t answer, but she chooses to take that silence as a yes. “Great! I have to go actually; promised my girls I’d have brunch with them— you understand, right?” 

Instead of fumbling with his words and asking her to not leave so abruptly, Beomgyu simply nods and hums a soft uh-huh. The sight is enough to have Yunjin scoffing, slinging her purse on her shoulder and reaching over to grab Beomgyu’s chin— she tugs it and makes him face her, the action so sudden that his eyes widen drastically— and she smiles, squishing his cheeks teasingly and pouting at his distant behavior. 

“Don’t get all pouty with me— I’ll see you soon ‘kay?” before Beomgyu can even process anything, Yunjin leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling her lipstick transfer onto his skin— he’s slightly dazed, reaching up immediately to place a hand over the spot, staring at Yunjin with furrowed brows; she simply laughs and waves at him one final time, practically skipping out from how giddy she seemed.

From a distance, you watch Beomgyu quietly reach for his bag, his expression blank as he pulls out a tissue and his phone; you watch him use his front camera as a mirror, wiping at the lipstick with a soft frown. 

From a distance, you laugh to yourself— the distaste that appears on his face is obvious to you, and you can’t help but shake your head at Yunjin’s ridiculous behavior; god, was that what you looked like whenever you would bail on him mid-session? The very thought was terribly humbling to you. 

Yunjin’s attempts to get back at you by using Beomgyu were more than obvious; you think back to her actions, the way she blatantly flirted with him, the plans she suddenly tacked on him— on his day off, not to mention— and you roll your eyes, deciding that you might as well put an end to all these dramatics; not just for your sake, but for Beomgyu’s as well. 

  ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥  

Beomgyu is groaning to himself the moment he hears a sharp knock on his door— the last thing he wanted to do on his day off was spend his time entertaining a girl who was clearly using him for some odd, petty reasons— but he got ready nonetheless, texted Yunjin his address hours prior after being told that her driver would come pick him up, (he hadn’t gotten a response in relation to that message, but she’ll probably see it soon) and waited patiently on the couch, albeit much earlier than the proposed plans. 

Another sharp knock— Beomgyu wishes he had some proper excuse for her, told her that he already had plans with his roommate, but the said man was off on his shift already— he trudges over to the door, twisting the doorknob with a heavy reluctance, and sighs. He braces himself as he swings open the door to greet Yunjin with a halfhearted smile. 

“Hey,” you pant instead, leaning against the doorway and ignoring his confused— and shocked— expression, “I— am I late? I thought I was early, did you get ready early?” 

You gulp; since when could Beomgyu clean up so nicely? He’s forgone his usual, comfortable and casual outfits in favor of a perfectly pressed button up and a clean hairstyle— Yunjin must’ve planned to take him to quite the expensive place, you think to yourself. 

“Of course you’d be the type to get ready an hour early,” you mutter bitterly to yourself, the comment enough to have the said man glancing at the nearest clock in confusion— and just like you said, a bright six o’clock greeted him on the digital clock. 

“You— what’re you doing here?” Beomgyu stutters pathetically, unable to do much but relent to the way you step inside, closing the door behind him and turning around to face you, “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“Yeah well, I lied.” you simply say, the words confusing the poor man even more, “I came to tell you to cancel your plans with Yunjin.” 

“Can— huh?” he searches your expression for the traces of a joke, but finds that you’re dead serious. “Why would I cancel? That’s rude.”

“Jesus, can’t you see?!” You say exasperatedly, reaching out to place your hands on Beomgyu’s shoulders, fingers digging in so he can look at you— it’s only when he finally does that you continue. “She doesn’t want to do this— she’s using you. She’s doing this to get back at me.”

“But why would she…” Beomgyu utters, and you wonder with a roll of your eyes where that boy genius of yours went. 

“Beomgyu,” you start, the sound foreign to the said boys ears as he blinks at you owlishly. You bite at your lip, brows furrowing at you think over what to say— you start again, but your words are hesitant and muddled. “She’s using you because she’s petty and because… because…” 

He gives you a look encouraging you to continue.

“Because— god, are you really gonna make me say this?!” you break, letting go of his shoulders and taking a step back— your face feels like it’s on fire and your stomach feels like it’s been twisted into knots, your hands clammy as you glance over at Beomgyu again— and he looks at you with the most stupid, oblivious expression known to mankind. 

You take a quick, deep breath, and you start again. 

“Choi Beomgyu. She’s using you because I…” you say sternly, reaching over suddenly to grab his face, cupping his cheeks and taking in the way he becomes red at your touch. You bring him close to you, pressing your lips in a fine line and hesitating before you observe his face— and god, he looks so pathetic and lost that you don’t even seem to mind the way the next words tumble out of you, fluid and clear and true. 

“Because I like you.”

Silence. You’re waiting anxiously in response, looking into Beomgyu’s eyes in anticipation, but all he does is stare. He stares and stares and stares, and for the first time in a while, you’re unsure of what to make of this reaction. 

“And I’m not lying either.”

Still nothing. His skin is warming up under your fingertips, and his mouth opens hesitantly to say something, only to close again— he must still doubt you, so you decide to take a leap of faith and reassure him the only way you know how.

“I think you’re cute and kinda pathetic in an endearing way, I think that those glasses really compliment your face and make your eyes look super doll-like, and I don’t really mind Toto. I think he’s still a bit weird to look at but I love that you love him, and it makes total sense to me that out of all the pets you could’ve had you decided to get a big freaky green bird of all things, and I think it’s super cute that you’re attached to him— I think you look kinda hot when you get frustrated on a problem, and I think it’s really hard to hold myself back from kissing you when you start stuttering at me like an idiot— also, it’s really not that bad that you play League of Legends, and I can’t believe I’m gonna admit this, but I started playing it myself and it’s not that bad— but that’s not the point, what I’m saying is that you’re— you’re a nerd and a loser but I don’t mind because I really— fuck, I really like—”

His lips are mashing onto yours before you can process his sudden movement, rough and sloppy and desperate that all you can do is slide your hands into his hair and pull him closer; his hands wrap around you in response, one on the small of your back and the other against the back of your head as he pulls you closer still, close until your bodies are pressed flush together. 

The two of you are so rough with your movements that he’s stumbling back, knocking against the wall and groaning softly at the impact; you’re sneaking your tongue into his parted lips, listening to the way he pants and moans against your mouth, slotting a leg between his and feeling as his thigh is quick to retaliate and press against your core. 

“Mghh– ugh, fuck,” you moan mindlessly, feeling his hand press against the small of your back, forcing you to arch and push your weight onto his strong muscle, allowing yourself to rock against it desperately; your mind is running a million miles an hour, pulling away from his lips breathlessly and staring at the gloss that has transferred onto him; his eyes look dazed, lips parted and in need for more as he tries to lead your head back to his. 

“Can’t believe she tried to use you against me,” you mutter, going back in to press quick, chaste kisses all along his face; he curls in shyly at the gesture, weakly grasping at your clothes as he feels the way you begin to trail them along his jaw, sucking and biting until you’re seeing the beginnings of marks that will bloom there, “shame it didn’t work— cause you’re all mine, right gyu?”

Like clockwork, he nods; his face heats up and he feels a bit ashamed at how quickly he’s melted under your hold, but any embarrassment is washed away the moment he feels your hand begin to fumble with his belt, clumsily undoing it before you’re moving to undo his jeans. 

“Wait,” you breathe against his neck, feeling him shiver softly; he’s confused, whining softly at the sudden loss of touch until he’s watching as you pull away, glancing behind your shoulder before you’re meeting his eyes with a blank expression, “take me to your room.”

For a second, he’s confused about the sudden switch of your behavior— but then he’s looking over your shoulder and right at the direction you glanced at, a sudden laugh breaking through him when he spots Toto in the corner; sheepishly, he nods. 

“Okay,” he says, smiling shyly at the way you reach out for the hand placed on the small of your back, intertwining your fingers so naturally it’s almost instinct, “yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

He watches you kick off your shoes and allows you to lead him straight to his room— he’s surprised you even remembered where it is— and smiles at the way you tug him closer by the collar the moment you step inside, palms pressing flat on his chest and making him walk backwards until his knees are hitting the edge of the bed— he falls back, hair splaying prettily on his sheets as he looks up at you with expectant, adoring eyes. 

You’re straddling him immediately after; planting your core directly on his prominent bulge, taking in the way he lets out a broken whimper at the feeling of your heat pressing against him so well— his hands fly to your waist, fingers weakly digging into the meat of your hips as he attempts to subtly buck up into you; you tsk, shaking your head and leaning down to place a hand firm on his chest. 

“Bad pup,” you say softly, hovering above his lips and watching as he desperately chases them, “You need to be patient, okay?”

He nods frantically, eyes fluttering shut the moment you press your lips against him slowly, feeling the way he desperately seeks to taste you— you allow him to, wandering hands beginning to unbutton his pristine white shirt slowly as he remains distracted. 

Beomgyu is a lot more fit than you expected; lean muscle greeting you the moment you slip his shirt off his shoulders, leaning up to let him take it off and raking your nails down his skin— his stomach flinches at your nails scratch at it, and you smile childishly at the sight, the action reminiscent to the first time you got your hands on him. 

“So pretty…” you mumble to yourself, tracing a path along his chest, down to his navel, watching as he shivers at your touch; a shaky gasp escapes his lips, hands grabbing at his sheets and eyes fluttering shut as he fights back the urge to buck up into you again— your eyes flicker up to study his expression, titling your head curiously as a smile tugs at your lips. 

“You’re so pretty, Beomgyu,” you say again, leaning down to plant soft kisses along his neck, beginning to trail down until you’re at his chest— you’re able to watch the way his skin flushes a soft pink at your words, shy gaze averting quickly the moment you’re looking back up at him— and you laugh softly to yourself, hovering over his lap and trailing a hand down as you begin to undo his pants with ease. 

“Y’know, I’ve never seen you so dressed up before,” you comment offhandedly, taking a moment to observe his pristine clothes, his styled hair— and your jaw clenches at the thought of Yunjin seeing him like this, an inkling of jealousy beginning to rear its ugly head the longer you think about it; you’re tugging at his pants, watching as his hips lift to help you tug them down more, and scoff at your wandering thoughts. 

“Bet you would’ve loved to have her attention on you, hmm?” you say, beginning to roll your hips against his the moment he opens his mouth to protest— a sharp moan leaves Beomgyu instead, mouth falling open at the feeling of your cunt grinding against his, the only thing separating the two of you being your thin panties and his boxers that are quickly becoming ruined; his eyes flicker down to where you continue to roll your hips, the sight of your skirt riding up and bunching up at your thighs enough to have his cock twitch. 

“Just can’t control yourself when you’re with a cute girl— just can’t say no,” Beomgyu’s hips jump and he lets out a long whine at a particularly harsh roll of your hips, feeling his cock slot perfectly against your cunt, the material of your panties soaked and sticking to your pussy, able to feel you better the more pressure you add; his hands fly to your hips once more, but instead of trying to guide your pace, they simply remain there, grabbing at your skirt and fisting the material in his hands, flushed face and shining eyes begging silently for more. 

“No— can’t, can’t say no— ah!” Beomgyu begins, unable to speak properly with the sight of you on top of him and the feeling of your warm cunt on his aching cock, “can’t say no to you… fuck…”

His words are enough to catch you off guard; your pace is stuttering and your eyes are widening, the brief pause enough to give Beomgyu enough confidence to continue— his eyes are glassy as he stares up at you, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles on your hips as he speaks. 

“Could never say no to you…” he says softly, face reddening as he continues, “you’re too pretty to say no to.”

He doesn’t quite meet your gaze after that; he’s too shy to, but with the way you immediately begin to undress before him after a moment, he’s sure that he must’ve flipped a switch inside you. 

“God, you’re so cute…” you mutter, throwing your shirt off in a random direction before you’re sliding your skirt off— and Beomgyu is growing flustered at the sight again, practically malfunctioning from seeing your body for the first time. 

You’re left in only your underwear when you finally decide you’ve had enough of his shyness, grabbing his face with a firm hand and turning it to look back at you; your nails dig into his plush cheeks and his eyes grow wide at the gesture, meeting your eyes as you simply give him a coy smile and a peck to his lips. 

“So pathetic too,” you continue, watching his adam’s apple bob at your condescending words, “I love it.” 

You lean close to his ear; slowly, you take his hands and begin guiding them along your body, feeling the way his breath hitches and his chest begins to take shallow breaths, shaky fingertips grazing against your skin, up your biceps until you’re leading him to your back, straight to your bra strap.

“Undo it,” you murmur against the shell of his ear, able to listen to the way he gulps softly; nervous hands fiddle with the clasp, the way you place chaste kisses to the spot behind his ear not helping in the slightest— and after a moment, you’re finally able to feel the garment loosening around you, along with a soft sigh the boy lets out. 

The straps slip off your shoulders slowly, and with a coy smile, you make a show of discarding your bra, sitting back and watching as Beomgyu’s face turns impossibly red; his eyes are wide and his hands are frozen, unsure of what to do as you simply huff at the sight— and your hands are taking his once more, guiding them slowly until he’s cupping your breasts; he gulps again, and you pout at the sight. 

“Don’t you wanna touch me?” you pout, tilting your head and watching as the man underneath you remains reliant on your instructions to do anything; his eyes snap back up to meet yours at your words, shaking his head softly and opening his mouth to stutter protests.

“I– I do, I do,” he says, licking his lips nervously before looking back down at your breasts, thumbs experimentally swiping across your nipples; you shiver at the feeling, the sight of even your smallest reactions making Beomgyu’s cock ache, “I just… I’m not sure what to do….what you’d like.” 

“It’s okay,” you immediately say, absentmindedly guiding his hands to touch and caress your breasts just how you like, your back aching slightly at the stimulation, “I can teach you.” 

“Please,” Beomgyu whines out, hands finally beginning to move on their own as a smile grows on your face, watching the way looks at you with needy, fucked out eyes, “Please, wanna make you feel good.” 

“Do you now?” you tease, titling your head and raising a brow at him questioningly; he nods his head fervently, eyes filled with an undeniably desire that leads him to take your body in hungrily, trailing from your chest down until he stops right at your cunt thats pressed so perfectly against him. 

His line of sight is terribly obvious— though you don’t think it was Beomgyu’s intention to hide his desires anyway, not with the way your back is suddenly colliding against his bed, a gasp escaping you the moment you feel warm hands prying your legs open; you’re propping yourself up with your elbows, wide eyes meeting Beomgyu’s; the said man kneels on the floor and is now at eye level with your soaked cunt— his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, and with a soft laugh, you realize that Beomgyu is yet again waiting for further instructions. 

“Can I taste you?” He asks meekly, eyes shining behind the lenses of his glasses, the sight endearing and a complete switch from the words that leave his mouth, “will you let me?”

Silence— all he gets in response is a slow sigh, the boy peeking through his lashes to get a gauge of your expression; he gulps at the sight of your narrowed eyes and pinched brows, mind undoubtedly thinking of scenarios that sour your mood— but the sight of you like this is much too tempting, and Beomgyu will be damned if he doesn’t get to lose himself in your pussy at least once; his cock pathetically twitches at the mere thought. 

“I don’t know puppy,” you murmur, sneering at the way he pouts immediately, strong hands tugging at you and pulling you towards him more, body sliding at the movement— and though you can feel him breathe against your clothed cunt, he still refrains from doing anything, waiting loyally for your okay with pleading eyes. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” you ask, throwing a leg over his shoulder, digging the heel of your foot in between his shoulder blades roughly— he practically keens at the feeling, a poorly stifled whimper escaping him, followed by a shaky sigh, “after seeing the way you’ll give anyone who approaches you all your attention like a slut, I don’t think you do.” 

You make sure to punctuate your words with another dig of your heel, but Beomgyu remains unaffected— if anything, it manages to spur him on more, and you’re left to pretend as though his next actions don’t leave you terribly weak. 

“Please…” he whispers, the sound so soft you barely miss it— he’s pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, lips lingering on the skin before he looks back up to meet your gaze; his eyes are glazed with nothing but need. The single word continues to leave him like a mantra, unable to do anything more than watch as he begins to litter kisses all over your inner thighs, soft begs slowly increasing their intensity the longer you deny him. 

I deserve it, I do; please, please let me make you feel good, promise you’re the only one for me— please? Please, please please please…

It’s quiet, save for the sounds of Beomgyu’s broken, repetitive begging— his hair brushes against your sensitive skin that has been peppered with endless kisses, and if it weren’t for the way Beomgyu’s eyes were beginning to become watery from his desperation, you would’ve allowed yourself to enjoy the show a little more. 

“You want it that much?” you seethe, a hand going down to tangle itself in his long hair— and, just as expected, he lets out a broken whine, followed with an immediate, breathy “yes” that affects you much more than you let on, “Go on then.” 

You’re guiding his head to your cunt without another word, fingers still entangled tightly in the roots of his hair; he begins with a soft kiss to your cunt, the sight making you roll your eyes— for someone so eager, he sure was hesitant. 

His tongue is hot and heavy against your clit; he’s running the tip of it along your slit, listening to the hitch of your breath and taking in every miniscule reaction you provide— he’s teasing you, albeit unintentionally, and the realization has you tightening your hold on his roots in warning; you feel the way he lets out a shaky breath at the action, and soon after, his fingers are tugging at the waistband of your panties, making slow work to properly take them off. 

Beomgyu’s every movement is feather-like and hesitant; it’s clear he’s testing out the waters, unsure of what to do in order to please you— and while a part of you is endeared at the messy kitten licks of his tongue and the way he circles your clit sloppily, the other part of you seems to be feeling much more unforgiving— you’re tugging his hair and telling him to look at you with a harsh voice. 

“What happened to wanting to please me? To deserving this?” you mock, lips quirking to a satisfied smile the moment his face heats up, ears tinting a soft red, “are you too much of a virgin to know how to eat a girl out?”

His face turns a bright red and he remains silent— you can only manage a bewildered laugh at the sight. 

Of course, how did you not piece it together before? It seems as though you were much too generous to give him the benefit of the doubt before, because as you stare Beomgyu down with a gaze that’s nothing short of predatory, you’ve realized that his silence tells you more than enough; He’s a total virgin. 

“Oh, you don’t know anything, do you?” you coo softly, letting go of Beomgyu’s scalp to caress his face softly, a grin threatening to break through your face from the simple sight of the man melting into your touch, “you need me to guide you through it?” 

With a shaky sigh, Beomgyu nods— it barely takes a moment before you’re pushing at the back of his head and guiding him back to your cunt. 

He didn’t bother to take off his glasses; you didn’t bother to remind him, smiling cruelly as you murmur soft instructions to him, telling him to suck on your clit or guiding his mouth to lick at your entrance, responding with soft sighs of pleasure whenever he does something particularly well; he’s sloppy, inexperienced, and undeniably nervous, but you suppose he makes up for its with his eagerness to do well as he continues, slowly taking note of what makes your hips buck and your fingers tighten against his hair— and after a few minutes, you’re no longer instructing Beomgyu step by step, but instead throwing your head back and letting your mouth fall open with unabashed moans. 

Beomgyu’s eagerness is abundant and blatant. He’s pressing his face against your cunt after having gained confidence, mouth sloppy and hanging open as he allows you to grind against him, feeling his glasses slip down the tall bridge of his nose and fog up with every pant of breath— but he finds that he doesn’t really mind, eyes fluttering shut and lips circling around your clit as he hones in to the sounds you make instead. 

You think Beomgyu’s head is completely empty at this point; his fingers dig into your thighs and he continues his attempts to bring you closer against his face, greedy mouth drinking up any arousal that slips from your entrance before he’s fucking you with his tongue— your hips buck unintentionally against him at that, and from the way he only increases his efforts even further, you think he might’ve enjoyed that. 

“Beomgyu— puppy, fuck,” you hiss, grinding your hips against his face, feeling the way his nose is now pressed against your clit from how close he’s attempting to get to you. Your chest heaves and you can feel a tight knot forming in your stomach, body beginning to become restless as Beomgyu remains unfazed at your sudden squirming— you’re close, so close, and Beomgyu wants nothing more than to feel you fall apart against his face. 

“Shit– right there, just like that— don’t stop, god, fuck—!” Your eyes are screwed shut as a sudden wave of pleasure breaks through you, your hand pulling at Beomgyu’s hair and your heel digging sharply into his back as you cum; the boy only lets out a pathetic whine at the feeling of you rolling your hips smoothly against his face, mouth left ajar and eyes fluttering shut as he lets you use him, riding it out with twitchy legs and soft moans. 

Beomgyu only moves after your grip slips from his head entirely; your whole body is falling slack, a deep sigh escaping you as you attempt to catch your breath, eyes bleary and slowly opening after a moment— you’re able to watch as the said boy goes to stand, a weak hand of yours stopping his motion and grabbing at his shoulder— and you’re guiding him to hover over you, smiling coyly at the wrecked sight of him. 

His glasses are completely skewed— a slight heat burns at your face from the sight, but it’s all washed away by the lopsided smile Beomgyu gives you, entirely unaware of his flushed and messy appearance; gently, you reach out to slip off his glasses, putting them off to the side as you reach to adjust his mused hair next— he merely watches your face with doe eyes as you brush his hair away gently, tucking it behind his ear before you cup his jaw, tugging him down to kiss you again.

“You’re sure you wanna do this?” you mumble against his lips, hands absentmindedly running along his skin soothingly, lips beginning to wander off as you trail soft pecks against his jawline, smiling at the way he doesn’t hesitate to nod, “you want it?”

“Need it,” Beomgyu whines, letting out a shaky breath as he grabs your hand, guiding it down his chest slowly, adding pressure once you’ve reached the bulge of his boxers— you can feel the way he twitches the moment you touch him, gulping softly before the continues to plead, “need it, need to feel you.” 

His voice is sweet and soft in your ears, and you find that you can’t really bring yourself to put up a front and resist; it’s physically impossible to, especially with the way he ruts his cock against your hand, leaking pathetically and twitching at even the slightest stimulation.

Beomgyu’s attempts to remain calm and collected falls apart the moment you relent, face red and eyes wide with anticipation the moment he feels your hand go to pull his cock out; he falters above you for a split second, teeth sinking into his lip to suppress a whine that builds up in his throat. But his attempts are futile as always, a broken whimper leaving him the moment you press the head of his cock against your cunt, tightening around the shaft and proceeding to run it along your slit teasingly. 

He’s practically panting above you, fingers gripping onto the sheets as he allows you to toy with him, eyes glassy and meeting yours as you simply coo mockingly at him, teasing him for being nothing but a toy for you to use.

The moment you press his tip against your entrance, the two of you tense; a shaky sigh escapes you at the stretch, looking up at Beomgyu and whispering for him to just put it in already; and he swallows, eyes watering at the feeling of him finally pushing into you— warm, wet walls that flutter around him, stretching and adjusting to his size; your hips that jolt with every inch he slides in, eyes widening and mouth falling open as you try to contain your composure— but his size is no joke, and curses leaves your mouth endlessly at the feeling of him filling you up.

“God— you’re so… so warm, so tight,” Beomgyu cries above you, hips stuttering and making him push himself deeper into you; a yelp escapes you at the feeling, hips pressed flushed against his as you stare up at him with wide eyes, cunt clenching at the anticipation of him fucking you. 

But he simply remains still, and you’re just about to complain for him to move when you catch sight of his expression, screwed up into concentration as he lets out a deep breath— probably trying not to cum, you muse to yourself— and he sits up, no longer hovering over you as his hands move to your hips, thumbs rubbing circles on the skin as he looks down where the two of you connect; he looks up at you, puppy eyes begging for one thing. 

“You— you can move,” you breathe out, cringing slightly at the weak sound of your voice, the way you trip over your words; Beomgyu nods, sighing shakily again before he finally begins to move, slowly pulling out until the only thing you feel is his tip catching at your entrance— then he thrusts back in, and you don’t bother to swallow down the moan that manifests from that. 

Beomgyu isn’t faring any better than you; his brows are knitted together and his fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your hips, voice pitchy and whiny as he attempts to fuck you properly— but his thrusts are sloppy and rough, and it seems as though he’s too concentrated on the feeling of you around him to find a good pace. 

You’re opening your mouth to tease him about it, only to get cut off at the feeling of him bumping his cock against your sweet spot; a whine leaves you unexpectedly, the sound accompanied with the feeling of your legs attempting to wrap around his waist to pull him in enough to snap him out of his pussy drunk daze. He’s drinking up your expression, his pace slowing down enough to allow him to search for that spot again— it takes a few attempts, but once he catches onto it, he doesn’t relent. 

“Sh–shit, just like that,” you whine, his thrust becoming more calculated as he begins to take note of what makes you feel good once more— though it’s still slightly sloppy and uneven, his weak pants and pitchy whines enough to tell you that his mind is much too hazy to care.

Absentmindedly, your hand snakes down to circle at your clit in search of more stimulation— only to get it knocked away roughly by Beomgyu’s, eyes widening at the action until he’s replacing you hand with his— and though you wish you could make fun of him for being such a desperate bitch, the stimulation has your voice getting caught in your throat.  

“Does— does this feel good?” Beomgyu suddenly asks, puppy eyes watering and glazed as he picks up his pace, one hand gripping onto your waist while the other continues to rub your clit, “Am I– ah… am I doing good?”

You almost miss the last part with how softly he says it— but once you process his question, you let out a breathy laugh, biting at your lip in an attempt to suppress the smile that tugs at your face; you fail miserably, but all the patronizing look in your eyes does is make Beomgyu’s cock twitch inside you a bit. 

“Does my stupid puppy need something? Need my approval?” you ask, pouting at the way he hesitates to answer, “I won’t know unless you tell me, baby.” 

The pet names are enough to have Beomgyu short-circuiting again; his face feels hot and he lets out a petulant whine at the way you continue to tease, ignoring his pleading look as you reach up to cup his jaw, cooing his name so sweetly he’s unable to be ashamed at how easily he breaks. 

“Tell me I’m doing good,” he whines, and you simply smile at him, stuttered breaths and soft moans the only thing leaving your lips as you notice the increased sloppiness of his thrusts, his erratic voice and face that slowly nears yours, hovering over you as he speaks.

“I’m— ‘m good, right? Your…” he trails off, punctuating his next word with a harsh, deep thrust that has you yelping, “your good boy— tell me, tell me I’m good, just wanna hear you say it, ah, wanna be good for you.” 

He’s a babbling, whining mess, hiding his face in your neck immediately after the words escape him— and with a request so sweet, how could you ever deny him?

“So good for me,” you immediately respond, listening to the muffled whimpers as he buries his head deeper into your neck, wandering lips sucking and biting at the skin, “good little pup— fuck, are you close? Gonna fill me up?” 

You feel the way he nods frantically against you, his hand leaving your hip to circle under your back, pulling you flush against him as he continues his rough, haphazard thrusts— and you turn your head to face him, pressing a kiss to his head before you lean in close to his ear, the sounds of your breathy moans and sweet voice enough to bring him over the edge. 

“C’mon, cum for me puppy,” you coo, listening to the long whimper he lets out in response, hips stilling and pressing flush against yours as he follows your command, warm cum filling you up as he rides out his orgasm, cock rutting subtly into you all the while, “that’s it— such a good boy, so perfect to me.” 

His chest heaves against yours; his other arm comes up to sneak under your body as well, successfully hugging you close against him, bodies pressed together and practically one with how tightly he’s got you in his grip— his cock remains inside you all the while, head nuzzled deeply in the space of your neck as you merely let out an amused huff, giving him a moment to catch his breath before you tease him again. 

The moment of peace between the two of you is cut by the abrasive sound of his phone ringing, the two of you looking at the source with furrowed brows; neither of you make a move to get it, watching it continue to vibrate on the bed before it goes silent— you’re both falling back against the bed the moment in bliss the moment the ringtone disappears, and you can feel Beomgyu’s arms tightening around you even more, not expecting him to be so openly clingy—

“You didn’t cum,” Beomgyu suddenly gasps, head popping up from his hiding place as he hovers over you with wide eyes. You simply reassure him that it’s alright, already feeling your body get heavy with exhaustion— but he isn’t having it, shaking his head and standing back up as he looks at you with an unbelievably solemn expression, wincing softly as he pulls out of you, “No, I wanna make you cum— wanna feel you cum on my dick, wanna make you feel good.” 

The words sound clumsy coming from him, oddly shy to say what he wants out loud— and it makes you laugh, attempting to tell him that you really don’t mind when you’re getting interrupted by the annoying sound of his phone ringing. 

“Seriously, who the hell is…” you’re trailing off as you watch Beomgyu’s eyes widen, leaning over to snatch his phone as he reads the contact name, his horrified expression telling you all you need to know. 

“Don’t answer it,” you seethe, ignoring the way he stutters about how he totally forgot to cancel, feeling a hot anger bubble in your stomach as he talks about how bad he feels for not communicating properly, “Beomgyu, don’t answer it!” 

“I— what if she’s waiting outside right now—?!”

Your movements are much too sudden and swift for him to process; he can only watch and allow you to snatch the phone away from him, rough hands gripping his shoulders and hissing at him to fucking sit; he’s quick to comply, and you’re even quicker to climb onto his lap and situate yourself just how you like— he cries softly at the feeling of you grabbing at his sensitive cock, stroking it for a moment and aligning it with your entrance before you’re sinking down on him slowly. 

“Who cares if she’s outside right now,” you scowl, digging your fingers in his cheeks and forcing him to look at you, swollen lips red and pouty as he merely whines at the feeling of you rocking slowly against him, “it’s the least we could do to get back at her for trying to fucking use you.”

His protests die down once you pick up your pace; oh, his face practically screams, eyes glazing over at the feeling of your warm pussy using his sensitive cock to get yourself off, soft cries leaving him as he merely watches you begin to ride him expertly, already feeling himself get hard inside you, the sight of you on top of him and the sounds of skin against skin riling him much more than expected.

“Hnng, wait, slow down please—!” he whines softly, hands flying to your hips yet making no attempts to control the pace— and you can only laugh at him, the sounds of his soft cries enough to encourage you more. 

You’re close— so, so close, and all Beomgyu can do is sit and take it, tears of sensitivity pricking at his eyes and falling along his cheeks the moment he feels your walls clench against him— but he’d rather die than stop you, sp entranced with the sight of your face twisted with pleasure that his body screams at him to do what he can to make you feel good. 

Like instinct, your hand tangles itself in Beomgyu’s hair the moment he latches his lips against your nipple, back arching and the tight knot in your stomach falling apart the moment his wandering hand goes to play with your clit; the way your walls spasm and hug him tightly is enough to have Beomgyu cumming inside you again, a pathetic keen sounding from him as he buries his head in your chest, beyond sensitive with the way you continue to ride your orgasm long after.

It’s quiet, save for the sounds of your panting and Beomgyu’s soft whimpers— but it doesn’t last long, a tired groan escaping you at the sound of Beomgyu’s phone ringing again; without much of a thought, you reach for it and finally answer. 

“Leave him alone. He’s busy.” 

You hang up immediately after— the girl on the other side didn’t get the chance to utter a single word, and you find that you couldn’t care less as you toss his phone to the side and look over at Beomgyu— you’re smiling softly at the way he seems mortified at your action. 

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you feel bad,” you sigh, placing your hands on his chest and pushing, gently guiding the two of you to lay down— he remains inside you as he pulls you in close, your limbs heavy and tangling quickly as he mutters a soft no, I don’t; you smile. “Good. Cause I almost got mad again.”

He chuckles softly at that, falling quiet after; you look up at him to gauge his expression, finding that he’s lost in thought. After a few minutes, he meets your eyes meekly and finally speaks. 

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

A pause. You said a lot of things earlier— but as you retract on every little thing that's come from your mouth, you realize what he’s talking about— and you laugh, reaching to cup his cheeks fondly as you nod. 

“Of course I did,” you grin, pecking his lips, your heart fluttering wildly at the way he immediately chases after you for more after you pull away, “I meant all of it— and more.” 

Softly, he smiles. His arms that were wrapped around you pull you in close, closing the space between you and bringing you in for a slow, sweet kiss— he pulls away, leaning into your ear to whisper something with a coy smile. 

“So do you wanna play League of Legends later?”

You let out an annoyed yell and punch at his chest— you practically fuck his brains out, and this is all he can say?

“You’re such a fucking loser,” you mourn, hiding your face in your hands. 

Beomgyu laughs, and places a kiss on the top of your head. 

“But I’m your loser,” he says sweetly, nuzzling against your hair with a content sigh, “all yours.”

Under the covers of your hands, you smile. 

All yours. You like the sound of that.