#IT'S BEEN LIKE A YEAR NOW I EXPECTED THIS TO END MONTHS AGO
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starlit-writer · 2 days ago
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in sickness and in health, ch. 1 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader
ah, look at that. have some omegaverse angst inspired by this post here <3 if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!
well, this turned out to be miles longer than i expected it to. there's not really a solid ending, so let me know if you want more! have so much fun getting your heart ripped out <3
word count: 4,764 chapter two masterlist ao3 link
Three years ago, you and Simon got married. It wasn’t anything flashy or big - fuck, how could it have been when you didn’t even love each other? But, military law forbade an unmated omega from joining the ranks, and Simon was seen as a wild-card alpha, too headstrong and violent, too hard to control. So, the brass laid out an ultimatum: mate, get married, or be discharged. Both you and Simon had worked too hard for too long to get where you were, so discharge was entirely off the table. There was no courting, no dates, and the wedding, if you could call it that, was little more than signing papers - three signatures on a thick piece of A4 government paper, one from you, one from Simon, and one from your witness, Captain John Price. You didn’t even exchange rings or vows. It took less than five minutes. 
After all was said and done, you and Simon went back to your lives. Sure, you were respectful to one another, and you spent one or two heats and ruts together, but you both maintained a distance away from each other. Neither of you were thrilled with the idea of being tied down, of being mated. The mating bond between you felt more like the neck of a too-tight sweater than it did a comfort, feeling each other’s emotions more of a chore than something you looked forward to. Sure, you worked well together, fluid and deadly like a well oiled M2 on the field. Always had. But there was a stark difference between working well together, and being mated.
So that’s how you ended up here. You had lost twenty pounds. Your skin was sallow and pale, your eyes sunken in. When you looked in the mirror, you could count your ribs, the knobs of your spine, even when they were hidden under the bruises that bloomed across your sickly skin.
You had thrown yourself into work, and when there was no work, you were challenging any living thing to go for a round with you on the sparring mat. But, you were weak; the bond sickness sapped all of your energy and strength faster than you could ever hope to replenish it. Your scent, which was once a warm and spicy caramelized vanilla, now smelled like sugar burnt to the bottom of a pot - acrid and rotted. You were dying, and you knew it. But your pride was far too great to ever go crawling back to Simon, the very man who caused the sickness to infiltrate every cell of your being. It had been months of this torture. Simon, your alpha, had all but abandoned you. You had been without his touch, his scent, anything and everything that the very base instincts of your omega craved from its mate for far too long. It didn't matter to your omega that this marriage, this mating bond was nothing more than a way to keep both you and Simon in the service. Instincts couldn't be fought with fact, and now you were reaping the consequences of the neglect of the bond. You had thought bond sickness was a myth, a fear-mongering tactic to keep alphas in line. However, you were now aware that there was far more truth than you could have ever imagined to that story that is told. 
You had seen the concerned looks of your team as they watched you haunt the halls of the base like a spectre. Soap had started to bring you chocolates and drinks, anything in hopes to get you to eat. Gaz took a different approach, always being the one to take you up on your sparring requests, the beta knowing that at the very least he could be gentle with you while still giving you an outlet. The Captain had made sure to keep you off any truly strenuous missions and tasks, mainly relegating you to the medbay or to training recruits. If you were any stronger, you would be pissed, but right now you took it as a blessing. At least he hadn’t kicked you off the team for your weakness. But Simon? Simon was nowhere to be found. He continuously was the first volunteer for the most dangerous missions, keeping him away from base for weeks to months at a time. When he came back bloody and bruised, he would avoid the medbay like the plague, only coming in to get fixed up by another combat medic when he knew Soap or Gaz had forcefully pulled you away. If you two happened to be walking in the same hallway, Simon would duck out of your sight without even so much as a word. You had long since given up on running after him. 
So color yourself surprised when you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom and the screen of your phone lit up, a text from Simon blaring on the too-bright screen. You had every intention of ignoring it, but your pride was no match for the dying ache of your omega. 
Come to my quarters.
The text was simple. Demanding, even. And all it did was make you angry. 
You quickly tugged on a pair of sweats and forced a tank top over your bruised and feverish skin. You thought briefly for a moment about tugging a sweatshirt on over your mottled skin, but, fuck it, let him see all that he has done to you. Maybe he would give you the one blessing you had hoped for over the last few months of neglect, and finally sever the bond between you. 
You trudged through the hallways of the base, every soldier you passed giving you a wide berth. You were certain you looked like death froze over, and the rage-filled expression set over your brows and your lips certainly did not help. When you reached his door, you didn’t even bother to knock. You just shoved your copy of the key in the door and slammed the door open. 
Simon barely even looked up from where he was lounging on the bed. His shirt was off, a rare sight, even for you, but even more shocking was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask.  He didn’t look much better than you - his once-bronzed skin paled, his own scars raised and reddened, and he had a poorly bandaged bullet wound wrapped, the white medical wrapping blossoming with a red mark. Pulled stitches, definitely. 
“Close the door,” came the rough demand as his arms lazily opened in an invitation to lay with him. “And c’mere.”
You, in all of your rage, just stood stockstill in the still-open doorway. Even as your omega side cried to jump into his arms and let his scent and his touch wash away all the pain, you refused with a defiant jut of your chin. You didn’t know why he had called you here, and the only thing your mind could conjure up is that Price, or Laswell, or fuck, even Soap, had sat him down and forced him to do this. And you wanted nothing to do with this or with him if he actually was not trying to change.
“I don’t want your pity. And I sure as hell don’t want your affection just because Price told you that you had to fix me,” you replied, your voice shaking with weakness and pain, even as you tried your damndest to keep it steady, strong. 
Simon growled, the sound of an alpha not used to not getting his way, as he rolled onto his side to look at you more squarely. His arms were still open, but you could see the way his muscles clenched, his own anger rising. ��It ain’t about pity. It’s about basic biology,” he bit out, the words short and angry. 
That made you laugh, the sound short and sardonic before it morphs into a cough that shakes your entire, frail being. You brought a shaking hand up to wipe your lips before you fixed him with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean. “Basic biology?" you mocked. “Yeah, for sure. But it’s also basic biology to not let bond sickness even be a worry for your omega, but looks like you fucked that one right up, didn’t you!?”
Your words made something in Simon snap. Your rage, the vitriol, clenched his hands into fists as he quickly swung his powerful legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the space between you in the space between one of your breaths and the next. He was in your face now, just enough space between you to not be pressing completely against you. You averted your gaze, knowing that if you didn’t, you might continue yelling at him, or worse. 
“Look at me,” he ordered, using the same tone he does on the battlefield. His hands are still clenched into fists, but they are shaking. Why?
That tone made your eyes harden, the instincts of a hard-bred soldier kicking in. Even through the fraying of your bond, your sickness, you knew that voice. You listened when given an order. You allowed your head to loll back to look up at him, but your expression was still set in that same hard glare. You weren’t on a battlefield. You were on base, far away from the acrid explosions and hot gunpowder. How dare he pretend otherwise? “Why?” you bit back in response. “This isn’t some tactical decision, Simon. Don’t treat me like one of your fuckin’ rookies.” 
He took a sharp breath through his teeth, obviously trying to control himself. He knew you were weak, the bond sickness taking so much more from you than it ever did him. But your defiance, your spirit despite the bond sickness was making his alpha go crazy. Even with you glaring up at him, he stared down at you with fierce eyes as his hands gripped your hips, shoving you out of the doorway and pressing you against the wall right beside it. Taking one hand off of your hip, he shut the door with a resounding click before his grip, and his attention came back entirely to you. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamned rookie,” he growled out, his cold brown gaze entirely focused on your own broken one as one hand slams into the wall by your head. Even through your rage, he can see it. Feel it. He had broken you. And that knowledge caused his alpha to writhe in pain. “I’m treatin’ ya like my fuckin’ omega.” 
As he caged you in, growled those words at you, your own expression hardened. Your lips curled up to reveal your smaller omega fangs, a low growl of your own reverberating from your chest as your hands clenched into fists. It’s hard to ignore the sheer size difference between the two of you as he towers over you, his head dipped low to keep your attention. However, that did nothing to stop your rage, in fact, it increased it tenfold. 
“Oh, right. I forgot. Being your omega means less than being one of your rookies, silly me.”
You knew the second the words left your mouth that you just opened a Pandora’s box. You saw it in the way his eyes instantaneously darkened, in the way his hand left the wall before you could even blink, his fingers crushing your jaw between them in a bruising grip, forcing your head back against the wall as he brought his face ever closer to yours. However, as his face got closer, you could see the glint of something else in his eyes. Triumph. His alpha was revelling in watching you snap and get fiery again. It was a victory, in his mind, to see you able to be so angry after the bond sickness had taken so much from you. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “I know that attitude of yours will always be there, but careful.”
His words sent another wave of anger through you, and as he forced your head back, you jerked your neck, snapping your teeth at him, your small omega fangs glinting in the low light of his quarters. It was a clear message. Fuck the bond sickness, he had no right to touch you right now. You did not forgive him, and he has to work to even begin to earn that, and if he won’t? You would dissolve the bond without him, whether or not it risked your life. 
“Don’t sweetheart me,” you growled out, glaring up at him even as the bruising grip of his fingers squished your cheeks together, slurring your words. “Not after everything.”
His alpha instincts flared again, the desire to force you into accepting his help clear as his eyes flashed in irritation at your anger. He pressed you further into the wall, his body now flush against yours as he snarled right back. “Then do something about it,” he challenged. “Get mad. Fight me. Let it all out. But, you’re not leaving this room until you let me fix this.”
As much as you hated it, hearing Simon’s permission gave you the ability to let it all out. No matter how much you wanted to pretend that you were unaffected by him, the knowledge that he wanted you to fight, wanted to fix this broken bond between you, allowed you to finally and truly get all of the anger out, and maybe, just maybe, give the bond a chance to heal. 
And so you did. Your body jerked against his, your sallow cheeks flushing red as you bared your omega fangs and growled at him again. Your eyes held the faintest spark of life, a far cry from what they used to have, but there’s something there now. 
When Simon saw that spark, the faintest hint of his omega coming back, he chuckled gruffly, his eyes glinting with a possessive heat. 
“Yes, spitfire. I want you t’ fight me. Hit me, scream, yell at me, tell me how shit of an alpha I’ve been. I don’t care. Just don’t. Hold. Back.” 
As soon as the words left his mouth, the dam inside of you broke. Months worth of anger, agony, grief, pain, and aching sadness flooded your veins like a hot, volatile drug. It felt like a living, breathing thing as the emotions curled around your lungs, your muscles, your heart. Tears pushed at your lash line, the aching pain making itself known through the rage. 
You held his cold brown gaze for a moment, your eyes searching his. When all you saw in return was steely determination, you did the only thing you could think of. Before he could even move out of the way, you shut your eyes and cranked your head back as far as it would go, and drove your forehead straight into his nose. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to break it, but definitely hard enough to hurt and make the blood start flowing. 
He staggered back from you, his hands coming up to cup his nose, but the alpha was far from angry. In fact, he was grinning, the blood pouring from his nose coating his lips and teeth. A low growl of approval rumbled from his chest as he stared at you, approval glinting in his eyes. “Good girl,” he muttered lowly, the praise slipping through so naturally. 
As his praise washed over you, you felt your stomach flip. It shouldn’t feel that good. Not after the months and months of neglect so bad that you were literally dying. But, you couldn’t help the small ember of warmth that bloomed through your chest as that muttered praise of good girl flowed through your veins like a warm blanket settling over you. 
But, you were still angry. And hurt. And countless other emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name, all just culminating into a neverending ache. And as you saw the blood marring the plush flesh of his lower lip, something inside of you snapped. 
He had made his worst mistake. He had let go of you, and now you could truly fight. 
You crouched down, using your smaller stature and power legs to kick your leg out, and you swept it across the ground, knocking the much-bigger alpha off of his feet. You watched as his massive frame hit the ground, shaking the walls, a bloom of satisfaction erupting in your chest. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins now, the only thing allowing you to move, and before he had the chance to become reoriented, you were on top of him, straddling his hips as you punched at his chest. Your tears of anguish were falling freely now, sobs breaking free with your yells. 
“You have broken me! Broken! I used to be so strong, so happy, and you destroyed that! Ripped it away from me! All because you were too fucking caught up in your own shit, your own fucking fear, that you couldn’t even be half of the alpha you needed to be!”
Simon grunted in pain as his back collided with the cold, hard tile of his quarters, his hands automatically coming up to grab at your hips. Not to shove you off, no, but to keep you on top of him. He knew he deserved this. Every punch, every pointed word, every tear. It was his penance for all of the pain and agony he had put you through, even if it was ripping his heart to absolute shreds. 
“I know, I know,” he growled softly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I did.”
You shook your head, tears and snot flying from the force. You were so angry, so hurt, but the adrenaline was quickly running its course, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and pain. Your punches slowly weakened, until you were barely able to lift your hands. Instead, they came to rest on his bare chest, your omega claws digging sharply into the thick muscle that covered his chest, one of your hands digging directly over his heart, needing him to feel a fraction of the agony that coursed through your own. 
“Don’t you agree with me! Don’t you dare! Gods, you do this to me for months, and you… you have nothing to say for yourself!? I tried! Tried to be a good spouse, a good omega! I tried to give you your space, to be unobtrusive, even though that killed my omega! And all I fuckin’ got in return is this fucking bond sickness that is killing me! Tearing me apart from the inside out!” 
His body shuddered as your claws dug into his chest, his skin breaking under the tiny points. It hurt in every way that it could, but the tiny pinpricks of blood that welled around your claws were nothing compared to how he had hurt you. He knew that he deserved this, every inch of your wrath, of your anger, and the pain it brought for him. It was the least he could do - to bear this for you. But, Gods, it didn’t stop your words from tearing into his heart in a way your claws couldn’t even begin to touch. 
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he repeated, his words thick with the guilt that was threatening to choke him. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
His apology broke what little strength you had left. The bond between you was fraying, seconds away from snapping completely, and you had never felt more lost. A sob broke free from your lips, the force of the sound causing your body to lurch forward. But, Simon was there. For once, he was there. His chest caught your head, your tears wetting his skin almost instantaneously as your claws scratched down his torso, leaving thin, raised red lines down his scarred skin. 
He hissed softly in response to the pain, but he made no attempt to move, to shy away from it. You had completely given up on your ego, your omega so desperate for your alpha, no matter what he had done. But, you were still so hurt, your omega so wounded that you had no idea how you were going to come back from this. 
“Just… just tell me why. Why did you do this? Why did you treat me like this?” you sobbed out into his chest, your sour, distressed omega pheromones wafting around him like a shroud of despair. 
His alpha writhed in pain at your scent. It was wrong, so, so wrong, but he had done this. His neglect, his apathy, had taken his once strong, ferocious omega and reduced her down to this. He had never seen you like this. And he never wanted to again. He could feel the bond between you slipping between his fingers like shards of glass digging into his very being, and fear rose to take its place. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling your tiny, trembling form against him, his nose burying into your hair as he pressed a featherlight, shaking kiss into it. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, his heart clenching in fear. In pain. In anger at himself. “I was a coward, love.” 
You sobbed harder against his chest at his admission, shaking your head jerkily. Your body felt like it was freezing and burning up at the same time, as the frayed edges of the bond dug into you like poisonous thorns. You could feel your mind shattering, your heart stuttering as the bond sickness continued to take hold. You were dying, and you knew it. But at this point, you would almost take death over the amount of pain you were in. “That’s not a good excuse,” came your shaking reply, the words thick with tears and agony, but they were strong with conviction. “Tell me why, Simon. Tell me why, or break the godsdamned bond.” 
The words that left your lips felt like they were suffocating the alpha. Break the bond. His arms tightened around you until you were completely pressed against him, and he could feel every shudder, every quiver in your weakening body. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound full of pain but also a desperate desire to comfort. He had to try - to even attempt to explain, even if he wasn’t sure it would do anything. But the thought of losing you without even trying made his heart shatter, his alpha howl in protest. 
“Because I was afraid,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret and honesty as his knuckles ran across the knobs of your spine. That caused him more pain than you would ever know, feeling how you had atrophied from his neglect. How his dismissal, his abandonment had caused his once strong, beautiful omega, to waste away before his very eyes. “Afraid of getting caught up in you, in this. Of loving you, of giving you part of my heart. I didn’t know how to keep you safe. I didn’t think I was worthy of having something like that, like you. I still don’t.” 
“Then break the bond,” you whimpered out, the pain of the bond sickness, of your own emotions, and what little of Simon’s you could still feel through the barest threads of the bond ricocheting through your body, reduced you to little more than a husk lying on top of Simon. Your heart was shattering along with the bond, the broken edges of each splintering in a way that made it hard for you to breathe. Your breath pushed and pulled achingly slowly through your chapped lips like broken glass, just another thing ripping your very being apart. 
“If you can’t do this… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. The brass’ll let me stay, at least for a little bit. But, I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this. ‘M not asking for love. ‘M not asking to be a real marriage, but I can’t be apart of a bond where ‘m not… where ‘m not bein’ taken care of. I can’t.” 
Your words were slurring, little more than a broken and pain-filled whimper against his broad chest, and Simon could practically hear the way his heart shatters beneath you. He did this. He did this. And yet, the selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, no matter how much pain he had put you through. The alpha snarled as he wrapped his arms around your ever-weakening frame impossibly tighter, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d slip away from him forever. 
“No, baby, no,” he replied softly, but the words were filled with a growl of conviction, of promise. “I was stupid. I was so stupid, and I hurt you. Let me… let me fix this, okay? Please, baby. Lemme fix you. Just for right now.” 
Simon was begging. You didn’t know if you had ever heard him beg before, but here he was, begging you to allow him the chance to fix you. Your exhausted, wounded omega perked up a bit at his conviction, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was far too little, far too late. “I… I don’t know, Simon. How can you… how can you fix this?” 
The pained gasps between your words drove a stake of fear through Simon’s heart, his alpha whimpering painfully. He swallowed harshly against the ever-growing lump in his throat, as he knew that he had to be the pillar of strength. If he broke right now, there was no hope for you. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he inhaled your sour, rotted scent in despair, his hands running up and down your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. 
“Let me… let me have a chance,” the alpha, your alpha, pleaded. “Please baby, let me fix this. I’ll do better, I promise. Gods, I’ll do anything. Just… just let me get you better,  baby, please. And then, if you still want to break the bond, we can, okay? Just… I can’t lose you. I can’t let you die. Not like this. Never like this.”
You felt, more than heard, his words wash over you. You could feel your body failing, the bond sickness taking what little was left of you. Even with Simon’s touch, with his promises, you had a brief moment of clarity where you just knew that this still might be it, that the bond had been strained too far, the cavernous distance between the two of you still too great, that this bond sickness might still kill you, despite his promises to fix you. 
You were so tired. So, so tired. The pain is too much, your eyelids too heavy, and it felt like what was left of your shattered heart wasn’t pumping nearly enough oxygen through your veins. You were teetering on the edge, and all you wanted to do was sleep. 
“Just… just let me sleep. In here. With you. Please?” you mumbled, the words soft and slurred. Any fight, any pride you had just a few minutes ago was long gone, and if you were going to die, your omega wanted it to be right here, in your alpha’s arms, taken peacefully in your sleep. “I need… just, please, Si.” 
Simon’s resolve shattered at the nickname that fell past your lips. He instantly sat up, gathering your frail, fragile body in his arms as he nodded, his own tears finally breaking free. 
His fault. All his fault. Always his fault. 
He quickly stood up, your body light (too light, too light) in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He was terrified. He could feel how slow your heartbeat was, how weak your body was, how slurred your words were. He shushed you softly, gently, but the sound warbled against his own tears. 
“Shhh, shhh, baby. I got you. I got you. Just… just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here. Right here. Never leavin’ your side again. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Just sleep.” 
He gingerly laid you on the bed, surrounding you with blankets and pillows, anything he could find that was drenched in his alpha scent, before his body came to blanket you. He couldn’t lose you. And he will keep his promise, even as his own silent tears fell down around your now-unconscious face. What’s that old saying? Oh, right. You never know what you have until it’s gone.
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chdarling · 3 days ago
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ok so, I can't, like, set a precedent for every time there is a catastrophic event in my country I post a TLE spoiler because let's be real, that's gonna be every day for the next four years at least and I only have so many non-major-spoilery TLE bits to share. But I'm making my way through an emergency bottle of prosecco and texting my friends about how in the face of the endless onslaught of late stage capitalism, fanfic -- a community built purely around love and joy and not a single drop of money being exchanged -- is in a small way something radical and precious and dare I say holy (did I mention I was drunk) and that should be honored on today of all fucking days, and ALSO we should all spend less time staring at gifs of that evil-ass motherfucker doing nazi salutes and more time crafting joy and creating community with each other so
here is a lil snippet from TLE3
as with all my spoiler snippets, I reserve the right to completely rewrite this before the final draft because honestly this was mostly an exercise in me learning how to craft sentences again mid-burnout, but!!!! here, have a lil moment of joy, maybe. i love you.
Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End
“So, what do you think?”
Sirius turned expectantly to his best mate, who stood beside him as the boys peered through the doorway of Sirius’s second bedroom. The room had been unoccupied at the time of Sirius moving into this flat a few weeks ago. Now…it decidedly was not.
“Er…” said James, who did not quite seem to know how to answer the question.
“Her name is Lola,” Sirius added in a reverent tone.
“She has a name, does she?”
“Of course she has a name, you pig.”
“Right,” said James. “Well, then frankly, I’m a bit hurt you moved out and left me for Lola.”
Sirius knocked his shoulder against James’s. “Come on. I didn’t leave you. We’ve been over this. I’m of age, I was going to have to get my own place eventually.”
“Yeah, okay, sure, but you barely made it a month before you shacked up with your new flatmate, Lola.”
Sirius grinned. “She’s sexy, isn’t she?”
“She’s…very shiny.”
“She’s the goddamn love of my life.”
“Okay, ‘she’ is a motorbike, mate. You’ve gone completely batty.”
Sirius laughed and strode further into the room where indeed the Muggle motorbike had been set up, dominating the space. It was a thing of beauty, all sleek lines and silver glint. The floor around the motorbike was haloed with the detritus of Sirius’s last few delicious days: all sorts of mechanical bits and bobs, empty beer bottles, an ashtray, a crumpled up bag of crisps, a few oily rags, and a confusion of Muggle tools, the names of which Sirius kept mixing up — a socket wrench, he thought that one was called. The spare bed that had once been the primary feature of this room — a springy mattress James had transfigured for the nights he was too pissed to apparate home (“Mum won’t mind, she put the security spells on your flat herself.”) — had been shoved into the corner to make room for this new sacred altar.
James did not seem as impressed with Sirius’s new acquisition as he felt his friend ought to be. “You’re just jealous,” Sirius told him, “that you’ve never known a love so true.”
“Ha. Touché.”
Sirius pulled a rag from his back pocket and began to lovingly polish a spot on the seat of the motorbike.
“You know,” said James, still observing from his post at the doorway, “I’m not sure it’s healthy, you spending so much time by yourself.”
“What time by myself?” laughed Sirius. “You’re here almost every day.”
This was true. Hardly a day had passed so far this summer that James hadn’t found a reason to come by. Not that Sirius minded. Though he’d never admit it, he liked living on his own rather less than he’d expected.
“Yeah, well…” James strode closer to inspect the motorbike. “Someone has to make sure you don’t go completely bonkers, all on your own here. Lola, I ask you. You know, if you start talking to the bike, mate, I’m hauling you off to St. Mungo’s too.”
Sirius leaned down and whispered to the handlebars: “Don’t listen to the mean man, Lola. I’d never leave you.”
James sat down on the spare bed with a mournful creak. “Besides,” he said, “Potter House is too quiet now, with you gone and dad all…entombed. Some days I think if I don’t get out, I’m the one who will go bonkers.”
Sirius turned back to his friend, suddenly somber. “Hey, you know I’m just joking, right? You’re always welcome over here. I love having you here.”
“Yeah,” said James, though the faintest tint of melancholy compromised his credulity. Sirius watched as James plucked an oil-stained rag from the bed, sniffed it, then tossed it aside with a wrinkled nose.
“How are things…?” Sirius ventured. “With your dad?” Fleamont Potter’s health had been in steady decline for years, but last Christmas things had taken a turn for the worse. The diagnosis seemed to be simply that he was old…though Sirius had a hard time wrapping his head around that. “Have things gotten any better?”
“No,” said James shortly. “And they’re not going to. It is what it is.” He glared at the wall for a brief moment, then sighed — a deep, intentional sigh, as though exhaling all his miseries in order to transform himself back to Sirius’s good-natured friend. “So…does she work?”
“The fuck d’you mean, ‘does she work?’”
“Well,” said James, “it hasn’t escaped my notice that the bike is in your spare bedroom, rather than, say, on the street. So either you and Lola have a far kinkier relationship than I care to know about…or she doesn’t work.”
A pause.
“She’s a work in progress, okay?”
“Knew it,” grinned James.
“Hey, have some respect,” said Sirius. “I’m fixing her up myself. It’s far cooler than just buying some shiny toy from a shop. This is my bike. Mine. I’ll make her fly, just you wait.” He stroked the bike handle. “Isn’t that right, Lola?”
“Yep,” sighed James. “Completely bonkers.”
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notlongtolove · 2 days ago
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thanks to the light you shower
it flashed a muted grey, understated but stark as ever in the dim of your living room—blocked. you stared at it, blinking like it might change with every refresh. it never did. you thought, maybe you should’ve seen that coming, too. if she can leave—what’s to stop spencer from walking away too? what’s keeping him here?
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)
genre: angst, hurt comfort
content: based on this ask! reader spirals during a friendship breakup and spencer is there to comfort and reassure her tldr spencer reid best bf ever agenda lives on
word count: 3.3k
note: thank you sm for requesting, i hope you like it! also thank you to the ever so lovely @angellic4l and @floraisunwell for helping me proof read this !! <3 was feeling RUSTYYYY i didnt mean to format it like this but i came across a lovely little poem that i loved and hopefully you like it too!
a line: Nostalgia might make a good glue, holding the cracks together when things get shaky, but it’s never to be used as a foundation.
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My notebook has remained blank for months thanks to the light you shower around me. I have no use for my pen, which lies languorously without grief. - ha jin
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You hadn’t seen it coming.
Well, maybe you did. Lesser texts, lesser calls. Shorter silences that stretched and grew into no texts, no calls, nothing. You should have seen it coming.
What you hadn’t expected was the notification. It flashed a muted grey, understated but stark as ever in the dim of your living room—Blocked. You stared at it, blinking like it might change with every refresh. It never did. You thought, maybe you should’ve seen that coming, too.
You live in a house of cards, its edges delicately balanced with relics and routines you’ve spent years upholding—But houses of cards aren’t built to last. Nostalgia might make a good glue, holding the cracks together when things get shaky, but it’s never to be used as a foundation. 
You hadn’t planned for it to end like this. You’d planned for something else entirely. You’d thought through the steps before the call, rehearsed the words—openings, explanations, apologies, questions. Hi. Hello. I know it’s been a while. Did you forget about today? I waited. It’s okay; I didn’t mind waiting. You’d planned for every possible response, every tangent of the conversation. You’d even practised sharing the updates you were sure she’d care to hear. The call had been brief at best. Few words exchanged, each one clipped and hurtful nonetheless. You don’t make time anymore. You never make time. 
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not in the slightest. There was the trip you’d booked together five months ago. She’d said the tickets were refundable on the call, her words were painfully unbothered even then. The email with the refund had been the last thing she sent you. 
You’ve changed. Have you really? You’d wondered for hours afterwards. She said you did. Now, you’re starting to believe her.
You don’t hear Spencer come in. Don’t register the sound of his keys clinking against the counter or the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor. He’s standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching you sink deeper into the couch. Normally, you’d already be burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the familiar warmth of his hands sliding around you—But not today.
Today, you don’t move. So, he does.
It’s clear something is wrong, he just doesn't know what. Quietly and carefully, he sets aside the book you’d abandoned onto the coffee table and then slides onto the couch beside you. His arms find their way around you like they always do—one hand threading through your hair, the other drawing slow circles on your thigh.
You surprise the both of you by speaking first. “She cancelled the trip,” you say dryly, eyes unmoving from the hardwood floor even when he nuzzles his face into your hair. 
“Something came up?” Spencer asks innocently. 
You shake your head. “Just cancelled it,” you reply, flat and matter-of-fact. 
He starts to say something, but you cut him off. “She blocked me.”
That lands heavier than the rest. You feel Spencer still beside you, his hand pausing mid-circle on your thigh. For all the ways Spencer always seems to know what to say and how to say it, you know he doesn’t have an answer for this. 
She’s been in your life longer than he has. Perhaps the one person who knows you as well as Spencer, maybe even better than yourself. He knows this, too. Spencer’s never had someone like that, other than you, other than the team. He’s spent too many years with his nose buried in books, his childhood built on facts and pages instead of people. But he’s learned and seen enough from everyone around him to know what it means to lose someone like that. 
Spencer can hypothesise the reasons. He’s good at that, good at putting pieces together, even the ones you try to keep from him. The distance had started long before the trip was planned—your recent promotion, longer nights at the office instead of out with her. Unanswered texts, missed calls. Spencer’s schedule didn’t help, his half-weeks spent in other cities. The move to his place had made sense at the time, it had seemed like the obvious next step. She’d been happy for you then, encouraged you to be closer to him. But “closer to him” had also meant “further from her.”
It had seemed like a fair trade at the time. Necessary.
Spencer presses his face into your hair, giving your hand a light squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. It’s so simple, so achingly gentle.
It’s much too nice, much too kind. You can’t bring yourself to start rebuilding your little house of cards. The cards lay untouched, scattered around you in a meek, pathetic, little pile. 
You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him. 
The couch creaks softly as you stand, letting Spencer’s hand fall away from yours as you move slowly towards your kitchen. As much as things had changed when Spencer entered your life, you could never put this on him. You know him, love him too much for that. “Don’t be,” you say thinly, “It’s not your fault.”
You didn’t call. You missed her party at that one club she was always raving about. You stopped showing up for drinks. You did this.
“It’s not yours either,” comes Spencer’s reply.
The sigh that escapes your lips is shaky and shuddering. Exhaustion weighs it down, and Spencer doesn’t need to look at you to know tears are already streaking your face.
“You don’t know that. You didn’t hear her, Spence. You didn’t hear the way she was talking. It was—god, I was horrible,” you whisper, your voice barely steady. “Do you know I missed her birthday?”
“Sweetheart, you were working on a brief,” he says, like it’s supposed to absolve you of any guilt. “Even I barely saw you that week. It wasn’t your fault.”
You shake your head, your breath catching on a bitter laugh. “No, Spencer. I didn’t just miss the party—I missed everything.” You’re pacing now, as much as the small kitchen allows. When that proves too constricting, you stop, gripping the edge of the counter. Your eyes bore holes into the granite surface. “I called her at three. Three in the morning. Do you get how ridiculous that is? I’ve always been the first to call her. Always. And this year, I didn’t even remember until it was already over.” 
Your gaze trails upward to the small window above the sink where a framed caricature rests—a silly, exaggerated version of you and Spencer, drawn at some carnival she went to last year. She gave it to you for Christmas. It’s hard to think that you'll never receive another one from her. Birthdays, Christmases—she’d always said she’d be the one in charge of your “something old” on your wedding day.
You don’t even realise Spencer’s left the couch until you hear the gentle clink of a cup being set down on the counter beside you. You know he’s making tea—chamomile, with a dash of milk. Just the way you like it. Spencer steps closer, stopping just short of your space, giving you some room. 
“And you know what the worst part was? When I finally called, she just... she didn’t even sound angry. Just tired. Like she was expecting it. At first, I thought she was sad, or mad, or—I don’t know. Something. But she didn’t even bother to show up today.”
“She didn’t show up?” Spencer asks quietly as he reaches for the milk in the fridge. 
You shake your head slowly, your shoulders sagging just a little more. 
Spencer tries to keep his disappointment at bay seeing as his suggestion to meet her in person had been a hopeful one, born from his belief that face-to-face conversations could convey things that text messages or calls couldn’t. After all, studies showed that emotional confrontations were better handled in person—fewer misunderstandings, more connection.
It’s why he despises technology, why he once made the 45-minute drive back to your apartment after your sixth date, just so he could tell you he loved you in person. He’d thought the same principle would apply here, that sitting across from her over coffee might bring back some clarity or some form of resolution. That it could help mend something. But the thought of you sitting alone in a café, waiting for someone who never showed, splinters his heart.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
The tenderness in his voice threatens to undo you entirely. The tea sits untouched as you sink to the floor, your back pressed against the cool cabinets of the kitchen. You hear Spencer move, and for a moment, you think he’s going to pull you up, fuss about how the kitchen floor is no place to sit—how it’s probably crawling with bacteria and god-knows-what-else. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he lowers himself to sit cross-legged in front of you. “I’m sorry honey, you didn’t deserve that,” he says softly as he reaches out gently to brush away a stray tear from your cheek. 
And because he’s Spencer, he knows you well enough to sense when you’re drowning in your own spiral, battering yourself with equal parts blame and self-doubt. So, he leans in just slightly, adding, “You’re not horrible, sweetheart. You’re human. Everybody forgets things sometimes. Even birthdays.” The cup of tea scrapes lightly against the tiled floor as Spencer nudges it closer to your thigh. He pauses, offering a small smile. “The team forgot mine last year.” 
“I don’t think that makes it any better, Spence.” He tilts his head, considering. “It doesn’t,” he agrees, “But it doesn’t make you horrible either. I know you care, you care more than most people do. That’s not nothing.”
“Do you think I’ve changed?”
“How so?” 
“I don’t know,” you murmur, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. “I’ve never missed her birthday. Ever. I don't do that. I never thought this would happen. Like, we used to talk about the kinds of houses we’d get when we were kids. We always said we’d live next door to each other with one of those gardens that connected, with those big bay windows to read by. And now she’s just... gone?” you huff a sharp laugh. “How the hell does that work?”
Rebuilding your house of cards means reshuffling your deck entirely—creating a new order, moving forward with new people and leaving some others behind. You’re not sure if you have it in you to learn new rules for a game you’d grown so comfortable playing a certain way.
“It’s normal for things to change as we grow up,” Spencer says again gently. “It doesn’t mean what you had wasn’t real or important.”
“I know that Spencer, I know things change. I know people change. But I don’t—” You pause, shaking your head. “I didn’t think I changed.” You know you’re being short with Spencer, snappy even, but you can’t help it. All certainty feels like it’s crumbled beneath you, your sense of normalcy torn apart. 
Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. If she can leave—What’s to stop Spencer from walking away too? What’s keeping him here? 
Certainly not the way you’re curling into yourself now, your knees drawn up, arms hugging them tightly. The tea sits forgotten beside you, it's steam curling into the air. Spencer’s kindness lingers around you but you can't bring yourself to hold on to any bit of it. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that even that will disappear if you even try to reach for it.
“I don’t like change.” You can hear the petulance in your voice, the way it makes you sound like a child begging for time to stop. You can almost picture yourself, small and desperate, hands outstretched to hold the world still for just a moment longer. 
“In a way, she’s not wrong,” Spencer says softly, breaking the silence, “I think you’ve changed. I think deep down, you know that too.”
You look up at him sharply, blinking through teary lashes. You wonder if he means it as an accusation.
“I just don’t think it’s a bad thing,” he adds gently.
Your voice is bitter when you finally speak. “I don’t see how it isn’t.”
Spencer hums thoughtfully as he reaches out, taking your hand in his. Slowly, he coaxes you closer, guiding you to sit in his lap. You resist for a second but his patience doesn’t falter. So, eventually, you let yourself be pulled in, resting against his chest.
“Well, you got that job you wanted,” he starts. “And the promotion you worked so hard for,” he adds after a moment.
You huff, the sound half a laugh and half a sob. “That doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a job.”
“It’s not just a job,” he counters, his hand stroking along your back. “It’s something you wanted. Something you earned.”
Your head shakes against his chest, your cheek brushing the soft fabric of his shirt. “Yeah, but at what cost? I messed everything else up. I got so busy, and I started—”
“You got busy because you were doing something you loved,” he interrupts softly, grounding you before the spiral takes hold again. “And I know it’s hard to see it like that right now, but it made you happy. You know over 65% of working adults report feeling disengaged with their jobs? But you found something you care about, and yeah, it made life busier, but it made you happier too. That’s more than just a great thing—that’s amazing.”
“I guess,” you mumble, sniffling into his shirt. 
“I’m just saying,” Spencer continues patiently. “Change is an enigma. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. But there’s always a reason for change.”
“Bad reasons,” you mutter, almost under your breath.
“Not always,” Spencer says softly. “Change is growth.”
“Will you tell me? If I’m changing too much?” you ask quietly after a beat of silence. “It’s not that I don’t want to grow but… I just don’t want us to grow… apart.”
Spencer leans forward, his forehead brushing lightly against yours. “Sweetheart, I’m in love with you. I don’t think there’s a version of you I wouldn’t love.”
“What if I work too much?” you ask, tilting your head.
“I’d send a SWAT team to shut down your office.” A small smile breaks through and for a fleeting moment, you actually consider whether he could pull it off. Knowing Spencer? He probably could.
“And if I forget your birthday?” 
“I’d remind you by celebrating it for an entire week,” he grins. “But you’d never forget. You’re too thoughtful for that.”
“What if I’m not, though?” you press again, not entirely convinced. “What if I forget things, or miss out important stuff, and you’ll get sad or mad at me and—”
Spencer’s expression softens further, his hand reaching to cradle your cheek. “You will change,” he says calmly. “And I’ll change. That’s inevitable. And yeah, maybe I’ll get sad or mad one day—” 
“You got mad this morning,” you point out quietly.
Spencer’s lips twitch in a knowing smile. “You were mad at me first,” he counters.
“You didn’t kiss me goodbye,” you grumble.
“I did!” he insists, chuckling softly. “You were asleep, and I kissed you on the forehead. Twice, actually. And regardless, honey, I love you because you’re you. And you’re not going anywhere—not if I have any say in it. We’ll both change. We’ll grow together, and I promise that every version of me will love every version of you. I don’t think that will ever change.”
“You loved me even when I spilt scalding hot cocoa on your cashmere sweater on our first date?”
“I think I fell in love with you then,” Spencer says without hesitation, his smile mirroring your own. “Lots of things change, honey,” he continues, “Like how we’re getting a cat next week. You wouldn’t have been able to do that at your old apartment.”
You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips. Spencer’s never been an “animal person” outside of his fish—which he hadn’t even bothered naming until you came along. But getting him on board with a cat had been surprisingly easy. Even if you’d asked for a zoo, Spencer’s fairly certain he would’ve found a way to make it work just because you’re you. 
“Stupid apartment manager,” you grumble. 
“Stupid apartment manager,” Spencer echoes with mock solemnity. His lips twitch in a small smile. “And now all I have to worry about is my stupid hardwood floors.”
“We’ll train him,” you say with a smile of your own.
“Who’s we?” Spencer counters, raising an eyebrow.
You roll your eyes, swatting at his leg.
“Ow,” he says, the mock pain exaggerated as he rubs his knee. “See, I got shot in the leg. That’s change too.”
You scoff lightly. “Oh, and that’s supposed to be good change?” You ask, unimpressed.
Spencer leans back, his expression earnest. “If I hadn’t gotten shot in the leg, I wouldn’t have met you.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “That happened a year before we even met.”
“I got shot in the leg, which slowed down the speed I walked for a good year and a half. If I hadn’t been limping a little slower, I might’ve caught an earlier train or missed yours entirely. It’s a classic chaos theory example. Even the smallest variables can lead to the most significant outcomes. And I’d say meeting you was a pretty significant outcome.”
You roll your eyes, but this time a genuine laugh escapes you. The deck of cards may change, your house of cards may collapse every now and then and a reshuffle might be needed. But one thing always remains untouched in every game of cards: The Joker.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re perfect,” he counters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 
If there’s one thing you can always count on, it’s Spencer—Ever ready with his with his matter-of-fact tone and  Spencer-brand wit to coax a laugh out of you whenever you need it most.
Spencer, being Spencer, is right. Time passes, people change, and you have to trudge along with it—even as your fragile paper cards fall to the floor around you. There’s good change, there’s bad change, and sometimes there’s no change at all. 
Like how, now, even when you’re already smiling, laughter escaping your lips in small bursts, you still sit together on the kitchen floor talking for a little while longer, hands intertwined, cold tea by your side and all. 
When the cat arrives a week later, and his unexpected potty spot behind your fig plant by Spencer’s bookshelf is only discovered two days later? Bad change. Very very bad change.
When you finally get the cat fully potty trained and, three weeks later, track down a new version of The Iliad for Spencer with help from Penelope—a first edition, no less, despite his second edition being beloved? Good change. Great change even.
And when Spencer gets down on one knee 18 weeks later, right there by the same station where you first met, his knee now fully healed and you no longer rushing for a train? That’s perhaps the best kind of change.
⋆✴︎˚。⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!
ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: when you love someone by day6 (first kpop song rec hell yeah) a frame by jeremy zucker and chelsea cutler
103 notes · View notes
michuga · 7 hours ago
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see both sides like chanel
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summary: your best friend, jeongguk, has only ever dated boys. unbeknownst to you, (he was also into girls).
pairing: jeongguk x fem reader
content: best friends to lovers, sexual tension, fluff, reader is a little absentminded, jk is a damn tease
warnings: cursing, (it gets steamy)
wc: 2k
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you and jeongguk have been friends for the past seven years.
jeongguk has only ever dated boys.
does that a gay man make? no! of course not, you knew this. it is the big year of 2025 after all. sexuality is a spectrum; and you were never one to judge.
leaning in, jeongguk brushes his lips against yours.
and that's how you ended up kissing your very gay best friend.
or, not? i guess?
you don't know if it was because he was your best friend; instantly crossed off as a potential lover in your mind anyway, or because he was always sporting a new shiny boy toy every couple of weeks. or the crop tops he wore all throughout high school. or the sexy fireman posters plastered all over his dorm room walls in college! either way; you never would have expected to end up bent over on his couch on a random tuesday afternoon.
but one thing is for sure.
you were stupid.
oh so very stupid.
you're probably wondering how you got here.
well, let me walk you through it.
it all started with an incident that happened a few months ago.
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your best friend, jeongguk, was on your bed, ranting to you about his new fling.
"i can't believe i ever thought jimin and i could work," he complains.
grabbing the hem of your blouse, you lift it up and off your body, tossing it across your room.
left in your black lacy bra, you scour your closet for something to wear.
a minute or so passes, and you finally notice the silence that falls upon the room. you turn around to find him visibly preoccupied, going through his phone.
"you were saying..?" you tap his shoulder.
clearing his throat he continues, maintaining eye contact with his phone, "i just don't think he's the one for me. he's too.. flaky?"
you've always found it adorable how jeongguk got shy at times like these. it's been seven years and he has remained ever the gentleman, never taking advantage of your friendship or abusing the amount of trust you put in him. you never had reason to doubt him anyway, it's not like you were exactly his... type, per se.
"i agree, babe. you deserve way better than that," you say, returning to the agonizing task at hand; finding an outfit amidst the chaos that is your closet.
finally picking one out, you hold up the hangers against your body, standing in front of your full length mirror to see how it would look on you.
"what do you think of this?" you ask, lost in thought.
"your black skirt would go along better," jeongguk mumbles from your bed.
"right? i thought so too." putting the hangers down, you bend over to grab said skirt from your bottom drawer.
from an outside perspective, one could consider you shameless.
from jeongguk's perspective, he found you amusing.
and from your perspective.. well, the most complicated thought in your mind right now was putting together a damn outfit.
an hour later, you and jeongguk sit at your table eating the brunch he cooked you, catching up on your busy lives; as was your routine together.
"and this girl i was fooling around with at the time-"
your brain short circuits.
"come again?"
"what?"
"sorry, i thought you said girl." you say with a dismissive laugh, "imagine that."
"i did." he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and an amused smile.
the entirety of your coffee is wasted in your spit take.
you wish you were exaggerating.
cleaning up the mess you made on the table, you backtrack.
"you like girls???"
"..yes?"
looking at him suspiciously, you scramble to find your words. you didn't want to offend him, but he had caught you very off guard.
"did you think i was gay?" he asks, with a raise of his eyebrows, fully dumbfounded this time.
"i've just.. you've always.. i've only ever seen you with guys?"
"well yeah, those are just the ones i've encountered, i guess."
"you're telling me we've been friends for the past seven years, and i'm just finding this out now?"
"damn. when you put it that way, you sound like a real bad friend, you know," he says with a chuckle, casually gulping down the rest of his coffee.
oh. oh.
helikesgirls
helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounaked
helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounakedonmultipleoccasions
with a small smirk and a tilt of his head, he gets up and walks up to you. "don't worry, you're still not my type." he whispers in your ear.
"if you need me, i'll be with the community dick!" he yells out as he walks away, taking your dignity and your pride with him; the last of it escaping with the final click of your apartment door.
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"god how stupid am i?" you complain, rather dramatically, to your other best friend, hoseok. "i mean, how could i just blatantly assume he was gay? what if i made him uncomfortable before and he never told me? i'm a terrible friend!" flailing your arms, you ignore the dirty looks from onlookers passing by.
"i'm sure if you had made him uncomfortable, he would have told you. this is jeongguk we're talking about? are you trying to tell me he has any sort of filter?" he jokes, trying to cheer you up.
repeatedly bumping your head into the wall in front you, you surrender to the sea of embarrassment you found yourself drowning in.
"you should have seen my face. as if i wasn't stupid enough already, i made things awkward and rethought every interaction we've ever had, like, right in front of him. you could literally see the gears turning in my brain. i probably looked like a bloated pufferfish blowing bubbles. stupid, stupid, stupid," you repeatedly smack yourself in the face.
"wait. you're gay though, right??" you ask, suddenly feeling as insecure as ever.
"yes babe, i came out to you in the 12th grade. still as straight as rupaul." he says with a chuckle, finding your meltdown completely adorable.
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reaching behind you, he takes hold of your seatbelt and fastens it.
you can't help but burn bright red. what the fuck is wrong with you? what ever changed? he's still jeongguk. your jeongguk. the same jeongguk whose clothes you helped clean from vomit, after he got drunk one too many times back in college?
you feel like ripping all your hair out.
maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
jeongguk had picked you up from work, and you were on your way to his place to hang out, as usual.
"so it's either that or fried chicken.. what do you think?"
"huh?"
"i said what do you want to order??"
"oh.. anything is fine, thanks," you say awkwardly, clearing your throat.
"okay then?" he says as he starts the car.
a few hours later and the evening was going smoothly. perhaps too smoothly.
mishaps forgotten, you and your best friend sit in his living room, eating, laughing, and watching desperate housewives. just as you always have been for years.
"i'm gonna go get us some more drinks," you say as you get up, making your way over to his kitchen.
"he's such an idiot," you mumble to yourself as you chuckle, remembering the joke jeongguk had cracked a minute prior.
initially you open the fridge to check for beer, but there wasn't any; so you resort to plan B: the fancy wine he stores in his top cupboard.
you stand on your tiptoes and extend your arm up, trying to reach the wine bottle.
suddenly you feel a prescence behind you. last time you checked, brick walls can't move. so if 1+1 equals 2; then warmth, musky vanilla and hard equals jeongguk.
you see a bigger arm reach up and get the job done. "here, let me."
"thanks.." and just like that, the strange feeling is back.
you knew there was no way the evening could go smoothly. no, you're never that lucky.
pulling away, jeongguk pops open the wine bottle, pouring crimson liquid in two glasses.
you jump up to sit on the kitchen counter.
"have you picked out an outfit for the gathering yet?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine.
"nope," you say with a sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat. "it seems like everything i try doesn't look as good on me as i imagine in my head."
"but everything looks good on you, doll."
"are you putting the moves on me, jeon?" you say, jokingly; waiting for him to laugh along.
inching closer, closer, closer.. he stops and situates himself between your legs.
"and what if i am?" he mutters with a deep hushed voice. "am i making you nervous?" mere inches between your faces laced with thick, undeniable tension. he dare not raise his voice a single octave; for that could ruin the intimacy of it all.
whether it was something in the air or the liquor in both your systems, something between you had shifted.
this was not your gay best friend.
this was someone much more dangerous.
"we really.. really shouldn't.." voice barely above a whisper, you manage to let out with every remaining ounce of self-control you have. a feather light hand on his chest, you fruitlessly attempt to push him away; physically melting into his touch instead.
grabbing your hand, he holds it in his.
"do you have any idea how batshit crazy you drove me all those times, stripping half naked right in front of me?" he starts, voice raspy and full of need, slowly tracing his finger along your thigh, going up, up.. "mindlessly running your mouth, bending over in your tiny panties.. when all i wanted to do was bend you over myself, and put you in your place? my best friend of seven years, assuming my sexuality.. tsk tsk.."
ghosting a hand over your throat, he firmly grips your chin, lifting your head up to meet his gaze.
"do you want me to show you.." with a sinister smirk he breathes into your ear, "just how much i love women?"
your breath catches in your throat.
it was at that moment he leaned forward and crashed his lips against yours, closing the gap between you.
78% nitrogen and 21% oxygen in the atmosphere, but right in this very room and in this very moment; it's 100% you, jeongguk, and your breathless pants. a different third gas; the kind that smells like blurring the lines between you and your best friend. potentially damning a solid friendship, and throwing years down the drain. not 1% was spared for rationale.
both of you are forced separate, bound by your human bodies, in need of air.
ravenous, you grab his shirt collar and shoved him right against your face, devouring his lips once more.
with a groan, his free hand grabs your calf, hitching your leg against his hip. you wrap it around his waist, while the other hangs low; your heels hanging poorly on your foot and finally dropping to the floor with a clank.
both of you move rhythmically at first, then it gets sloppy; a sense of urgency overwhelming you. your lips move together with hurry, adrenaline coursing through your body; as if replacing the very blood that flows through your veins. chasing his lips, you just about swallow him whole.
not that he minds, he seems adamant on doing the exact same.
tangling your fingers in his hair, you angle your head better to ensure your prey is perfectly trapped. an act of cannibalism.
it was primal in the most natural way, finally letting go after an entire night of need and clouded lust.
"mm'not.. here," you mumble in between kisses.
finally picking you up and wrapping both your legs around his waist, he wastes no time leading you to the nearest surface he could find. well, as good as he can see, anyway.
and that's the story of how you hooked up with your bisexual best friend.
you learned the hard way.
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glamourwrites · 3 days ago
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𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒕.
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( gif credit )
— summary : after two years, you ended your "relationship" with drew.
— warnings : angst, fwbs , vague nsfw , jealousy , mention of punk.
— pairing : drew mcintrye x reader
— word count : 992
— writer's note : this is the first time i write after seven years. my writing is rusty, but hopefully, it'll get better as i start posting on here more.
— tag list : @espresscs / if you'd like to be on the tag list, send me a dm !
“i'm not joking.” you had responded with a firm tone in your voice, your arms crossed as you looked up at drew with a serious look. 
both of you had been messing around ever since joining as a backstage interviewer two years ago. it was supposed to be a one-night stand; that's it. that then turned into friends who messed around after the show was over. it was supposed to be casual. it was supposed to be fun. no strings attached just like they had agreed on. then things started to change. it was not certainly for the best but for the worst. things between the both of you shifted as time passed. it went from not caring about what the other does to becoming jealous. something that you never expected to happen. 
especially since you were never the type to be jealous but every time you would walk past him, you couldn't help but feel pain when he'd flirt with some of the women from the locker room. you never understood why you felt that. you and drew were nothing more than friends who made each other feel good whenever both of you needed it after a long day at work. so what was it that made you feel that way about him? 
maybe it was because you would see drew take some of the women from the roster back to his hotel. where unfortunately, you would be next to his room where you could hear the moans, whimpers, and screaming while they were begging him to not stop. which made you uncomfortable. not because of the loud noises. but because the thought of him with someone else made your heart sink. 
there were times when drew would distance himself from you. act as if he didn't fuck the shit out of you the other night. then he'd send you a text and ask if you wanted to hang out with him that night. you wanted to say no during those times but you couldn't help yourself but give in. oh, how you hated that he had that effect on you. 
it was starting to confuse you every day. did drew like you as more than a friend or did he like you as someone he could go to when no one was around? nonetheless, it was taking an effect on you. he'd go from having mindless sex to being intimate and whispering how much he couldn't get enough of you and how no one but you made him want to. 
god, your brain was all over the place and you couldn't fucking take it anymore. which is why you had distanced yourself from him. you hadn't talk to him until now. 
“you're lying.” drew replied with a mocking chuckle, shaking his head side to side with a smug smirk. he didn't believe what you were saying because you two would go back together after not talking for a while. the same old routine, talk, have sex, and make up with one another. “i know you better than anyone you know yourself.”
hearing him say that, you felt agitated. your frustrations boiling, taking a deep breath before continuing on. “i'm not lying, andrew.” your voice quiet but able for him to hear. “you don't know me. it's been like what? a month since we talked to each other? yeah, i wouldn't say you do even if it's been two years.” 
there was a brief silence before you continued on. “besides, i'm interested in someone else.” muttering under your breath, moving your gaze from his. you weren't lying when you said that. you'd been talking to none other than, cm punk. the man that everyone hates.
both of you had been talking for awhile now. he understood how you felt whenever you'd talk about drew. he never pushed you to tell you everything that was going on between the two of you. the only thing he said was if drew was making you feel this way, the only way to do so was to stop talking to him completely. 
at first, you were hesitant because drew had been part of your life and made you feel special. yes, there were times when both of you did things that couples would do or he complimented how beautiful you looked. even praising how you've been a hard worker. but now… it didn't feel that way. in your eyes, drew was an acquaintance rather than a friend that you had confined yourself to. 
licking the roof of her mouth, drew looked at you with a peculiar expression, trying to figure out if you were lying. you weren't lying because by now, you'd be crawling up to him but this time you kept your distance from him. “who's the lucky guy?”
“that's none of your business.” 
“but it is now,” he told you, running his hand through his hair as a sigh of disbelief came from him. this couldn't be true. there was no way she'd stop him but he was wrong. 
“i don't have time to go back and forth with you. i have to go. have a nice night.” and without hesitation, you passed him without glancing at him.
your mind was telling you to go back and tell him it wasn't true you were interested in someone else. but you knew you'd be lying to yourself. you had become more interested in punk than drew. it hurt but it was the truth and you weren't going to lie to yourself. 
punk made you feel special. he listened to every word you said and spent time with you outside of work unlike drew. it was different, but the good kind. something you had never had in your entire life. 
there was a part of you that believed drew did like you at some point but that was your mind being delusional.
he was a fire that you had loved so much until it burned.
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ad-hawkeye · 25 days ago
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have i done something to make tot target me like. specifically. for this past year. i'm like Scared at this point, what have i done. fully illustrated card art depicting one of the many times artem went all of the way to the break room to get coffee instead of just using the coffee machine in his office because he needed his daily Yearning and Awkwardly Standing there in the same room as rosa time
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like i just? hello??
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arielluva · 7 months ago
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grief is such a weird emotion bc i can be fine most of the time even if it think about it, but then sometimes thinking about it digs it up all over again
#in regards both to my cat and my grandma though i was mostly thinking about my grandma when i wrote this#i was fine the next day after she died bc like. it was expected. she was in hospice for several months#and a nurse had been staying with her 24/7 for the last 2 days. the nurse told us it probably wouldnt be long on the last day.#we knew it was coming so i didnt feel too bad right after it happened. it was only when the mortician showed up that it sunk in#but the next day i was fine. if she got brought up in conversation id get a bit sad but i was mostly fine after that day#and its been. like. a little more than 3 months since then#i havent been thinking about it much but idk. sometimes it just pops into your head and you get reminded that she isnt here anymore#sometimes i still feel like shes still there when i walk into that room. it still partially smells the same#i turn on the light and feel like im somewhere im not supposed to be until i realize that we cleared out her stuff months ato#you wouldnt know that someone was bedridden and in hospice in there just from looking at it#but sometimes i just get that mental image of her being in there. or when she was in a nursing facility for a time and mostly normal#when we thought she was just almost septic and not nearing the end#the stupid doorbell we had her ring when she needed something that made us all jump whenever we heard a similar sound#the fact that the last blanket she ever started crocheting is still in that room and never finished#her rocking chair that has been sitting empty for probably over a year now#the haunted lamp in what used to be her bedroom pre-hospice that keeps turning on#the fact that her cars no longer in the driveway#idk. thinking about it doesnt like. actively make me cry or anything. but it is like. a lurking feeling#like ive been aware and fine with the fact that shes gone. and has been gone#but sometimes i really... remember that shes gone#i still forget that its like. a permanent thing and that shes not just in the hospital again#i wouldnt say i feel too much grief about her dying. i feel more about my cat that died 8 years ago.#but it is a weird feeling to recognize. maybe i only felt sadder about my cat bc (to me) it was unexpected#idk.
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harrylights · 2 years ago
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gonna get sappy here for a hot sec (quelle surprise)
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iknityounot · 1 year ago
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(Long post, sorry y'all)
A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.
In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.
She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.
Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.
After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:
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DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.
Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!
So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.
Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.
At the end of August, the blanket was done!
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I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)
She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it. 
She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.
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And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.
Five stars, absolutely worth it!
(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)
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reiderwriter · 2 months ago
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☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.
A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!
Masterlist
If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman. 
You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either. 
Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart. 
Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie. 
“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-” 
“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!” 
It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels. 
“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-” 
“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?” 
“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 
“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.” 
“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls. 
“Like what?”
“Like a bitch!” 
The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him. 
No such apology came. 
“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.” 
“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-” 
“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.” 
You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered. 
The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell. 
From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi. 
Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing. 
Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.
Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there  but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up. 
“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-” 
“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away. 
Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book. 
“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused. 
“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment. 
“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?” 
“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door. 
“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible  despite now feeling incredibly plussed.
“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?” 
You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche. 
“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.
A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat. 
“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip. 
“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.” 
“Right… right…” 
The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch. 
Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours. 
“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth. 
“So?”  he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away. 
“Why are you really here, YN?” 
You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second. 
“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” 
You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that. 
“Oh.” 
“Yeah.” 
“Oh… Y/N, I-” 
A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name. 
“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out. 
“He's just going to try it again.”
“Let him.” 
You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions. 
“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.
“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.” 
“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-” 
“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick. 
“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all. 
Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before. 
“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-” 
Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you. 
“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now. 
“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close. 
“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position. 
“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal. 
“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 
You shrugged and looked away  almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night. 
“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.” 
Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in. 
“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.
“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.” 
“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”
Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.” 
“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?” 
You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well. 
But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips. 
You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again. 
“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret. 
“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.” 
“So you did yourself?” 
The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off. 
“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation. 
“Excuse me?”
“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?” 
It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head. 
“He didn't want me to.” 
You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead. 
You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world. 
Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken. 
You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter. 
“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down. 
“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear. 
You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that. 
A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend. 
“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch. 
You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically. 
He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.
“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly. 
But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket. 
“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access. 
“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.” 
You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass. 
“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive. 
“Probably not.”
“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”
“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.” 
You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you. 
Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra. 
“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh. 
It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh,  still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants. 
It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you. 
Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for. 
He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time. 
“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”
“N-no, S-s-” 
“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap. 
“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure. 
“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 
With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.
Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 
“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you. 
Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk. 
“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax. 
Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. 
The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure. 
Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure. 
Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him. 
He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high. 
“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close. 
You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue. 
“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear. 
“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.” 
His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist. 
“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss  a sweet, soft one. 
“Yes.” He kissed you again  and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again. 
“H-He-” 
“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.” 
You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot. 
You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.
He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock. 
You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could. 
“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again. 
When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release. 
“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time. 
“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last. 
“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”
His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access. 
You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated. 
“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.” 
“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time. 
“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 
“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum. 
“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut. 
“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.” 
“One more time?” He asked.
“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 
You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position. 
You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more. 
“Where should I cum  Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again. 
“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too. 
“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?” 
“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already. 
“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away. 
“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him. 
“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further. 
“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. 
“On your face?”
“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed. 
“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”
“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 
“Of course. Good job.”
He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you. 
“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.” 
“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.” 
His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh. 
You didn't say anything  but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum. 
“You're on birth control, right?” 
“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.
Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well. 
“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him. 
“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently. 
“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.” 
He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again. 
“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again. 
“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away. 
You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply  and you lost your breath again. 
“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.” 
The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other. 
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caffeinewitchcraft · 3 months ago
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AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied to me about his human job?
I (542 vampire) and my husband (260 vampire) have been together for a little over two centuries. There’s a saying in the vampiric community that it takes a century for a tryst to become an enduring partnership and another century to become soulmates. I thought that was true and that Matthew (using his real name because fuck you, Matthew) and I would be together forever…until this week.
First, let me explain a few things to the mortals here. I don’t mean that negatively – I came here specifically to get the opinion of those with a finite lifespan. However, I want to be fair to Matthew as much as possible and some of his decisions are very immortal-minded.
Both Matthew and I are vampires who have chosen to forsake some of our powers in exchange for the ability to daywalk. We made the transition together on our 100th anniversary almost 115 years ago. It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I was very dependent on human blood and I spent the first twenty years in almost constant sleep as my body adjusted to running off of less lunar magic and more solar magic.
It really felt like I was losing everything. My body got physically weaker and my powers began to disappear one by one. It felt like every time I woke, another part of me was missing. One day I could turn into a wolf, the next I could barely turn into a vapor. I could command a legion of undying servants, and then I could barely convince the mailman he didn’t see me levitate down from the second floor.
Matthew, however, took to daywalking like a werewolf to a sheep farm. He barely seemed to feel the pain of losing his power, maybe because he was so much younger than me. Whatever the case, he was out all the time once he stabilized. He would be gone for days sometimes and when he came back it was with fantastic stories about the humans’ new inventions or the new structures being built in whatever town we were in.
I’m not saying I regret transitioning. Just that Matthew and I had very different experiences. It felt like he barely changed at all while my entire being got rewritten. Being immortal makes you comfortable in your own skin. I never doubted myself or my power after I turned 100. But becoming a daywalker made me feel like I was being born as a human again. It was humiliating and vulnerable. I have to admit there were times I resented how easily Matthew did it. I blamed him for not supporting me like I thought he should. I would daydream about draining a human in front of him, showing him what I thought of his fascination with them. I had all sorts of vile and vengeful thoughts. I’m not proud of the person I was and now I’m grateful Matthew wasn’t there to see the lows I sunk to.
Despite all my awful thoughts, I didn’t quit. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I stuck with it and, day by day, things got easier.
After 26 years I began to stabilize. The benefits of being a daywalker slowly blossomed before me.  Now I can say that I am completely happy with my daywalker status and all the changes it’s brought.
I am the most mentally stable I have been since my Turning in 1482. It’s like I’m awake. The fits of rage that used to consume me for months at a time have completely disappeared. I don’t experience the same level of obsession I used to which has freed up a lot of my time that I used to spend stalking my victims.
However, that drastic of a change would be challenging in any relationship. Matthew and I ended up together because of my obsessive nature. Our relationship became strained when that part of me went dormant. He expected me to follow his immersion into the human world just as I had followed him in his revenge quest against his Master. He expected me to support him wholeheartedly and with everything I was. He wanted sacrifices from me that I used to not even flinch at before making. But something was just…different. We wanted different things. I wanted different things.
Matthew was obsessed with being the perfect human. He craved full immersion. He still makes it a point to get a human job every twenty years or so. Me? I’m happy to live off our investments and some mild mind control while enjoying the art and theater community the humans have evolved.
It got bad. Some years, we spent like ghosts in our own house, drifting by each other without a glance. Other years, it was like we were spies behind enemy lines. He would do whatever he could to thwart me and I would go out of my way to ridicule him. Our vitriol poisoned the earth. Matthew didn’t speak to me for a full decade when that poison killed off an entire town.
About twenty years ago, it all came to a head. We had a serious sit-down talk about our relationship. It wasn’t easy. What they say about teaching an old dog new tricks is sometimes true. Matthew wanted me to be as involved with the humans as he was. He wanted me to care about them like he did. I wanted him to travel with me like we used to and not just hop from town to neighboring town (which he did to maintain a human identity with references so he could keep working). When it became clear that we were at an impasse, I brought up the idea of separation.
Separating in the vampiric world isn’t easy. There are a lot of alliances and blood oaths to be considered. Over the two centuries we spent together, we became known as a unit to a number of supernatural entities that we maintain an uneasy truce with. Separating would mean creating new oaths and alliances with the same individuals. And there was no guarantee that those individuals would make new pacts with both of you. A LOT of vampire couples end up in blood feuds while separating. Neither of us wanted that.
There was also, of course, the emotional side of things. While a lot of immortals tend to only feel muted emotions (especially vampires as old as me), Daywalking had made both of us more sensitive than we’d been before. We were both attached to the memories we shared and neither of us could imagine life without the other. After 200 years together, it felt like Matthew was my right arm, and I his. When I brought up separation, we both felt it like we were discussing an amputation.
After about a year of talking, we finally reached an agreement. We didn’t want to separate, and so we would compromise. I wouldn’t interfere with any of Matthew’s human jobs for the 15-17 years if he could hold them without arousing suspicion. In exchange, he would take a year off to go traveling with me before finding another town for us to live in. In between my trips, he would go to plays and galas with me to enjoy human artistry at least once a month.
Maybe our deal was in his favor. At the time, it felt practical and fair. A year of traveling wouldn’t undo Matthew’s string of connections. We would still see each other frequently by going on dates that I liked. Matthew would get to stay immersed in the human world at the level he wanted, and I could stay within my comfort zone.
Which brings me to my current problem.
We are currently at the start of one of Matthew’s work cycles. He’s been everything from a fireman to a politician to a subway worker to a barista. He craves knowledge and connection to a terrifying degree. If it weren’t for how we move every 20 years and he goes without protest, I’d call it obsession.
This cycle, Matthew told me he was going to be a teacher. I was hesitant. While the humans have become more tolerant and less violent over the years, that doesn’t mean they will tolerate us near their young. Enough humans know about vampires that staking in the modern era is a real possibility. Matthew could incite an angry mob against us or, heaven forbid, get a vampire hunter on our tail. I have yet to be shot, but I hear that they have silver bullets that hurt like Hell.
When I voiced my protests, Matthew reminded me about our agreement. He said that I wouldn’t interfere with his jobs and he’d go to all the plays I liked. He even pointed out that, as a teacher, he could get us into high school plays and expositions. I was uneasy, but agreements are penultimate to immortals. I silenced my objections and let him get a job as a science teacher at a local high school.
When Michael has had jobs in the past, I’ve never really paid attention. One time he was a state senator for ten years and I never even heard him speak. I didn’t consider it worth my time to hear whatever his facsimile of a human would say. Real humanity is in the art they create, not in the parody Michael enacts.
But this one…I couldn’t ignore this one. Maybe it was because I was still uneasy about his proximity to human young or maybe I could sense his lies even at the beginning. Whatever the case, I watched him.
The first thing I noticed was the hours. He would go to work early and would often come home when it was time for us to sleep. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn’t used to grading and that he had underestimated what it took to put a good lesson plan together. I visited some online forums and that’s apparently reasonable for first year teachers.
He would also sometimes go in on the weekends. He missed one of our dates because there was a “grading emergency” that needed his immediate attention. Something about a student’s test getting lost and then found and he needed to input their grade before the deadline which was on Saturday. Humans like silly rules like that so I didn’t even look that one up. I just reminded him that he couldn’t miss our dates again or else he was breaking our deal. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.
Then about three months into his new job, the phone calls started. We have a private room in our house for when we need to talk without any visitors overhearing. Michael moved all his school supplies in there, saying that he needed a silent space to concentrate on his grading. Whenever he got a call, he would never answer it in front of me. Instead, he’d say “Sorry, work” and just go into his office.
I also noticed that he didn’t dress very professionally. Human fashion changes quickly so it didn’t register at first. A sweatshirt here and there slipped past me, and also the Gucci slides. When he started wearing baggy jeans and jerseys to work, I noticed. I may not be up to date on all the newest fashions, but I do go to classy events. I know what a slob looks like and it didn’t sit right with me that he was wearing that to school. When I asked him about it, he always had an excuse. “This is what everyone wears” and “It’s a theme day” or, bafflingly, “It’s spirit week!”
I tried to leave it alone. The reason we have stayed together for so long is because of our agreement to not interfere in each other’s lives. But between his hours, the phone calls, and his appearance, something didn’t add up.
Then, last Thursday, he missed another one of our dates. We were supposed to go to the Nutcracker together. Even though I prefer matinees (when the cast is fresh), I agreed to get us tickets for the evening show so that he wouldn’t have to leave work early. When he wasn’t there at 7pm, I called him and he didn’t answer. Then, when I called him again, his phone was switched off.
I was furious. I spend nearly two decades in these tiny towns so he can live his human fantasy and he can’t even show up for one two hour show? It was the first time since becoming a daywalker that I felt that angry. I was scared about what I might do, so I made myself go home to wait for him.
Only, he never came home that night. At 3am, he sent me a text apologizing and promising to make up our date on Saturday. But the Nutcracker was only playing until Friday and that would be too little, too late. To be honest, it already was. I texted him that and he never responded.
He never ended up coming home last weekend. I texted and called him probably a dozen times and he never responded. I got angrier and angrier as the days dragged by. Did he think I was someone to be taken lightly? Did he not realize that the fragile agreement between us was all that was keeping us from separation?
Yesterday (Monday), I couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to come home or respond to my messages, then I would go to him. If he was so obsessed with this new job that he would ignore me for it, then I knew exactly where to find him.
I arrived at his school at 10am. I researched enough to know how to go to the office and sign myself in. I asked the office assistant which room Mr. Duetto was in.
The lovely young woman looked confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information out to anyone but family,” she said.
“I am his only family,” I said.
She clicked a few more keys and looked more confused. “His paperwork only shows his mother, Delilah Duetto.”
That’s right. His mother. But I still didn’t understand then.
“That’s me,” I said.
“You are not the mother of 17-year-old.”
“I’m his wife,” I said.
She was upset by that. I won’t bore you with every detail, but I had to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call the police. I may not look like someone who has a teenager, but I also don’t look like a teenager. I ended up having to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call human CPS on an apparent adult swearing she was married to a minor.
I went home and broke into his office. There weren’t any lesson plans. There were no graded papers. There were syllabus from different classes, homework with his name on it, and a few polaroids taped to the bottom of his desk of him at a party with children.
Human children. I don’t honestly know which is worse.
(EDIT: I know the child part is the worst part. I misspoke because of my anger. It’s not the humans’ fault that my husband is a pervert.)
I broke into his laptop and used that to check his text messages. He’s been texting like a high schooler. He’s been to parties with them, listened to their problems and even fabricated a few of his own. He’s caught in some sort of weird love triangle where a freshman girl likes him but his “best friend” likes her. He has texted both of them about it, promising his “bro” that nothing is happening and then turning around and leading this girl-child on.
Some choice quotes: I should know better than to get close with you. You and I come from very different worlds
To which she replied, lol maybe we should let our worlds collide
!!!!
I find the entire situation disgusting. Matthew is several centuries older than them and he definitely knows better. He’s literally wearing the sheep’s fleece amongst the flock. He has no business forming relationships with human children and even less pretending to be one of them. He’s not a baby. He is over two centuries old!
What is he doing flirting with a child? It’s vile and disgusting and I was set to kill him for it.
I confronted him about it when he came home last night. I told him that he was sick and dangerous and if he loved humans then he needed to stop immediately. I told him we either left town today or I would make sure he never set foot back in that school in a way he really wouldn’t like.
 He threw a huge tantrum over my invading his privacy. He shouted at me that I had broken my promise to never interfere in his job. He called me controlling and crazy.
I told him he was the crazy one for chatting up a child. He told me he wasn’t, she was just his friend. I asked him to read their texts out loud if he was being so friendly. I also pointed out that there was no way a 260-year-old vampire is a child’s friend.
He told me I was a hypocrite because I basically cradle robbed him (we’re almost 300 years apart.) He said if anyone was disgusting, it was me for taking advantage of him.
I pointed out that he wasn’t a child, he was over 60 and had already been a vampire for four decades. He argued that that was basically being a child in vampire terms.
I was so angry at that point that the house was shaking. I told him if he felt that way, then we could get divorced right then and there. That that was what I wanted to do anyway because I couldn’t be married to a pedophile.
He asked me if I was seriously going to start a blood feud over him immersing himself in human society. I said no, I’m starting a blood feud because he’s become every predatory stereotype humans have of vampires.
He called me a hypocrite again and told me he was leaving. He said not to call him unless I was ready to apologize. I told him that the next time he sees me, he’d better run before I showed him the real difference between us. And it wasn’t just 300 years.
When I calmed down, doubt started creeping in. From an immortal perspective, what he’s doing isn’t really wrong. I hate to say it, but most immortals don’t view human lives as significant. I know a few vampires who would say that divorcing because he’s playing with his food is idiotic.
Plus, there’s the agreement to consider. During our fight, Matthew pointed out that being a student is a job to humans. So therefore I didn’t have the right to interfere. A big part of me thinks that’s bullshit, but a small part of me wonders if he’s maybe right about that?
I also have to ask myself why this even bothers me. I’m the one in the relationship that is aloof from humans. I’m the one that’s always saying we are from different worlds (Yeah, he stole that from me) and for good reason. 
But over the years, I’ve become fond of humans. No immortal makes art like them. I may not remember my time as a mortal, but there are works that give me a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes I think I can remember being a child myself, standing in a field like in Monet painting, staring at the wheatstacks and waiting for the miller to come. 
The thought of Matthew playing with them makes me sick. It’s like even after all the years of him living amongst them, he thinks of them as props in his twisted play. It’s even worse that he’s doing this to children. 
I can’t help but think something went really wrong with my husband when I wasn’t looking. At the very least, I’m planning on divorcing him. But would I be the asshole if I killed him too?
 Separating from him will be violent and messy. There will likely be human casualties. But I don’t see any other way. So, I ask.
AITA for divorcing my husband for lying to me about his human job?
----
Thanks for reading! I loved answering some of the responses I got when I first posted this over on my Patreon (X)!
These collaborative story telling pieces are the highlight of my week. Next week's story is about a witch who wants to know if she should attend her high school reunion even though she's responsible for stripping two former classmates of their magic...
Please check that out here (X) if you''d like early access! Otherwise I'll see y'all next week :)
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roaringroa · 1 year ago
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i feel like i’m going insane like this is going too well
#i gotta calm myself down cause we haven’t even gone on a proper date yet (will do so on tuesday!)#but we’ve been texting everyday since the party aka more than 2 weeks ago? our texts are so fun like i’ve laughed out loud multiple times?#and so flirtly like we basically just made plans to test out our new swimming suits together as soon as exams season is done??#a few days ago she sent me a pic of a dessert she made and when i said i wanted to eat it she told me i would???#and then sent me her adress ‘so i have it in the future’ like???#she is too good at this ahdlahak i’m just trying my best to match#you know what’s crazy? last year i met her for the first time and a month later saw her again at another party#and i didn’t ask her out cause i was gonna travel for like a month the week after that second party#but i kept thinking about her to the point that while i was away when my cousin came out to me and asked me if i was dating anyone etc#i told her i wasn’t but there was this girl i had met twice that if i were to meet a third time i’d ask out#and now i’m gonna see my cousin again in like a month and a half#and by then i don’t think i’ll be dating this girl or anything yet but if it goes well we’ll have had a few share of dates#and like… idk man we still need to talk about what we want out of this like if it’s nothing serious or if it’s something that could evolve#if she doesn’t want anything serious i’d have to ajust my expectations#cause i do think on my end i can see myself dating her in a few months#all of this and truth be told we still haven’t kissed shkahsoaha#tuesday…#my post#ou my god she just sent me a bikini pic i am oficcially deceased she’s too hot wtf how do i even behave i need to kiss her right now
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requiemforthepoets · 5 days ago
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the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy ⟢ LN4
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PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader
SUMMARY: seven years. you and lando had been together for seven years, but it all went down the drain the moment he decided to come clean about the mistake that he did.
REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.
WARNINGS: no use of y/n, breakup, cheating, cheater lando, pregnancy, secret child, mentions of nausea and vomiting, fainting, angst, open ending, math is not mathing (but i tried), some inaccuracies, named side characters (except for the reader), single!mom reader, and minor typographical errors
WORD COUNT: 7.2k
AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic is inspired by niki’s song ‘apartment we won’t share,’ ik that we have diff interpretations for the songs, but i interpret it as the way how i wrote this fic. i’m not planning on doing a second part of this, and just leave it an open ending. but if someday i get inspired, i’ll try and make a part 2 for this, though for now, there will be no part 2 for this fic. i will be leaving the ending all up to you. you comments/reblogs is highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this one.
It had been a long and exhausting week. The lingering ache from your family emergency still tugged at your heart, so to keep off your mind from things, you had spent most of the day sorting through Lando’s things, folding clothes and making sure his suitcase was ready for his flight to another race weekend. It was the kind of task you had done so many times in the last seven years, but this time, it felt heavier, like there was something wrong that you couldn’t quite place.
When Lando returned to Monaco a few days later, you expected him to be his usual vibrant self, but something was off with him. Lando’s eyes seemed heavier, his posture slouched, and smile lacked the spark that you were used to.
“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, voice unusually subdued.
You set down the shirt you had been folding, brows furrowing. “Sure, of course,” you replied, taking a seat on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”
Lando hesitated, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He sat across from you, knees bouncing slightly as he stared at the floor. “You know I love you, right? More than anything.”
A faint smile crossed your lips. “I know, Lan, and you made sure to let me know everyday for seven years.”
He looked up briefly, gaze fleeting before dropping back to the floor. “I need to tell you something, I wanted to be completely honest with you…and it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.”
Your heart skipped a beat. Lando’s tone, demeanor—it was all wrong, and you were getting really nervous by now. “What is it?” you asked, voice quiet, wary.
Lando took a deep breath, his hands now gripping his knees as if to ground himself. “When I was out for a night with the guys a month ago…I messed up.”
Your stomach churned. You didn’t want to interrupt him, waiting for Lando to continue, though every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to demand some answers.
“There was…someone at the club that night,” he said, words slow and measured, like he was forcing them out of him. “It was stupid, an honest mistake. I was so drunk, caught up in everything, and I wasn’t thinking.”
You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “W-What are you saying?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.
Lando finally looked at you, eyes glistening. “I accidentally slept with her. It was a one-time thing, I swear, then she called me last week—I don’t even know how she got my number, but she told me that she’s pregnant.
Pregnant.
The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at him, mind completely blank, unable to process what he had just said. Tears began to blur your vision, but you didn’t wipe them away.
“Lando…” you tried to speak up, but your voice cracked.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was how much I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let my kid grow up without a family. I know how much family means to you, to me. I have to be there for them.”
Your heart shattered into pieces. You could see how much Lando was struggling, the guilt etched into every line of his face. But the pain of his betrayal was unbearable.
“I don’t…I don’t have anything to say anymore, honestly,” you said finally, voice trembling. “Because you had already made your decision—you’re choosing them.”
Lando shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I’m not choosing anyone over you. You’re the love of my life. That hasn’t changed and never will.”
“Lando, you can’t have both,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t stay here knowing all of these. I can’t be a part of this.”
He reached out as if to touch you, but you recoiled. You couldn’t bear his touch right now. “Please love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”
“You already have,” you said softly, standing up and wiping your tears. “I won’t hold you back, Lando. You need to do what’s right for your child. They deserve a family, and I will not be the reason why they don’t have one.”
You walked to your shared bedroom, your movements mechanical as you began packing your things. Every item you placed in your suitcase felt like a dagger to your chest. This apartment had been your home, your safe haven, and now it was just a place you needed to escape from. Lando just stood in the doorway, watching you pack all of your things, his face pale and tear-streaked. He didn’t try to stop you—he knew that he couldn’t.
When you zipped up your suitcase and grabbed your bag, you turned to him one last time. “Take care of both of them,” you said, voice barely audible. “Be the father they need.
With that, you walked out of the apartment, out of the life you and Lando had built together. You had loved him for seven years, trusted him with every piece of your heart. But now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been.
The crisp night air bit at your skin as you stood by the entrance of the apartment building, clutching the handle of your suitcase. Your ride to the airport was just a few minutes away, but the wait felt eternal. You stared blankly at the sidewalk, mind is a chaotic mess, the weight of everything that had happened tonight pressing heavily on your chest.
You heard familiar voices approaching before you saw them, their cheerful tones instantly recognizable. Quickly, you wiped at your cheeks, hoping your red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t give you away. Plastering on a smile, you turned towards Max and Kelly as they walked towards the entrance, hand in hand, their expressions bright despite the late hour.
“Hey! What are you doing out here so late?” Kelly asked, brows knitting in concern as she noticed the two large suitcases beside you.
You hesitated, forcing your smile to stay in place. “I, uh, have a family emergency,” you lied smoothly, voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “I need to head back home for a bit.”
Max tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes scanning you with the protective gaze you had come to know so well over the years. “Two large suitcases for just a quick trip? That seems a bit much,” he remarked lightly, though his tone carried a hint of suspicion.
You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s just…really complicated right now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so I packed extra, just in case.”
Kelly’s hand tightened on Max’s arm as she stepped closer to you, her concern evident. “Is Lando not home right now? Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve helped you pack, we can drive you to the airport.”
You shook your head quickly. “Lan’s already sleeping and I hate to wake him up, he just recently got back from his trip. I also didn’t want to bother you, I’ve already called a car, and it should be here any minute.”
They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced but respectful enough not to press you further. “Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone,” Max said firmly. “We’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but the determined set of his jaw told you it would all be just pointless. Instead, you nodded, grateful for their presence even as it made it harder to hold yourself together.
Kelly gave you a warm smile, trying to ease the tension. “It’s late, but P was asking about you earlier,” she said softly. “She’s been begging to have another day with her favorite Auntie.”
Your heart clenched at the mention of Penelope, and you forced your smile to widen. “I’ll miss her so much,” you said, voice thick despite your best efforts. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”
Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, but before she could say anything, your ride had pulled up to the curb. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. Max then stepped forward immediately, grabbing your suitcases with ease.
“I’ll load these up for you,” he said, tone gruff but kind.
“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as he placed your suitcases in the trunk of the car.
When Max turned back, Kelly pulled you into a tight hug, her familiar perfume bringing a rush of bittersweet comfort. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered. “Whatever’s going on, we’re here for you.”
You nodded against her shoulder, your throat too tight to respond. When she pulled away, Max had stepped forward, wrapping you in a hug that was strong and protective, just like he always was.
“Be back soon, okay? P will be missing her favorite Aunt.” he said, chuckling. “If you need anything, you call me or Kelly. No excuses.”
“I will,” you promised, though you knew that you wouldn’t.
As you stepped back, Kelly offered you a gentle smile. “When you get back, P will be so excited to see you again. You know how much she loves spending time with you.”
The lump in your throat grew, and you could only nod in response. You managed a faint smile as you climbed into the car, giving them one final wave.
“Safe travels,” Kelly called out as Max closed the door for you.
You watched them through the window, standing together on the curb, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. They waved as the car pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wave back again. Instead, you turned your gaze forward, the city lights blurring through the tears that silently slid down your cheeks.
You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.
When you finally arrived back home, the weight of the long hour of flight clung to you like a heavy fog. You dragged your suitcases through the familiar front door, exhaustion etched into every inch of your body. The warm, welcoming scent of your childhood home did little to comfort you, instead, it only amplified the ache in your chest. All you wanted was to collapse into your bed and wake up to a world where none of this had ever happened—a world where your heart wasn’t shattered into pieces. But this was your reality, as cruel as it was.
You definitely hadn’t anticipated seeing your older sister, Noelle, and her husband, Mike, in the living room, seated across from your mother, their laughter filling the space. The sound abruptly stopped when they noticed you standing in the doorway, your pale face and tired eyes a huge giveaway of the turmoil you tried so desperately to hide.
“What are you doing here?” Noelle asked, rising from her seatc brows knitting together in concern. “You didn’t tell us that you were coming home.”
Noelle’s brows knit together as she took in your disheveled appearance, her sharp eyes catching every detail—dark circles under your eyes, stiffness in your movements, and the forced smile you mustered.
“Yeah,” you replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I, uh, needed to come home for a bit.”
Your mother rose from her seat as well, concern etched into her features. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, gaze darting between you and the suitcases you had left by the door.
You hesitated, throat tightening. You had been dreading this moment, knowing full well how much your family adored Lando so much. They had welcomed him with open arms from the start, treating him as one of their own. Now, you were about to break their hearts almost as much as he had broken yours.
“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”
Noelle stood, arms crossed as she gave you a pointed look. “Don’t give me that kind of excuse. You don’t just show up unannounced looking like this for no reason. What really happened?”
You swallowed hard, avoiding Noelle’s gaze. “Lando and I broke up,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
The whole room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, my darling sweetheart,” she breathed.
Noelle, however, was not so subdued. “What?” she exclaimed, voice rising. “What do you mean you broke up? What happened? Did he do something stupid?”
“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” she pressed, tone sharp.
You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “We just…fell out of love. The both of us,” you said, hating the words even as you said then. “We’ve been together for so long, and I guess we just realized that we weren’t the same people years ago anymore. It didn’t make sense to keep on pretending, we’ll just end up hurting ourselves in the long run.”
Noelle’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Lando at all. The man adores you so much, even worships the ground you walk on.”
“He did,” you said softly, chest tightening. “And I adored him too. But people change, feelings change.”
Your mother stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” she asked gently.
You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “It’s for the best,” you lied, voice cracking slightly.
Mike, who had been silent until now, placed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “If this is what she’s decided, we should respect it,” he said quietly, giving you a small, understanding nod.
Noelle just sighed, clearly torn between pressing you for further information and letting it go. Finally, she relented, though her expression was still skeptical.
“I just don’t want you to regret this,” she said, voice more softer now. “You two were so good together.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from breaking down. “I’ll be okay, eventually,” you said, words hollow.
Your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth briefly soothing the ache in your chest. “Whatever happens, we’re always here for you,” she murmured.
“Thanks, mommy,” you whispered, blinking back tears.
As you pulled away, your sister gave you a long look, her expression unreadable. “If he hurt you—” she started, but you cut her off.
“He didn’t,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”
Noelle still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clearly sensing that there’s more to it, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’re all here.”
You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. “Thank you,” you said, words barely audible.
Excusing yourself, you retreated to your old bedroom, closing the door behind you gently and sinking onto the comfort of your bed. The familiar surroundings brought no comfort, only a stark reminder of the life you had left behind. While you lay down, staring at the ceiling, the tears finally came, silent and unrelenting.
You had still protected Lando from your family’s anger, even though he did not deserve any of it, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone.
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The Nausea hits you like clockwork every morning. You found yourself rushing to the bathroom, stomach twisting in protest against seemingly nothing. It had started a few weeks ago, and though you had initially dismissed it as a lingering flu or perhaps the stress with work finally catching up to you, it was becoming harder to ignore. Rest didn’t seem to help you, but you assured yourself that it wasn’t that serious. Besides, you have work to focus on, and that was enough to keep your mind occupied, most of the time.
Two months had already passed since you had left Monaco for good, and life had begun to settle into a new rhythm. Yes, the ache in your chest was still there, but it had been dulled into something manageable. You were slowly rebuilding yourself, piece by piece, though the nausea was an unwelcome distraction.
It was a normal afternoon, while you were curled up on the beanbag chair in your bedroom after a long and tiring day, your phone buzzed. The caller ID that was displayed on the screen made your breath catch for a moment—Kelly. You hesitated before answering, already bracing yourself for the conversation. Her face appeared on the screen, bright and concerned.
“Finally, I caught you!” she said with a smile, though her tone was tinged with worry. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
You shook your head, chuckling and offered her a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kelly. Things have been so busy with me lately.”
Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied your face. “You look tired. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, it’s just a silly flu,” you said quickly, but the faint edge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “Max and I found out about it already, about you and Lando.”
Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Oh.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, expression softening. “We would’ve been there for you. You’ve been through this all alone.”
You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess, and I didn’t even know what to say.”
Kelly’s voice grew firmer. “You didn’t have to say anything, we would’ve understood. Max is furious with Lando, you know. So is Carlos. I even have to break the two of them away from Lando.”
Your heart sank at the thought. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s not worth it.”
Kelly shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “It is worth it. What Lando did to you was unforgivable. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
“It’s okay,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “I’ll move on, eventually.”
Kelly’s expression softened again, and she leaned closer to the camera. “I just wish you’d let us help you. You know we love you, right? You’ve always been family to us.”
“I know,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.
Her face brightened slightly. “But speaking of family, someone’s been dying to talk to you!”
Before you could respond, the screen shifted, and Penelope’s little face appeared, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “AUNTIE!” she exclaimed, voice high with excitement.
”Hi, P!” You said, heart aching at the sight of her.
“I miss you so much!” she said, pouting slightly. “When are you coming back? Mommy says you’re not in Monaco anymore.”
You hesitated, unsure of how to explain. “I miss you too, darling. I just…I had to be somewhere else for a while.”
“But you’ll come back, right?” she asked, her big eyes staring at you expectantly.
You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “We’ll see, P. For now, you have to be good for your mommy and Maxie, okay?”
“I’m always good!” she declared, puffing out her chest.
Kelly’s voice chimed in from the background. “That’s debatable,” she teased, earning a giggle from Penelope.
You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened. “You’re the best, P. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Okay!” she said brightly before turning to Kelly. “Mommy, can we call Auntie again tomorrow?”
Kelly returned to the screen, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll let her rest for now, P. But yes, we’ll call Auntie again soon.”
“Promise?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide.
“Promise,” Kelly said, smiling before turning back to you. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, anything, just call me.”
You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kelly. I will.”
After ending your facetime call with Kelly, you stumbled into the bathroom, your stomach churning violently. The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving uncontrollably. It felt as though your insides were twisting, every muscle tensing in protest. When it finally subsided, you shakily wiped your mouth, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale—paler than usual, and eyes were bloodshot from the strain.
It took you a couple of minutes to compose yourself before heading to the kitchen, hoping the water would help settle your spinning head. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you poured the water, but as you lifted it to your lips, another wave of dizziness hit you. This time, it was stronger. Your grip faltered, and the glass slipped from your hand, shattering loudly as it hit the floor.
The sharp noise brought Noelle and Mike running into the kitchen. They froze when they saw you swaying on your feet, barely managing to stay upright. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything around you was growing hazier. Before you could say anything, your legs gave way beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your vision blackening as you began to lose consciousness. Noelle was by your side in an instant, her hands gentle but urgent as she checked your pulse.
“Don’t worry, she’s alive,” Noelle muttered, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Mike, call an ambulance now!”
Mike didn’t hesitate, rushing to grab his phone and calling for help. You could hear Mike’s voice in the background, muffled and frantic as he spoke to the operator.
“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Mike said, tone clipped, almost too calm for the situation. “My sister-in-law collapsed, and we need help immediately.”
Noelle’s voice cut through your haze, trying to keep you steady. “Come on, stay with me, okay? Just hold on.”
You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even make a sound, but you could hear them both, voices blending with the rush of adrenaline in the air. Mike’s footsteps moved swiftly, his voice growing more distant as he spoke with the ambulance on the phone.
The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sound of the ambulance siren grew louder, and relief flooded Noelle’s face as the paramedics rushed into the house. They quickly assessed the situation, asking Noelle questions about your symptoms and recent health conditions.
“She’s been experiencing dizziness for weeks now,” Noelle explained. “She’s stubborn, didn’t want to see a doctor. This morning she was nauseous, and now she’s fainted.”
The paramedics nodded, lifting you onto the stretcher carefully. Noelle and Mike followed closely as they carried you out to the ambulance. “I’m coming with her to the hospital,” Noelle said firmly, climbing into the back of the ambulance without hesitation.
Mike stayed behind, watching the ambulance doors close with a worried expression. “Alright, I’ll be informing your mother when she arrives, but call me as soon as you know something,” he said to Noelle before they drove off.
Inside the ambulance, Noelle held your hand tightly, her fingers trembling against your own. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, though her voice was thick with concern. “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost there.”
You couldn’t focus on what Noelle was saying. The world had gone dark around you, only the pulse of your own heartbeat reminding you that you were still there, still fighting to stay conscious.
The steady beeping of the machines was the first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes, the sterile smell of the hospital room making everything feel surreal. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, your gaze landed on your sister, Noelle, sitting in one of the chairs beside your bed, her expression a mixture of worry and relief when she noticed you stirring.
“Noelle,” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and dryness.
She shot up almost instantly, coming to your side and helping you adjust into a sitting position in the hospital bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she propped a pillow behind your back.
“Hey, take it easy, okay?” she said softly. She reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before handing it to you. “Here, drink up. Small sips.”
You followed her instructions, taking slow, careful sips, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” you asked weakly, mind still foggy.
“You fainted in the kitchen,” Noelle explained, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell out of us. Mike called the ambulance, and I came with you here. Mom and Mike are both on their way. They’ll be here soon.”
Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door, a doctor entered, her expression professional but kind. Noelle immediately stepped aside, letting her approach you.
“I’m glad that you’re awake now, my dear,” she began, smiling at you. “We’ve run some tests to determine the cause of your fainting and other symptoms.”
You nodded slowly, stomach churning with apprehension. Noelle moved closer to your side, her presence grounding you.
“We’ve reviewed your results,” she continued, glancing at her clipboard before meeting your eyes. “The dizziness, nausea, and vomiting you’ve been experiencing for the past weeks are all consistent with early pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant!”
Pregnant. Pregnant.
For a moment, the words did not register. The hospital room seemed to grow impossibly still, the doctor’s voice fading into the background as you processed the news. Seven weeks. The timeline clicked into place, and your heart sank as realization hit. Seven weeks pregnant. You could hear the faint ringing in your ears, a sharp contrast to the quiet gasp from Noelle beside you.
“I…I’m sorry, what?” you managed to stammer, voice shaking.
“You’re pregnant, dear,” the doctor repeated gently. “Seven weeks along. Your vitals look good, but it’s important to start prenatal care as soon as possible. We’ve referred you to an OB-GYN who will guide you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”
You nodded numbly, unable to form any coherent response. The doctor continued to explain what you should expect in the coming weeks—dietary recommendations, plenty of rest, and the importance of regular check-ups. But her words felt very distant, as if you were hearing them through a fog.
When the doctor finally left, you were left staring blankly at the sterile white wall, the weight of the revelation crushing you. Seven weeks. You did the math in your head, mind racing. By now, you know that the woman Lando had gotten pregnant would be around three months into pregnancy.
Tears began to well up in your eyes, the enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm you. You were carrying Lando’s child. That man had broken and shattered your heart into pieces, and who had chosen someone else, was now bound to you in a way that you could not escape.
“Noelle,” you whispered, voice breaking.
She knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hands in hers. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay?” she said softly, her tone steady and reassuring.
“I don’t know what to do,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. How am I supposed to handle this?”
Noelle’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, eyes full of concern. “I don’t have all the answers,” she admitted, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be here for you—Mom and Mike, too. We’ll all figure this out together, okay?”
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Two years had already passed, and your life was a world away from where it had been. Astrid, your little ray of sunshine, was turning two today. She was the center of your universe, your whole life, her giggles filling every corner of the house you had worked so hard to call your own. It was a beautiful home, just three doors away from your mother’s home, ensuring that Astrid was always surrounded by the love and warmth of your family.
Noelle and Mike, ever the doting aunt and uncle, spoiled her endlessly. They brought over toys, books, and clothes—sometimes more than you thought Astrid needed, but you couldn’t deny the happiness on Astrid’s face when they arrived with surprise in hand.
It’s true that your pregnancy and the early days of motherhood had not been easy, but you were able to survive. More than that, you thrived. With a promotion to a top position at work and a comfortable life for you and Astrid, you finally felt at peace. The past—Lando, was no longer a wound, but now a distant memory you had learned to accept. Your family also had long stopped asking questions about the details of your breakup, and while they knew Lando was Astrid’s father, they never dwelled on it. Astrid had all the love she needed, and that was what mattered most.
But there was one part of your life you had not reconciled yet—Max and Kelly. Despite keeping in touch with Kelly through regular facetime calls, you had managed to keep Astrid a secret. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, it was just too complicated to explain everything. It was already enough that they found out what Lando had done that caused your breakup.
However, when Kelly had mentioned that they would be spending their vacation in your home country and would be arriving the day before Astrid’s second birthday, you had a window of opportunity. It was time to take a step forward. So you had invited them to what you described as a simple gathering at your home. You didn’t explicitly tell them that it would be Astrid’s birthday party—just that it would be a chance to catch up and spend time together.
As the day drew closer, you found yourself torn between excitement and anxiety. What would they say when they realized the gathering that you had talked about was actually a celebration for your daughter? Would they feel hurt that you had kept Astrid a secret for so long?
These thoughts lingered as you finalized the decorations, baked Astrid’s favorite cake, and prepared the house for your guests. But when you looked at Astrid, happily playing with her toys in the living room, the doubt began to fade. This was your life now—a life filled with love and laughter, even if it was different from what you had once imagined.
The backyard was a colorful dream, adorned with streamers, balloons, and a banner that read, Happy 2nd Birthday! and Astrid’s favorite colors painted every corner of the space, and the laughter of children filled the air as they played games and ran around laughing. Astrid herself was the picture of happiness, twirling in her pretty dress, a bright smile on her face as she clung to her grandmother’s hand.
You excused yourself from the backyard, your hands brushing against your dress nervously as you stepped back into the kitchen to double-check the desserts. Rows of cupcakes sat neatly on the counter, each one topped with swirls of frosting and sprinkles. You picked one up, turning it slightly to make sure everything was perfect. Then the doorbell rang.
Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of nerves rushing through you. It had to be Max, Kelly, and Penelope. You wiped your hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door, steadying yourself before opening it. The moment you opened the door, cheerful shouts of ‘surprise!’ had greeted you. Kelly was the first to throw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.
“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Max swooped in for a hug.
“You’ve been hiding!” Max teased lightly, squeezing your shoulder before stepping aside to let Penelope in.
“Hi Auntie!” Penelope chirped, small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she hugged you with all her might.
You bent down to her level, pulling her into a proper hug. “Hi, darling. I missed you so much!”
Penelope pulled back, her face beaming. “I missed you too, Auntie! Can I see your house?”
Before you could respond, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in from the backyard, catching their attention. Kelly tilted her head curiously.
“What’s going on back there?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That sounds like a lot of kids.”
Max glanced at you, an eyebrow raised. “Is this the simple gathering you mentioned?”
A nervous smile tugged at your lips as you stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, follow me.”
You led them through the hallway and out through the glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the yard was buzzing with activity. Children were playing games, some of them are having the time of their life on the bouncy castle, parents chatted near the tables of food, and Astrid was in the middle of it all, her laughter carrying above the noise.
Penelope gasped in delight. “Can I please go play?” she asked, bouncing on her toes as she looked up at Max and Kelly.
Kelly nodded with a smile. “Of course, go ahead.”
Penelope dashed off, her excitement blending seamlessly with the other children. Kelly and Max, however, stood frozen, their eyes scanning the scene. It wasn’t long before they realized that this was not just any gathering.
“Is this…” Kelly began, voice trailing off.
“A birthday party?” Max finished for her, tone laced with confusion.
You nodded slowly, your smile nervous. “Yes. Actually,” you glanced at Astrid, who was now in your mother’s arms, laughing as your mother tickled her sides. “It’s her birthday party.”
Their confusion deepened as they followed your gaze. Max opened his mouth to speak, but Kelly beat him to it. “Her?” she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.
Taking a deep breath, you walked over to your mother and gently took Astrid from her arms. Astrid immediately snuggled into your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at your dress as she peeked at the newcomers. Turning back to Max and Kelly, you smiled, though your heart was racing.
“Guys, this is Astrid,” you said softly. “My daughter.”
For a moment, there was only silence as Max and Kelly processed your words. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, while Max stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper.
“You have a daughter?” Kelly finally asked, voice trembling slightly.
You nodded, holding Astrid a little tighter. “I do.”
Max’s voice was careful, almost cautious. “Where’s her father?”
The question hung heavy in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering just beneath the surface. You looked down at Astrid, avoiding Max’s gaze as you shifted your weight uncomfortably.
“He’s…not in the picture anymore,” you said quietly.
Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. It was clear he had pieced everything together, but decided not to press further. Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at Astrid, who was now peering curiously at him. Kelly stepped forward, her initial shock melting into warmth.
“Can I hold her?” she asked gently.
You nodded, carefully handing Astrid over. Kelly cradled her as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, her face lighting up as Astrid stared at her with wide, curious eyes.
“She’s so beautiful,” Kelly murmured, voice thick with emotion.
Max crouched down slightly to Astrid’s level, his serious expression softening. “Hey there, little one,” he said, playfully covering his eyes with his hands and then revealing them. “Peekaboo!”
Astrid blinked at him, tiny lips began curling into a smile as Max covered his face with his hand again and revealed it with a loud ‘boo!’ Astrid’s laughter was immediate and infectious, filling the air and making Max grin wider.
“She likes you,” Kelly said with a laugh, glancing at Max as she bounced Astrid gently.
Max looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and something more tender. “What can I say? Kids love me.”
Penelope had run up to you with little Astrid in tow, face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, can Astrid play with me? I promise that I’ll take care of her,” she said, her little hands clasped together as she gave you the most earnest look.
You smiled, crouching down to their level. “Alright,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of Astrid’s face. “But remember, she’s still very small, so be careful with her, okay?”
“I promise!” Penelope chirped. “Come on Astrid, let’s play!” she took Astrid’s hand and led her back towards the group of children.
Once they were settled, you turned to Max and Kelly, who were waiting nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and seriousness. You gestured towards the patio table, and the three of you moved to sit down. For a brief moment, there was an awkward silence, only broken by the distant sound of children laughing.
It was Max who spoke first. “So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “are you going to tell Lando about Astrid?”
“No.” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.
Kelly’s brows furrowed. “No?” she repeated, voice a mix of confusion and concern. “You don’t plan on telling him that he has a daughter?”
“Telling him that he has a daughter is not included in my plans,” you said quietly, glancing briefly at Astrid, who was now sitting on the grass with Penelope, giggling as they played.
Max exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “But why?” he asked, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”
You looked at Max, expression calm but resolute. “He had already made his choice and I made mine,” you said softly. “By the time I found out that I was pregnant, he was already committed to building a life with someone else—for their child. I’m not that ignorant, I’ve seen the articles, Max. It’s clear as daylight that he’s happy with them, he’s being the father that the child needs.”
Max sighed. “This isn’t about the articles or public perception. It’s about Astrid. She has the right to know who her father is, and Lando has a right to know about her.”
Kelly nodded in agreement with what had Max just said. “And what happens when she grows up and starts asking questions?”
“I’ll tell Astrid,” you said. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her. But for now, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her to feel like she was a second thought or an obligation. I don’t want to make her feel unwanted.”
Max shook his head slightly. “It’s not fair to Astrid, or to Lando,” he said, voice low. “He deserves to know. He deserves the chance to be a part of her life.”
“And what if Lando doesn’t want to be a part of her life, Max?” you said, voice cracking slightly and gripping the edge of the table. “What if yes, I ended up telling him, and he rejected her? What if I ruin the good thing he has now, for nothing? I’m not going to be the person who will bring chaos to my daughter’s life by trying to force something that might not even work, and I most definitely won't be the one who will tear Lando’s life apart just to ease my conscience.”
Kelly reached out, placing a hand gently on yours. “I understand that you’re scared,” she said softly. “And I understand why you’ve made your choice. But you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But please, just think about it, okay?”
You nodded, though you knew that your decision was firm and wouldn’t change. “Thank you,” you said quietly, looking between Max and Kelly. “I just need you both to trust me on this one. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for Astrid.”
Max hesitated, then finally nodded. “We’ll be keeping this just between the three of us,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us.”
Kelly smiled faintly, her grip on your hand tightening briefly before she let go. “Astrid is lucky to have you as her mother,” she said, voice warm. “She’s amazing and gorgeous, you know. She’s already so full of life.”
You smiled softly at Kelly’s words. “She is,” you said. “She really is.”
Glancing back towards the yard, you watched Astrid and Penelope play together, the sound of Astrid’s uncontrollable laughter filled the air, warming your heart in a way that words could never even describe. Her happiness was infectious, an important reminder of everything good in your life despite the path it had taken to get where you are now. But as your eyes lingered on her, there was a familiar ache that settled deep in your chest.
You couldn’t deny it—Astrid’s features were very unmistakable. Her eyes, so full of wonder and innocence, were a mirror image of Lando’s. Every now and then, when she turned her head a certain way or smiled just so, it was like seeing a glimpse of Lando again. The resemblance was undeniable, and it only grew stronger as Astrid got older. It was a bittersweet reality you carried with you every day.
Yet, despite the pain that came with those reminders, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy. Astrid was surrounded by love—a love so abundant that it filled every corner of her little world. She didn’t need anything else, not when you, your whole family, and everyone who cherished her. That love was enough, it had to be enough.
Letting Lando go was not easy. It had taken every ounce of strength you had to accept that the life you once imagined with him was not meant to be. But you had done it, you had learned to let him go. You had made peace with the fact that you were not the one he chose, and the woman you would never be was the one who was not his.
Someday, you knew, the time might come when you were ready to tell Lando about Astrid, ready to introduce him to the child you both brought into this world. But that day was not today. For now, you would let him continue living the life he had chosen, with the person he had chosen. You wished him nothing but happiness, even if it wasn’t with you.
You also hoped that Lando would one day find everything he was searching for, that he would feel fulfilled and content in the life he was building. Even if it hurts, you wanted that for him, and while he was busy living that life, the daughter you both would not raise together would still be here—waiting for him, even if he didn’t know it yet.
The breakup, heartache, and the choices you made were not what you had wanted, but they were what you needed. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept the fact that love is not enough to keep two people together, and that’s okay. It didn’t make the love you once shared with Lando any less real.
But for now, everything else could wait.
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mephisto-reporting · 2 months ago
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Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel
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Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV
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The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.
Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.
Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.
A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.
But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.
You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.
Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?
Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.
“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.
“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”
“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.
“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”
Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.
Lina.
The name struck like a knife.
“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.
You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.
But now, they came roaring to life.
You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?
Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.
She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.
Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.
But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.
Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.
Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.
Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?
The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.
You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.
You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.
This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.
You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.
Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.
You ran.
The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.
Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.
You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.
How could I have been so blind?
The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.
And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.
You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.
The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.
The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.
You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.
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Rafayel’s POV
The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”
Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”
But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.
The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.
He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.
“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”
Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”
Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”
He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.
Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.
“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.
Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”
The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.
“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—
And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.
“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”
He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.
How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.
Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.
"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"
Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”
Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”
Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”
“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”
“But—”
“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”
After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”
Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.
The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.
“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”
The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?
The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.
The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”
His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.
The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.
He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—
His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.
His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.
“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.
“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.
“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.
Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?
He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”
But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.
“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”
He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this
Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.
Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”
“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.
“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”
You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”
For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.
“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.
Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”
By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.
The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.
His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”
He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.
When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”
You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.
“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.
“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”
You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”
"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.
His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”
Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”
His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”
For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”
“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”
Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”
Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”
“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.
As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.
I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.
He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.
Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”
You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.
“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."
You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.
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AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!
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margotw10bis · 8 months ago
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Better Than Him.JJK [m]
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roommate!Jungkook x reader
Genre: fake-dating; romance; smut; one-shot
Words: 19.6k (oops)
Synopsis: When your boyfriend cheats on you and decides to bring his lover to the wedding you invited him to, you take vengeance by pretending you have a new boyfriend: your hot roommate.
Warnings: broken heart; cheating; alcohol consumption; huge sexual tension between those 2 idiots; voyeurism?; masturbating; fingering; bigdick!jk; protected sex
You should have known. The signs were there but you chose to look the other way. Now, you have to face the consequences of your willful blindness.
Because now, there is no "look the other way" option when your boyfriend is standing in front of you and is breaking up with you.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He has already explained the reason but while your ears can identify the sounds coming from his mouth, your brain, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea how to make sense of the words forming the sentences.
Even if Taehyung has a huge craving of rolling his eyes, he doesn't and repeats himself again — he can't really act angered when he is ending a one-year relationship.
"I want to break up with you because I met someone"
The explanation is clear, straightforward, but so raw. Just as Taehyung didn't care about hurting you or that he never actually cared about you.
"Do I know her?"
You don't know why you want to torture yourself even more because you don't want to picture him with someone else. You don't want to picture the woman in his arms, on his lips, underneath him. But you have to be a little masochist because you still ask.
"Does it matter?" Taehyung sighs
It doesn't but maybe you have a faint hope that you're better than her. That he is so wrong about choosing someone over you.
"I deserve to know, don't you think?" Your tone is more hurt than aggressive
"Siyeon" He says after a long pause
Your heart drops instantly.
Siyeon.
The woman Taehyung has been teamed up with for a few months. The woman he told you not to worry about. The woman you saw in his apartment one month ago but he pretended it was a "professional meeting".
You were so dumb to believe it because who the hell have professional meetings at their home at nine pm with a good bottle of wine and candles?! You were so hurt that you denied the truth. Maybe you thought that catching them together would make Taehyung realize that what he was doing was wrong.
You didn't think that he would actually realize that you were the wrong one for him.
Ever since you saw her, you have been insecure because she is gorgeous. More than that, she is confident — something you know you lack and something you know Taehyung absolutely loves.
You feel humiliated. You'll have to explain to your friends why Taehyung is not in the picture anymore and it hurts. Everyone will know what happened. That you weren't enough for him. That he chose another woman over you.
"Now that you know it's Siyeon, you should also know that I'll go to Namjoon's wedding with her" He adds
What?!
That is mean. So fucking mean. Namjoon invited you at his wedding and Taehyung was your +1. And now he is going to the wedding you invited him with another woman, the woman he cheated on you with?!
You can't take it anymore. You want to strangle him and yell at him. You want to find the most painful words ever just for him to feel a third of your pain. But nothing comes to your mind and you only can stay pathetically quiet as the man you thought was the love of your life walks away with your broken heart.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
Usually, when you come home, you feel soothed. Mainly because you rarely come home to an empty apartment.
After graduating from college, you were like many of your fellows: optimistic about the future but broke. Finding a job took more time than you expected and it was impossible for you to pay a whole rent by yourself if you didn't want to live in a very tiny studio — Seoul has a lot of great qualities but cheap real estate is not one of them. Sharing an apartment became your only option and you spent a few weeks looking for the perfect roommate. Until you found Jeon Jungkook.
To be honest, you didn't want to share an apartment with a man — for all kind of reasons, the main one being that you didn't feel comfortable showing your intimacy to a male stranger. However, as you saw Jungkook's notice, you fell in love with the place. It was luminous, nicely decorated, in a great neighborhood and the two bedrooms were very spacious. With a little apprehension, you met Jungkook so he could show you around your maybe-future-place, and it was even greater than on the ad.
Moreover, Jungkook was sweet and smiling. Very welcoming and you immediately felt comfortable with him. You didn't think twice before signing the lease. You even stayed after saving enough money to have a place on your own.
It's reassuring to live with someone like Jungkook. First of all, he cooks so well. Then, you can always ask him to help you change a lightbulb or refill your car oil. And, most important, he always comforts you when you feel down. He does so much for you that you sometimes wonder what you bring to him...
Yet, you are praying every gods for him to be absent as you're opening the front door. Naturally, it's not your lucky day so he watches you stepping inside with traces of mascara on your cheeks. For once, you wished he was with one of his hookups — it's not something he does much but he is enough of a gentlemen to have sex at the girl's place not to bother you. You have to admit that you didn't take as many precautions as him and you have no doubt he has heard you having sex with your (ex)boyfriend...
"What's going on? Are you okay?" He runs toward you with a panicked face
You blink the new tears away and mumble something like "don't wanna talk about it" before escaping to your shared bathroom. As you look in the mirror, you understand why Jungkook was so worried as he saw you: you look absolutely terrible. Yeah, your makeup is ruined but it's mainly your devastating expression that is obvious.
It's exactly the kind of things you want to avoid when you have to go to a wedding in five days...
The wedding.
Should you go? You're definitely not in the mood. Plus you don't have a date anymore. Plus your former date is going with someone else. Plus that someone else is the woman he cheated on you with. Isn't it the definition of a shitty life?
All of your friends will look at you with pity and you don't want that. You would very much prefer to stay at home and cry over your broken heart with a good vanilla ice cream.
On the other hand, you like Namjoon a lot. He is so great, one of your closest friends. And Tzuyu has become your friend too, she is the sweetest person ever. This day is so important for them and you can't be selfish enough not to go and be by their side. When you spot things this way, being the laughing stock of the party is not dramatic.
And you still have a few days to think about it. You know that your emotions are all over the place so you just have to take a good and hot shower, try to apply some ointment on your poor heart and convince yourself that going to this wedding is a good idea and your only option.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
Your heart and your brain are not friends anymore.
The whole night you've been through pros and cons of going to the wedding. Your brain strongly defended the pros while your heart advocated the cons.
To be honest, your heart was really convincing, spotting that it's too soon to meet your ex again (and it could be the case for any kind of break-ups), that you're too hurt and fragile right now to face the cheater and his mistress and that you'll have to deal with the humiliation in front of all your friends. So yeah, listening to your heart, you shouldn't attend the wedding.
But your brain had good arguments too. First of all, Namjoon. He was there when, in your second year of college, you couldn't find any place to live. He generously offered his couch for all long as you needed, even though you weren't this close to him in the past because you didn't share any class — a normal thing considering you were a sophomore and he was a senior — and your only bound back then was the Newspaper of the University Club. Then, your brain reminded you that this wedding was more than just that: it was a whole trip with your friends. Namjoon, a well-known romantic, booked a hotel on a beach in a haven of greenery in the Philippines. For a whole weekend, you'll get to enjoy yourself on the beach with delicious cocktails made from fresh-cut fruits, and you'll be able to go the spa of the luxurious hotel. It's an appealing program to be true.
But the argument that convinced you was that Taehyung doesn't deserve to have such an impact on you. He doesn't deserve your tears or any kind of thought or attention. You should do what you want and you have nothing to feel ashamed of. He is the one sporting the shame with his actions.
That is why you're feeling a little lighter the next morning when you head to the kitchen in quest of a warm coffee. You're a little surprised to see Jungkook since he usually goes to the gym at this time "to avoid the crowd and focus on the right moves” — quoting. But he hasn't gone to the gym.
He is leaning against the countertop, his arms crossed on his chest — you try your best not to look at the way his biceps are brought out under his large grey t-shirt — and his black hair is messy. But what catches your attention is his tired face. It looks like he hasn't got any sleep last night and his big cup of coffee almost finished doesn't seem to help.
"Good morning" You greet but you wince at your hoarse voice due to your late crying
"Morning" Jungkook waits a few seconds, watching you fill your own mug with the brown liquid "Do you want to tell me what happened? I'm worried about you"
You sigh and your heart squeezes a little — not because of Taehyung this time but because the lack of sleep of Jungkook might have been caused by you.
"Tae cheated on me and then broke up with me"
A sarcastic chuckle escapes your mouth. When you present things like that, you feel ridiculous to even cry over him. You're pathetic and yet, how can you stop loving someone in just one night? You love Taehyung, you have been for a year.
"Y/N..." Jungkook tries to comfort you but he doesn't quite know what to say
You feel it and give him a faint smile when his big palm gently squeezes your shoulder.
"I'll be okay" You promise him and yourself "If I survive Namjoon's wedding, I'll be okay"
You notice the frown on Jungkook's face.
"What do you mean?" He asks
"He is going with..." You can't bring yourself to say her name, it's still too painful "Her"
You don't have to detail, it's clear enough.
Jungkook tenses and a big wave of anger builds inside him.
"The hell?!" He exclaims "He is such a asshole! He has been invited because of you! And now he is going with another woman?!"
It's exactly what you've spent the night telling to yourself and somehow, it's soothing to have someone by your side. Jungkook has the angry side of your pain and it's comforting. You know he won't belittle your feelings or your pain.
"I swear, I can punch the guy, Y/N" He offers
He looks so serious but it's so out of character for him to choose violence. Despite the numerous hours of box training, Jungkook has never fought someone — that you know of at least. You can't help a laugh at his hero behavior. 'Gosh, he is so precious' You think to yourself.
"You won't punch him. And I won't punch him either. I will just go, enjoy this weekend with my friends and show him that I'm completely okay without him"
"You're sure?" He asks, a little worried
You nod and give him a side hug to enhance your answer.
"I'm here for you" He whispers in your hair before pecking the top of your head
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
Plans have changed.
You clack the front door with wrath as you enter your apartment, shaking the whole wall, and growl when you take off your shoes. You make them fly around you without too much care.
All this noise attracts Jungkook and his eyes widen when he sees you throwing your bag across the room, hitting a lamp that falls on the floor and breaks. Tears of burning anger roll down your cheeks and your heart is pounding so loud in your ears that you haven't heard your roommate approaching.
"Hey, Y/N, what happened?" He gently questions, trying to guess how to act
It's the first time he witnesses your anger. Usually, you sport your disappointed face — a frown and pouty lips. Just like this one time when Jungkook ate the cake you baked for one of your friends' baby shower. Or when he broke your very expensive moisturizer in the bathroom. But you never yelled or appeared angry at him. He is not even sure you've ever raised your voice at someone. You're the kind of person who chooses dialogue to ease conflicts and always tries to see the others' point of view.
But right now, you look like at tornado of furiousness and Jungkook is quite taken aback.
"I swear, I'm going to kill him!" You scream
You really want to punch something, anything. You are so fucking mad. You've never felt like this before and your shaking body due to adrenaline is very well noticeable by Jungkook. He is afraid you'll have a heart attack.
"Are you talking about Taehyung?" Your roommate asks with caution
"This little... shit!" You yell
Jungkook's mouth falls open. Okay, the situation is damn serious because you never ever curse, let alone insult someone. He doesn't even know how to calm you down and he is sure that you could punch him right now — not that he can't defend himself but he would rather much avoid the fury of your delicate fists at the moment.
"He said I cheated! Can you believe it?! I cheated!"
Now, Jungkook understands why you're so angry. He would be just the same in your shoe. God, he is mad right now.
"He said to Namjoon that he would attend the wedding with her for moral support! I can't even believe it!"
Your voice has slowly changed from wrath to hurt and your screams shifted into sobbing. You're a mess. And your heart has broken a second time after Namjoon's call. Sure, your friend didn't believe your ex and he was worried about you. But still, Taehyung said that and you're sure that he has been saying his little story lie to everyone.
"Let me punch him" Jungkook begs, ready to defend your honor
"I wish but it won't be enough" You cry "I want to make him pay. I want to make him feel like the looser he is. Gosh, I want him to think that I actually cheated"
Your brain is going to all kinds of directions, trying to find a way to take revenge. Until your watery eyes land on Jungkook.
Jungkook. Hot, handsome roommate. Great at everything. Completely at the opposite of Taehyung with his tattooed arm, lip ring and brawny body. He is the embodiment of sexiness. And you know that your ex has always been jealous of him. You clearly remember a conversation you've forgotten for a long time.
"You're sure nothing happened between you and your roommate?" Taehyung asked
“Who, Jungkook?” The idea seems so ridiculous to you that you can’t help but giggle “Yes, I'm sure. He is my friend and I don't think we'll ever see each other other than that" You answered, way too in love with your new boyfriend to even look at another man — even if the said man is a sexy roommate who isn't afraid to walk around shirtless
"I have to say that I don't quite like the idea of you living with him" Taehyung pouted
"Why?" You squeezed his cheeks to tease him
"He looks at you funny sometimes"
"You're imagining things, Taetae" You reassured him "We've been roommates for three years. If we wanted things to happen between us, it would have already happened"
"Come to the wedding with me"
Jungkook is looking at you as if you were crazy. Well, you understand. You just came home furious, then bursted into cries and now you have a new, strong determination with fire in your glossy eyes.
“I—"
But you cut him off.
"Pretend you're my boyfriend"
"What?!" Jungkook exclaims, his doe eyes having doubled in size
"Taehyung has always been jealous of you. If you come with me and we say we're together, I'm sure he'll be mad. He'll think I've cheated for real" You explain
You know you sound crazy but you're too angry and too hurt to reason. You just want give Taehyung a taste of his own medicine. It's not fair to Jungkook because he has nothing to do with this whole messed up situation but he is the only one who can help you.
"Don't you think it'll create more drama?" Jungkook points out
He is not wrong but the risks are nothing compared to your willing of revenge.
"Maybe for him" You concede "But I'm sick of his behavior. He can't cheat, break my heart and act like I'm the villain. This is my friends' wedding and Taehyung is doing everything he can to ruin that for me. I just want to be with my friends and enjoy a nice weekend. For that, I need an ally. I need you. Please, Jungkook. We'll just have to hold hands, dance together and it'll be it. And there is a great gym at the hotel, I saw it on the website”
You’re looking at him with those puppy eyes that your roommate can’t resist. It’s an unfair fight, he knows it. He’ll never win against you and he would do pretty much everything you’d ask right now if it means it’ll heal your broken heart. 
Jungkook sighs. Fuck, you know him way too well for his sake. You didn't have to present the gym part, he would already say yes when you ask him to come with you the first time. To be honest, Jungkook has never really liked your ex. He found him too arrogant and a little bit mean with you sometimes. If Jungkook can be there to protect you and help you to get back at him, he is down for it. Spending time with his roommate in another scenery than your shared flat or the grocery store is just the icing on the cake.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
Step 1 of "Getting back at Taehyung" plan — or "Making him realize that he is a complete asshole and you're too good for him" as Jungkook calls it— starts straight when you reach Incheon International Airport. Your closest friends are here — plus Taehyung and Siyeon — since you've planned to fly together in order to start the celebration weekend right after work. You were lucky enough to find a plane ticket for Jungkook last minute and you had to battle with him to pay — he conceded but promised to pay for the room in exchange.
Only Namjoon and his future wife, Tzuyu, were informed of your new 'date'. That explains the surprised look on your friends' faces and the pure hate on Taehyung's one. You gloat at his reaction, especially at his frown when he sees Jungkook taking care of your both luggages when Taehyung hasn't even thought about helping Siyeon.
"I'm so glad you made it" Hoseok welcomes you with a hug
"Of course, I couldn't miss Joon and Tzuyu’s wedding!"
You greet your friends, carefully avoiding Taehyung and his date, and decide to tease him a little when you introduce Jungkook — something that is absolutely not necessary because they have all seen him already during some hangings out at your place.
"I didn't know there was room for roommates on this trip" Taehyung mumbles
If the others chose to ignore him, Jungkook doesn't. A smirk paints his face and he scoots closer to you, circling your waist with his strong arm in a possessive manner.
"There isn't. But there's room for boyfriends, right love?"
Your cheeks immediately burn. You knew that you'll have to play a role but you didn't expect Jungkook to be this good at it. You're not good at pet names. Most of the times, you called Taehyung by his name or "Taetae" but the words "baby", "honey" or whatsoever have never crossed your lips. You always feel too shy to use them but you guess that the whole point of this is actually to give Jungkook everything you didn't give to Taehyung — honestly, it's not like he's ever deserved it while Jungkook might. Just to show him that he can't compete with your roommate.
"True, baby"
You pat yourself for not stuttering and Jungkook sees your efforts too so he gives you a kiss on your cheek. If he meant to soothe you, it does the exact opposite since you've never been comfortable at being physically affectionate in public.
This little warm up at pretending dating turns freezing when Taehyung turns around to kiss Siyeon on the lips. A bitter taste fills your mouth as you know that he has done it several times when you were still together. Does he like kissing her more than you? This kind of thoughts shouldn't affect you but it does...
"Come on, let's get through security" Jungkook whispers in your ear as he has witnessed the same gesture
You nod and keep your head low in order to hide your pained expression. You're happy Jungkook is with you because he takes care of everything. You just have to follow his instructions and concentrate on not crying in front of everyone.
Thankfully, Jungkook and you are seated a few rows before your ex so you don't have to watch their lovely interactions. And your roommate helps you forget the kiss by reminding you that the whole point of this plan is to show Taehyung that you don't care about him. Jungkook makes sure to choose one of the movies you like on the seat screen and shares his earphones with you.
You wrap your arm around his and rest your head on his shoulder, laughing at the most ridiculous scenes. You don't even acknowledge Taehyung passing by to reach the restrooms. However, the two men share a glance full of male tension. Jungkook watches with a proud smirk Taehyung's jaws clenching and decides to push a little further: he settles his hand on your thigh. As a man, he knows damn well that he would be pissed if the guy he always suspected his girlfriend to have a thing with did that. Jungkook can see in Taehyung's eyes that he suspects him to have touched you like that in the past — the past during which you were a couple and during which he cheated on you.
But this little game is not that important for Jungkook. He prefers giving his attention to you and watches you laugh with a way more tender smile. He hopes that you'll be as happy during the weekend. As least, he'll do his best for it.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
This hotel is even better than on the photos. It's surrounded by the forest and the beach. There is even a beautiful waterfall nearby. All the walls are made of wood and classic glass windows are replaced by big openings, giving the illusion of being in the nature. It's magical and romantic, which means that it's perfect for a wedding.
Your eyes shine in front of the beauty of your location.
"It's amazing" You say to Jungkook, tugging on his t-shirt sleeve for him to look at the view
You squeak in excitement when a monkey appears in front of you, flying from branch to branch. Jungkook points at a tree, a little further, and you notice the gorgeous white flowers on it. You're not good at botanic but you think it might be a magnolia tree. It's the biggest one you've even seen. You are so glad to share that with your roommate because you know that Jungkook loves it just as much as you do.
"Gosh, Y/N, thank you so much for inviting me" He thanks you
You shake your head.
"Thank you for coming. And I'm sorry you had to cancel some of your customers appointments"
"That's okay, I can reschedule" He reassures you — you guess that it's one of the advantages of having his own tattoo shop — and guides you to the reception
Everyone takes their key and you don't miss Taehyung's upset eye when he notices that you and Jungkook only have one key, which means one room.
And the said room is just as perfect as the rest of the hotel. Wood is everywhere and the rest of the fabrics — bedsheets, curtains, towels — are white. If you had to picture heaven, it'd be it. It's perfect.
The bedroom is spacious, giving enough place for a king size bed, a wardrobe, a large TV and two comfortable white sofas. You explore a little more your room for the weekend until you reach the bathroom. Same wood everywhere with a large walking shower. Perfect. It's so beautiful you could cry.
"I don't want to leave. Can't we just move here?" You ask Jungkook, making him chuckle
"Don't tempt me, I might say yes"
You realize that for the first time since your break up you don't feel in absolute pain. You actually feel good. You don't want to be anywhere else right now. And deep down, you know that Jungkook is partly responsible for that. 
After a quick drop at your rooms to change into swimsuits, Namjoon has proposed to walk around to enjoy the beautiful nature surrounding the hotel. Of course, you asked Jungkook if it was okay for him or if he preferred going to the gym. You don't want to impose him any activity because he has been kind enough to accept this whole fake-dating thing. However, he stated that he wanted to see your surroundings and he doesn't regret one bit.
It's beautiful. Tall trees frame the narrow path to the waterfall. The sound of the water, the birds and the faint breeze in the leaves are magical. The little lake created by the waterfall seems to come from a fairy tail.
Jungkook stays close to you, playing his boyfriend role perfectly. He urges you to be careful and holds your hand. You clearly feel Taehyung's eyes burning your back but you do your best to ignore it, especially when Siyeon wears the smallest and more translucent dress ever. You wonder if Taehyung actually likes this style because it's surely not yours — the proof being that you've opted for denim shorts and an oversized t-shirt.
When you are right next to the lake, you throw an eye at your 'boyfriend' but you gulp when you spot the playfulness in his doe eyes. You immediately understand what's going on in his childish brain and you point a warning finger at him.
"I swear to god, Jungkook, if you do that..."
"Do what, baby?" He replies, with a faked innocence
That's vicious because the pet name takes you aback and you don't have time to react. Jungkook slyly wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, making your squeak. He is walking dangerously straight to the water so you secure your legs around his torso, just prevent him from acting upon his idea.
"Don't you dare!" You threaten him
"You said you wanted to go for a swim" He teases, pretending to drop you but immediately holds you tighter
"Jungkook!" You scream, burring your face in the crook of his neck
His airy laugh is contagious. You're happy he's happy. You were afraid this weekend would be an absolutely chore for him but he actually seems to enjoy it.
"Look at me" He says softly
You look at his shiny doe eyes. They've never been so pretty. To be honest, everything in Jungkook is pretty. And his wide grin is to die for. He has the most beautiful smile in the whole world.
His inked hand goes up to your face and you're surprised by the tenderness of his thumb brushing your cheek. Honestly, if you didn't know that you're fake-dating, you would be completely in love. But maybe your weak heart shouldn't react as much... It certainly a side-effect of having your heart broken by your cheating boyfriend and not at all because Jungkook is kind and handsome and sexy and everything that describes 'perfect'.
"I won't let you down" He swears and seals his promise with a kiss on your forehead before putting you down carefully
However, your little bubble explodes with your ex's annoyed and annoying voice. And you understand that Jungkook just put on a show because Taehyung was there. You put far, far, far away the feeling of disappointment.
"Can we go to the beach now? Everyone is waiting for you" Taehyung growls
You shrug your shoulders while you pass by him and Siyeon, not forgetting to grab your roommate's hand.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
Would you dare to say that the beach is even prettier than the tropical forest? Yes. The white and soft sand underneath your feet is warm and comforting. And the sea is painted in a turquoise color. It's official: you want to move here.
You don't resist anymore and you are quick to take off your shorts and t-shirt to jump in the water. Soon enough, your friends join you but you see no sign of Jungkook. Your eyes scan the shore and you almost choke.
Jungkook has taken his Hawaiian shirt off and his perfect chest is on full display. Gosh, he is hot. You take advantage of being away enough to ogle him. Your eyes lick his defined abs and pecs, then his strong biceps, especially the one covered by ink, and finish with his large thighs. You internally curse at his orange swimsuit.
"You've found yourself a great specimen" Tzuyu teases you, wiggling her eyebrows
You laugh it off but your red cheeks speak for themselves. You can't deny that you are flushed by the view of your 'boyfriend'.
You're not the only one to blush at this fine man: you can see some other female tourists whispering, certainly wondering if they should go talk to him. But they don't have time to make a decision since Jungkook walks to the water and skillfully swims to you. You didn't know that swimming could be sexy...
You quickly put your head underwater in order to get rid off your blushed cheeks but you're not sure it works. When you emerge, Jungkook is standing right in front of you with his handsome bunny smile.
"Come here" He urges you softly
Even though the water is too deep for you to plant your feet on the ground, it's not the case for Jungkook who can easily grab your waist and hug you. Automatically, you wrap your legs around his torso and your arms around his neck. You still have in mind your fake-dating plan and cuddling in the warm ocean sets the perfect scenery to play your roles.
You push his black wet hair back and use your 'girlfriend card' to admire his handsome face. Jungkook seems to glow with the drops glistening in the sun.
You swear, your roommate has decided to kill you because he attacks you with cuteness when he softly brushes his bubble nose against yours, making you both giggle.
"They're too cute together" Tzuyu beams, hugging her future husband
You've known Namjoon longer than her but she has become a true friend. She is always nice with you and supports you the same way your friend does. You're so happy for them to have found each other because they're perfect together — even though you're a bit jealous of their love right now.
You want to thank her but as you open your mouth, you're interrupted by none other than Taehyung, in his grumpy mood.
"Who wants to play volleyball?" Your ex asks, a little louder than necessary just to bother you
You roll your eyes, scoot a little away but still stay in Jungkook's strong arms. You know that if Taehyung has proposed volleyball is not mundane but it's because he is quite good at it. He used to play in high school and it might be the only sport he can beat Jungkook at. But he surely bets on your roommate's competitiveness to lure him into his trap.
However, Jungkook refuses — which surprises both you and your ex. 
"Nah, thanks. I just want to enjoy some time with my girl"
Namjoon, Hoseok and his girlfriend, and Taehyung join the beach to prep the game. The rest of your group floats around in the water or intend to swim to the yellow buoy.
"You're sure you don't want to play?" You ask
"Yeah, I'm sure" He reassures you and then bends over to whisper in yours ear "Taehyung is so mad right now, he keeps throwing stares at us. Is it okay if I kiss your neck?"
Your heart skips a bit and you nod, bitting your lower lip. It's suddenly very hot and it has nothing to do with the bright sun above you. You can feel your heart pounding with anticipation and you wonder if Jungkook can see the pulsations on your throat.
Jungkook's lips are soft, sending shivers down your spine when they slightly brush against your skin. The coldness of his lip ring contrasts with his hot breathe. You don't know what's got into you but you press him tighter against you and arch your back. Jungkook lands a first kiss to taste waters, then a second one, then a third one — more heated this time. You just wish he never stops and you don't know why you're feeling like that: it's not the first time someone touches you, even if it feels like it.
You close your eyes as you're trying your best not to moan but it's very hard to do when your fake boyfriend starts sucking on your skin. You have no doubt he can feel your pulse with his lips. His teeth gently bite the new mark before his tongue licks it to soothe the pain. You're very thankful that the ocean covers your hard nipples and that your wetness is indiscernible because one thing is sure: you’re aroused. 
Jungkook takes the time to admire his work. It might be one of the prettiest hickeys he's ever made and he has to admit that the purple mark suits you so well.
"Perfect" He states, more to himself than to you, and he licks his lips
When you open your eyes again, they land on Siyeon. She has clearly watched your interaction and you suddenly feel embarrassed. Sure, it was meant to be a show but weirdly, you would have wished this intimate moment to stay well, intimate.
An unpleasant shiver runs through your body at her death stare. You should be the one to hate her — she stole your man for god's sake! — and you don't understand why she acts so cold towards you. Not that you're willing to befriend with her but still...
"You're cold?" Jungkook asks
You use it as an excuse to run away  — or swim away — from Siyeon and her piercing eyes. You have the distasteful instinct that she has read right through Jungkook's and your lie.
You expected Jungkook to put you down but he actually walks to the shore with you in his arms, holding you tighter as the water levels down on your body. You hug him like a koala and Jungkook smiles softly at the image.
It's only when you are by your stuff that your fake boyfriend lets you feel the ground underneath your feet. He hands you your towel and helps you dry yourself. The gestures are sweet and you wonder if Jungkook is like that when he is in a real relationship or if he just plays his role.
He scrubs his wet hair with his own towel at a rapid pace, shaking his muscles right in front of you. You gulp and look the other way. Just like he wasn't an absolute tease, Jungkook lays on his towel to enjoy the sun. However, you notice his blushed cheeks and you know that a sunburn is close.
"You should apply sun protection" You advise
You thought that he would battle with you — it was usual with Taehyung as your ex-boyfriend often complained that you were babying him — but he doesn't and wastes no time to apply sun screen on his arms, legs, chest and face. You can't only chuckle when he turns white because of the dramatic amount he has put on.
"Can you help me with the back, please?"
"Of course, turn around"
Facing his large back is easier because Jungkook can't see how much you're blushing. You make sure to cover every inch of his skin, massaging his back lightly and insisting on his tattoos. You deny it but you take a little more time than needed just to enjoy his body under your fingertips.
When he turns around, Jungkook gives you his bunny smile with a scrunched nose and you know that many women have fallen under his charm. It's not that difficult to be honest.
"How about a game?" He asks with cheerfulness, holding his phone in his tattooed hand
You nod frenetically, so glad that Jungkook thinks about your habits as roommates. You feel like you both need it not to get too lost into your acting. You and him are used to spend evenings playing this stupid game on your phones, fighting for the win. You have to admit that Jungkook is really good at it but you know all of his technics now, resulting in stealing some victories from him.
You are both laying on your stomachs, typing like maniacs on your screens, gasping from time to time when the other kills one of your players. When you are taking the lead, Jungkook bumps your shoulder in order to distract you but you push him back and go further by typing haphazardly on his phone.
"Yah!" He yells, making you giggle
"Yes!" You exclaim as the victory is yours
"It wasn't fair!" Jungkook pouts and you poke your tongue out to taunt his sore loser side
However, Jungkook takes revenge by tickling you with no pity. You squeak and wiggle as much as you can to escape his devilish fingers but Jungkook's grip is strong. You're laughing so much that your tummy hurts and tears roll down your cheeks.
You don't really know how it happened but Jungkook is now above you. The intimate position stops the childish moment and the atmosphere swifts to something way hotter.
You might be imagining things but it looks like your roommate is staring at your lips. It even seems like he is getting closer. Is he going to kiss you? Oh gosh!
'Oh gosh!' because you want him to!
Your heart pounds and you try to calm down all the alarms in your brain screaming 'your sexy roommate is about to kiss you!' but the kiss never happens.
Because as Jungkook's appealing mouth is only a few inches away from yours, the volleyball hits his head with a comic 'boing' sound.
Furious, Jungkook's head snaps at the players and it's no surprise that Taehyung was the one who threw the ball.
"My bad!" He fakes to apologize
"The hell, man?!" Jungkook barks
You feel the tension between the two men, especially when Jungkook stands up, ready to throw punches. You grab his arm as you're trying to calm him down.
"Kook, it's okay" You say softly
"He could have hurt you!" He replies
"Don't worry, I aim good" Your ex mocks him, indirectly confessing that he did it on purpose — not that you had a doubt
Your roommate's fists clench and you're afraid all this thing doesn't end good. You sneak your hand in his, caressing the back of his hand to soothe him. It seems to work as Jungkook has stopped throwing death stares at Taehyung and is now looking at you.
"It's late anyway" You say "We should head to our room to get ready for dinner"
"Yeah, you're right" Jungkook concedes, eyeing Taehyung a last time as an idea lightens up his face "I can't wait to test this amazing shower with you, baby"
Poking his inner cheek with his tongue, Jungkook is clearly provoking Taehyung but it's so fucking sexy. Actually, you wouldn't mind testing that shower with him...
. ༶⋆˙⊹❀♡
"Oh my god!" You exclaim "You look really good!"
Your compliment paints a smile on your roommate's face but you have to say that he deserves it. As there is a casual diner for tonight — fancy events are reserved for the wedding tomorrow —Jungkook hasn't put a lot of efforts but he is great even, he always is. It's pretty rare you see him without his baggy clothes and yet, his skinny jeans and black shirt are perfect on him. It's like you get to finally see his musculature underneath the fabric.
Walking around at this man's arm is a boost for self-confidence, even though you had to try harder to look one third of his good-looking.
"You're great, too" He tells you, referring to your white calf-long shirt dress "Look, for tonight, I think we should get more... physical. It seems to really drive Taehyung mad"
"That's because I'm not very affectionate in public, it makes me feel embarrassed" You explain
"We don't have to" Jungkook reassures you "I don't want to make you uncomfortable"
"No, it's okay. I mean, isn't it the whole point of faking?"
"You're sure?" Jungkook asks with concern in his eyes
"Yeah, I'm sure" You nod, giving him a small smile
With a final nod from Jungkook, you both walk to the open restaurant. As you are getting closer, your fake boyfriend gets into his character, scooting closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. It's true that you are not used to public display of affection but, with Jungkook's warm body pressed against yours, it's not that bad. Maybe because you're playing a role too.
Unfortunately, you're the first ones to arrive... except from Taehyung and Siyeon already sat at your big table. The air isn't really friendly and you do your best to concentrate on the sophisticated table setting. There are huge magnolia flowers decorating the center and your fingers tickle to put them in your suitcase.
"What do you want to drink, love?"
Jungkook's question drifts away your attention. You're surprised not to have only reacted to his voice but also to the pet name and you know for a fact that it's dangerous for your heart.
As he has suggested earlier, he tugs a lock of hair behind your ear, taking the opportunity to caress your cheek. Instant blush and a dry throat take control of your body.
"I think I'll stick to wine tonight since we'll drink a lot tomorrow"
Jungkook nods, an impressed look on his face at your self-control. Now that he thinks about it, he has never seen you drunk. The few times you both drank alcohol, he clearly remembers that you had only one or two glasses. 'You are such the perfect girl for my parents', He thinks but it doesn't sound as ironical as he first imagined.
"What do you want?" You ask him, but also the two other persons around the table out of pure courtesy "I'm gonna order to the bar"
You just want to run away from your ex and the woman he cheated on you with, especially when they start kissing — in a very inappropriate way in public in your opinion.
"Two shots of vodka" Taehyung replies and you know that he does it on purpose
It wasn't rare that your ex wanted to have shots games, especially with vodka. However, you don't like shots games nor vodka. One day, mad and drunk, Taehyung called you 'no fun', spent the rest of the night with his friends and left you alone in that bar.
You try not to look affected and turn toward your supposed boyfriend.
"Like you said, we'll drink a lot tomorrow so just sparkling water for me. Thanks, baby"
Jungkook's smile puts some ointment to your wounded heart. Right as you stand up, he grabs your hand and pulls on it so your face is at the same level as his. You are both looking into each other's eyes and gosh, you love how shiny his black irises are.
For a second, you think that Jungkook is going to kiss you but at the very last second, his lips aim for your cheek, giving you a sweet peck. You don't know if your heart has stopped or beaten faster... Either way, you just need to hide your redden face.
You escape, exhaling a breath you didn't know you hold. You're a little worried about leaving your roommate alone with the evil couple but you also need time to get your head straight.
"So, how long have you been with Y/N?" Taehyung starts — this question has been on his mind ever since he saw two arriving together at the airport
"Not long" Jungkook answers with a deliberate vagueness, his tone nonchalant
Your ex scoffs, his anger rising slowly in his body. He can't believe that you cheated on him with your roommate! You told him so many times that nothing ever happened and would ever happen between you two and now, you're officially together. That can only mean one thing: you were together before Taehyung broke up with you.
"It's a big change for you, right?"
"What do you mean?" Your fake boyfriend asks with a frown, he really doesn't like your ex's tone
"Well, from what I've seen, you're a guy that likes having fun. Going out, hanging out with friends, partying and so on. It's not really something you can do with Y/N. Honestly, she's boring. But Siyeon, she is everything Y/N is not. Maybe Siyeon could introduce you to some of her friends, I mean, if you want to have fun"
Jungkook is seeing red. His fists clench as much as his jaws but punching Taehyung right now won't do any good. He can't believe that your ex is such a dick.
"Y/N is fun" He bites back "When you want to settle for good and start a future, you don't need to party every weekends. Y/N and I are planning things on the long-term, very long-term"
He swears he can see Taehyung's jaw hanging on the floor. His face is red from anger and Jungkook sports a cocky smirk.
The conversation ends here because you come back and soon enough, your friends arrive. Jungkook doesn't waste this opportunity to grab your hand and kiss the back of it, looking at your ex straight into the eyes. He even goes further in the provocation by gently caressing the forth finger of your left hand.
The diner ends with way less tension than at the beginning thanks to the presence of your friends and the spouses-to-be. Everyone makes an effort to spend a great evening with them and you're so happy, really. But you need some calm. Being around Taehyung and Siyeon this long and pretend like everything is fine is very hard to do. That's why, after everyone has finished their plates, you offer Jungkook a little walk on the beach. For your friends, it's just a romantic moment but for you, it's necessary to gain perspective.
And the light breeze and soothing melody of the waves brushing the sand help. It feels like heaven. Everything is so calm around you, just like you're stopped in time. A parenthesis of happiness shared with someone special...
You don't know how long you walk on the beach in silence. It's not like you need to say something. Not when the reflection of the moon on the ocean is so beautiful. It's peaceful to be around Jungkook. He doesn't have to say anything to comfort you, just him being here is enough.
"I don't think I've told you how thankful I am to you" You break the silence "Really, Kook, thank you so much. For coming with me this weekend and going along with my crazy idea" You both chuckle but the moment is full of emotions "But not only that. Thank you so much for everything you've done for me. You always support me and gosh, I'm so lucky to have you in my life" The intensity of Jungkook's black eyes on you spurs you to add: "As roommate"
Just for a second, his jaws clench before he nods and regains his soft features. That's why you think that you might have imagined it.
"You don't have to thank me. I'm happy to be here and I'm happy to help you whenever you want" He pauses before adding, like a joke or a dig "As roommate"
You both stare at each other for a moment. Jungkook is so handsome right now. He has this honey tan from the day in the sun. You realize that he has more of a man features now than when you moved with him. His jaw is more defined, his eyes more piercing and rarer in their doe shape. But he is attractive, that's for sure. He always has been but you don't know why you notice it way more now.
These thoughts disturb you but you don't have to think about them more because your roommate grabs your hand. His touch makes you forget everything else.
You just wonder why he is doing that: no one is around. You don't have to play your fake boyfriend/girlfriend roles. Yet, you don't move your hand away. On the contrary, you squeeze his big and warm palm and head, hand-in-hand, to your room.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
"Should I sleep on the couch?" Jungkook questions, clearly embarrassed
You have both put your pajamas on, ready for a good night of sleep after all the events of the day. That certainly explains why you haven't talked about the elephant in the room yet: the famous one-bed-situation. Since you're pretending to date, you obviously couldn't take two bedrooms but now, what are you going to do?
You're not kids anymore and the bed is big enough for the both of you. However, you're feeling... weird at the idea of sharing it with your roommate. For you, it's an intimate thing. Yet, you can't let Jungkook sleep on the couch while the whole thing was your idea. But, on the other hand, you can't sleep on the couch yourself when you'll have to be fully operative tomorrow for your friends' wedding.
You are both looking at the bed like it's your worst enemy. Yet, it looks so comfy. It's hard to resist to be honest.
The only solution is...
"We can share the bed"
Your voice is a little higher than usual and you don't think you've ever been this red. But it's okay, you're an adult. It's not such a big deal to have a very handsome and attractive man in your bed, right?
"I mean, if it's okay with you" You add quickly when you spot the surprised look on Jungkook's face
"Personally, I'm okay with it. But are you?"
There is playfulness in his tone and rather than soothing you, it actually makes your heart beat faster for undetermined reasons.
"Yeah, of course" You half-lie — you're not 100% sure you'll survive the tension
"Great then!" Your roommate exclaims but decides to complicate things for you when he takes off his t-shirt, leaving him in his grey jog shorts — because he obviously had to chose grey ones
Your staring eyes push him to give you an explanation.
"Sorry but it's too hot here to sleep with a shirt. But it's nothing you haven't seen, right love?" He teases
Yeah, it's too hot to sleep. Especially when those abs are on display.
You join the bed, using it at an excuse to run away from him. You bite your lower lip and quickly turn around to lay on your side. Facing the wall is the only way to control your want to caress his appealing muscles… You want to slap youself in the face for thinking that because Jungkook is your roommate. Fantasying on him will make living with him very hard and you’re not ready to give up the delicious kimchi fried rice that he sometimes makes in the morning.  
"Good night" He wishes as he jumps in the bed too
"Good night" You reply, your throat a little dry
"Are you okay?" Jungkook worries and scoots closer and rests on his elbow to have a look on your face
Gosh, you're clearly aware of his body right behind you. You can even feel the heat caressing your back. Your own body reacts — or one specific part of your body to be exact.
You nod and shut your eyes close, trying to find sleep as soon as possible. You hear Jungkook chuckles behind you and he gently caresses your shoulder while wishing good night once again and settles on the other side of the bed.
You have to fight every inch of your body not to press yourself against him. You have to remind you once again that Jungkook is your roommate and he only pretends to be your boyfriend. None of this is real. It's just pretend.
But your sleeping body doesn't seem to care.
When you wake up the next morning, your face is resting on his chest, your arm thrown across his torso and your leg clinched around his hips.
You carefully lift up your head and you exhale out of relief that Jungkook is still asleep. You move carefully and slowly to put some distance between your bodies but sleepy Jungkook growls and hugs you tighter.
"Baby..." He mutters in his sleep and gosh, your heart does backflips in your chest
It's just impossible not to die from his cuteness. But there is no time for that because a diplomatic incident between roommates is close.
The first step is to move your leg. But the second you do so, your eyes lands on his morning wood. Red rushes to your cheeks as the bulge is clearly visible in his pants. 'Okay, it's just a physical thing, it has nothing to do with you' You force yourself to remind.
Second step: you gently grab his arm around your waist and push it away. You stop breathing in order to detect any sign of awakening. Thankfully, Jungkook is a heavy sleeper.
Last step of your mission is to get out of bed. You move as slowly as you can and sigh in relief when you're on your feet. You rush to the bathroom, just to witness your blushed cheeks in the mirror. You have to stop reacting so much to Jungkook, your roommate.
But you squeak as your eyes land on your neck: the hickey is well noticeable on your skin. You already know that you'll have to put a huge amount of concealer to hide it — but someway, you don't really want to hide it. You easily convince yourself it’s to get back at Taehyung. 
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
"How the fuck am I supposed to tie it?" Jungkook rants
You peak your head out of the bathroom, your mascara still in your hand. You burst into laugh when you notice Jungkook's tie in a very comical knot. You're pretty sure a 4-year old child would do better. Your roommate throws a death stare at you but it only makes you laugh louder.
"Can you stop?" He growls and tries to tie it again, without success
"Come on, I'll help you"
Your playful smile doesn't leave you as you are walking to him but your heart certainly doesn't miss how handsome Jungkook is right now with his black suit. It's elegant on his fit body, just like it was made for him.
"You're 26 and you don't know how to knot a tie..." You tease him while your hands works on the black fabric, soft as silk
"Yah! It's not like I wear it on a daily basis!" Jungkook defends himself, pouting slightly
Actually, you wouldn't be surprised if he told you that he bought his suit specially for Namjoon's wedding.
"Here you go" You announce when you're done
You swipe away some imaginary dust on his shoulders just to be able to touch him. You admire how the suit wraps perfectly his torso.
"You're beautiful" He suddenly says, voicing your own thoughts about him, and his voice has never been softer
The unexpected compliment makes your moves stop and your eyes lift up to meet his. You can see the sincerity in them and you pat yourself on the shoulder for choosing this long pale yellow with blue flowers dress.
"Thank you" You manage to say despite the tension drying your throat, even more when Jungkook settles his warm hands on your hips
Instinctively, your own hands tighten on his large shoulders and your body gets closer to his. This tension is too much for you and your weak heart. Once again, you have to remember that you are just pretending to date. It's not good for your sake if it looks too real when it's unnecessary because it'll give you hope and then, you'll have your heart broken. And you certainly don't want to have your heart broken by Jungkook because, without completely understanding it, you know that it'll hurt far more than when Taehyung did it.
"We should get going" You state, putting distance as much on a physical plan as on a emotional one
Your roommate clears his throat just like he wanted to clear his mind too and agrees with you. With a weird atmosphere, you two leave your room.
You have about a five-minute walk to pull yourself together and enter your 'girlfriend-who-is-so-in-love-with-her-boyfriend' character — which, you're afraid to say, it's not so hard to do...
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
The wedding ceremony takes place on the beach, with white seats for the few friends that have accompanied you. You're not ashamed to say that you shedded a tear during the vows — giving Jungkook an opportunity to hug you tight and peck your cheek — and you're surely not the only one. The ceremony though was quite simple and quick because Namjoon and Tzuyu have rent one of the reception halls of the hotel.
Just like the rest of the common areas, it's all wooden and white curtains flying away with the breeze. It's not a huge hall but it has enough place for a dance floor, a bar and some tables for lunch. Honestly, it's your dream wedding since everything is so romantic. The only problem is that you don't have anyone to marry...
The man you thought you were going to spend your life with cheated on you and is right here with that girl. And the man you could want to marry is faking your relationship. You don't really know how everything went so out of control recently...
But it doesn't really matter because the said fake-boyfriend leads you to your table, a hand on your lower back. This very hand slightly goes down as you approach your ex. You don't hear it but Taehyung makes a not so nice comment about your roommate, complaining about how you could choose a tattoo artist — basically describing him as a delinquent — when you were with your ex, working at a prestigious law firm in Seoul. This comment makes Jungkook tense, especially his fists and jaws. He could throw punch but it wouldn't be smart — he doesn’t know why his fighting instinct jumps up every time he spots the stupid face of your ex. So Jungkook whispers, loud enough for Taehyung to hear it, something so scandalous that you gasp.
"Can I tattoo my name on your ass? It'd look so fucking cute"
How can he say something like that?! It's so scandalous, so... hot. Thankfully, by the time you should respond, you're far enough from Taehyung and Siyeon for them to spot your words.
"Jungkook!" You scold him but your red cheeks don’t do much to pretend to be firm "Don't say that!"
"Sorry" He apologizes but his proud smile is a clear sign that he doesn't regret at all "But the face Taehyung made totally worth it"
You roll your eyes playfully and push on his shoulder to make him sit down at your table. Since you'll have to say a few words — a little speech you've spent hours to write with Jungkook's help —, you are given the honor to be at the bride and groom's table.
You give a warm smile to Yoongi, Namjoon's best man. Despite knowing Namjoon for some years now, you've never spent too much time with Yoongi. It can be mainly explained by the fact that the black-haired man is not fond of social events and rather much prefers staying at home. The occasions on which you get to see this rare species are per se exceptional. However, Yoongi's beauty never fails to amaze you: his skin is so white, perfect like the most polished porcelain, but his hair is so black, just like his eyes. The contrast is strong, almost supernatural. Perhaps it's also the way that you can't read his face most of the times.
The way Yoongi stays quiet, looking intensely at you and Jungkook, makes you think that he can read right through you. Does he know that you're faking everything with your roommate? Even if he does, he welcomes you with a brief but friendly nod of head.
Jungkook seems to be more at ease around Yoongi than you are, starting the conservation without being offended by the silence from the other side of the table. Someway, a proud smile appears on your face when you watch your (fake) boyfriend trying his best to be friendly with your social circle. You know that, despite Jungkook's nature of friendlyness, he really wants to be appreciated by your friends. It warms your heart that he is doing more efforts in one weekend than Taehyung has done in a whole year of relationship.
You can't help a giggle at Jungkook being totally immersed into his story of how he went to the wrong apartment one time after drinking too much, in the wrong fucking building. You put your hand on his on the table and you're sure that your roommate doesn't even notice how intimately he intertwines yours fingers. He doesn't have to notice actually, because you do it for the two of you, blushing lightly under your makeup.
"It's good to see you happy" Yoongi suddenly says at you after Jungkook's storytime
You're a bit surprised by Yoongi's words though. First of all, because he doesn't talk much. Then, because you were happy before, you mean with Taehyung, right? Didn't you seem happy before? Are you happier now in a fake relation?
Those questions make you slightly frown and you just can respond with a nod of head. You try to deviate the conversation in order to think about that and ask Jungkook to tell the one time he has to take down the whole sink of the bathroom because you thought your ring was in it but it was actually in your jewelry box.
Thankfully, Namjoon and Tzuyu's arrival is a good distraction for your brain, and followed by the food served. You watch Jungkook frowning as he is chewing on his lobster, notifying you that he enjoys the meal very much. You even hear him exclaim a 'damn!' of appreciation.
On your side, Tzuyu elbows you to catch your attention.
"You look so in love. I'm so happy you found someone good after Tae" She whispers
You look in love? On the one hand, it's a good thing that you are fooling everyone but on the other hand, you're not sure to be that great of an actress. Do you look in love because you are? If that so, you are in a big mess.
"Well, Jungkook is nice" You choose to respond, carefully avoiding the part about you being in love with your roommate/fake-boyfriend
"He is whipped for you too, you know. He hasn't stopped looking at you when you weren't paying attention" Tzuyu giggles
Being taken aback is an understatement. You shouldn't pay too much care about what Tzuyu is saying because she thinks you are dating Jungkook. Maybe she just wants to be nice, or maybe your roommate's acting is amazingly believable for the people around you but you, on the other hand, shouldn't believe it too much. It's getting harder and harder to separate the genuine attentions of the friend with whom you've been sharing an apartment for four years from his behaviour as your pretend boyfriend. And you are messing with the two, too.
You clear your mind, swallowing the rest of your glass of wine. You don't want to think about that, you just want to enjoy your friends' wedding and enjoy someone 'loving' you for the weekend, even if it's just pretend and even if it ends tomorrow morning.
This new attitude allows you to recover your usual smile and you don't even mind Jungkook's arm on your chair when the diner is over, just like a protective boyfriend would do.
It doesn't mean that you get to leave your table just yet: now is the time for the emotional —sometimes embarrassing — speeches.
Namjoon is the first one to start. He thanks everyone for coming to the wedding and basically declares his love all over again to his new wife. Tzuyu can't help a few tears during her own speech, insisting that the wedding is just like she has imagined since she was a young girl and that all the guests — minus Taehyung you imagine — are welcomed to their house after their honeymoon.
You are intrigued by Yoongi's speech, wondering what such a quiet person will say in front of a crowd, even though it's just a gathering of a few friends. You are truly surprised to see how at ease he is. It looks like he is doing that exercise everyday, even adding a few jokes. Yoongi doesn't talk for long but that's not surprising. He just expresses his genuine happiness for his best friend and wishes the best for the newly married couple.
When it's your turn, you can't help but feel a little stressed. Jungkook must feel it because he gently squeezes your hand and gives you an encouraging smile.
You stand up and you immediately regret looking at your ex since he is making out with his girlfriend — in quite a disgusting way if someone asks you. You quickly look away, searching for a more friendly face and settle on Hoseok. His sweet smile gives you the courage to start speaking after clearing your throat and swiping your sweaty palms on your dress.
"I'm not used to give speeches but I'm used to talk about love. I think it's no secret for anyone here that I'm a huge romantic. I mean, romantic comedies have no secret for me!" You're relieved to earn a few laughs "And I have to say that I'm a little bit jealous about Tzuyu and Namjoon: it was love at first sight and they haven't stopped loving each other since then. I think we all want to have someone that loves us like Namjoon and Tzuyu love each other. I am so happy to be here to witness your love" You say to the couple, your eyes a little blurring because of your tears "I just want you to be happy every single day of the rest of your life together and I hope I'll be able to stand in front of you in the future and tell you that I found a love just like yours"
You can't stop yourself from looking at Jungkook when you end your speech. You only hear in the distance the cheering of your friends because you are too occupied to try analyzing your roommate's face.
He is looking at you funny and you don't know why. Did you say something wrong?
You don't have time to question yourself more than that since a crying bride hugs you tight and whispers in your ear how touched she is by your words.
When you get to look back at Jungkook, he seems to be the same as always: bunny smile and scrunched nose. You might have imagined everything, after all, you had tears in your eyes...
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
It's dance time.
You wouldn't usually dare to step on the dance floor but Jungkook has whined to you. You finally sighed and took his reached hand. And you don't regret because you are having a lot of fun, dancing with your friends. You don't even care that your moves are not very elegant because, except from Hoseok, your friends are not professional dancers.
You have to admit that Jungkook is pretty good but it's not surprising since the man has no weakness.
However, the whole mood changes when a slow dance fills the speakers. You hesitate to step out of the dance floor but your roommate gently grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him.
You rest one hand on his large shoulder and his tattooed palm wraps the other. Soft, warm and comforting. Just like his personality, you think to yourself. You feel coated in a strange atmosphere but it’s not unpleasant, not at all. It’s good, it’s perfect. You realize that you love dancing for Jungkook, you love how he holds you tight against him. 
“Taehyung is looking at us” He whispers in your ears and you’re surprised to have even forget about him while he is the very reason of you being in Jungkook’s arms “Can I kiss your neck?”
You don’t think twice before nodding — and not because of your ex. 
Your breathe itches when a soft pair of lips lands on your thin skin. Goosebumps cover your body but it’s not like you can’t think about it. All that you can feel is the tenderness of the kisses Jungkook settles on you. It’s divine, truly divine. You’re too caught in the moment and maybe Jungkook feels the same because his kiss turns into sucking. His hickeys on your neck heats to your body, builds tension in you and you’re having a hard time concealing a moan. You wish he’d never stop.
"Your speech was nice" He says lowly, almost out of breathe
He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck so you don’t see the way his dark eyes shines with hunger. 
"Yeah, I changed the end a little bit" You manage to answer
You don't know why your heart beats so fast. It's not the first time you're this close to Jungkook during the weekend but it feels different. You want to touch him more gently, almost with love — which one, you're not sure yet.
"It was perfect. You were perfect"
Is he aware of what he is doing to you? Probably not. Your roommate doesn't know that those sweet, sweet words are the kind of things that makes you fall in love.
At this moment, you realize that you are, indeed, in love with Jungkook. Since when? You don't know and it's not even important. You have a way bigger problem: you are in love with your roommate, who is currently pretending to be your boyfriend. So, it's basically a you-problem and if you tell Jungkook the truth, he will just say that he was acting just like you freaking asked him to!
To sum up: you're doomed.
It's not like you didn't know. Like you said, you're a fan of rom-com. You should have known that you would fall in love at some point, especially when the guy is this attractive... And yet, here you are: just acknowledging that you love your roommate, in a middle of a slow dance, in the most romantic place on Earth.
You sigh at your stupidity.
"Everything's fine?" Jungkook asks with a frown
"Yeah, yeah. I just need to use the bathroom real quick" You let him know
You give him a small smile that disappears when Jungkook gets closer to land the sweetest peck on your cheek, very close to the corner of your mouth. The man is going to kill you.
"I'll wait for you" He promises and gosh, you wish he was talking about your love and not your pee
You nod and run away as quickly as you can, not aware that your ex has followed you.
Your fake boyfriend, however, has seen it clear as day. And he was ready to stop him when Siyeon came in Jungkook's way.
"There is no point" She says, sipping on her glass "You know that Taehyung wants her back, right?"
Even though Jungkook's jaws clench, he nods. He couldn't misinterpret the way Taehyung was looking as you. He was jealous of Jungkook but he was also hurt. And who Jungkook is kidding? You literally asked him to play your boyfriend because of Taehyung. If he asks for a second chance, will you say yes?
"She's with me now" He says with a dry tone
Jungkook doesn't know if he is trying to convince Siyeon or himself. He has a little hope that you won't fall for Taehyung again — for some selfish reasons but also because he doesn't want you to be hurt again.
"Yeah, and Tae is with me but here we are" Siyeon says with bitterness "If they are getting back together, why shouldn't we be together? We could have some fun" She adds with her seductive honey voice
Siyeon is beautiful, Jungkook acknowledges that. And she is damn good at flirting, scooting closer to your roommate, almost touching him. But Jungkook can't do that to you. He is supposed to be your boyfriend and it would be pretty fucked up if he was involved with the woman your ex cheated on you with. More than that, he is not attracted by Siyeon at all.
"Like I said, I'm with Y/N"
Jungkook's tone is a little harsher.
"And like I said, Taehyung wants her back"
Jungkook doesn't know why this memory comes to his mind right now. Maybe it's just defense mechanism: it comes to his mind to reassure him that you won't actually get back together with Taehyung. It's strange though because he has tried so hard in the past to erase it from his brain... But right now, it can't fight it and this night, the first time you invited Taehyung at your place at the beginning of your relationship a year ago, is clear as day.
Jungkook's earphones and video games were quite effective to conceal any noise coming from your room. Your roommate knew that you had a boyfriend, you had told him about it and you looked so happy and excited that he couldn't say 'no' when you had asked him if you could invite Taehyung here. It was also your apartment so you could bring anyone you wanted to be honest. But your caring nature still told you that the correct behavior was to ask your roommate first.
However, Jungkook knew that something would happen in your bedroom tonight, which was making things awkward for him. When you had moved in, Jungkook was very clear with himself not to see you as a woman, just for purpose of healthy cohabitation. He tricked his brain so he could see you like a little sister and it was very convenient when you would step out of your room in the morning with a sleepy face, messy hair and a t-shirt barely covering your panties. After witnessing that scene a few times, Jungkook adopted a new habit: going to the gym before you would wake up.
But now, with a man in your room, you were not your innocent self and Jungkook knew it damn well. It was hard to pretend you weren't probably naked and having sex. Your roommate did not want to hear a single thing about what was going on, which explained the maximum volume of the video game in his ears.
However, he had a problem: he was so fucking thirsty.
After debating for a few long minutes if he should risk it, he decided to be quick and grab a glass of water.
Opening his door, he peaked his head out carefully, waiting if he could hear something but it was quiet for now. 'That's my luck' He thought and basically ran to the kitchen. But well, it was not really his luck because, as he was waiting for his glass to fill up, he heard.
It was faint but he couldn't mistake it: you were moaning. Cute little moans that you wanted to mutter it seemed. From your sounds, it was hard not to imagine how you would look like all naked, pressed against him when he would fuck you dumb, making you scream his name and not those small groans. Jungkook could feel his cock hardening despite his scolding to his body. He didn't want to physically react at you having sex with another man — no, having sex, period. He was ready to run back to his room when he heard your conversation. He knew he shouldn't listen but his curiosity had won the battle.
"Did you finish?" You asked with a small voice
"Yeah" Taehyung replied between his pantings, his smile noticeable in his voice "And you?"
"Well... no" You were clearly embarrassed to confess it
Jungkook almost bursted into laugh. Not to praise himself but it was rare he wouldn't make a woman come before him. However, it was not a problem if it happened because some women just need more time to reach the high. He would just eat her out or finger her until both sides were equally satisfied.
However, he wouldn't have imagined your boyfriend's response.
"Sorry, doll, I'm so tired. Next time, okay?"
Your roommate had no problem picturing you nodding at him. You didn't like conflicts, you didn't like contradicting people. Sometimes it was frustrating for Jungkook — he even had had to take your phone when you had called the after-sales service for your computer. The employee had told you they couldn't do anything and, of course, when Jungkook had stepped in and clearly said that he wouldn't give up until you were fully refunded, the employee had seemed to be nicer all of sudden and a magical solution appeared.
"I'm going to the bathroom" You notified Taehyung
Jungkook panicked and was quick to reach his room, your conversation with your boyfriend replaying in his brain. He couldn't understand why Taehyung would do that. He also wondered if it was usual for you not to come when you had sex with him. That's things he knew he shouldn't think about but it was hard not to do when he knew you would have come with him... And Jungkook wouldn't let you sleep without at least two more orgasms just because you deserved it for being this cute and this pretty.
But his body froze when he heard you entering the shower. The bathroom was next to his bedroom and the shower shared a wall with his room. At first, Jungkook thought he was imagining things and that it was just the water running thought the pipes. But no.
You were masturbating.
Jungkook could hear your choked moans, probably when the showerhead was aiming your clit directly. And it was not good for your roommate. It was impossible not to have a boner.
"Oh god!" You moaned, a little louder and Jungkook was gone
He said "fuck it" and freed his hard cock from his sweatpants. He started pumping his dick at your groans, picturing you in this fucking shower pleasuring yourself. He imagined joining you and making you cum while your stupid boyfriend was sleeping in your bed.
"Fuck" You moaned again and it was even more arousing for Jungkook because you never cursed
You were such a good girl, and now you were masturbating right next to him. He wondered which naughty words could come from your appealing mouth when you were fucked good. Jungkook would have loved making you say all kinds of bad words, turning you into a sin when you were the perfect picture of an angel.
"Shit, Y/N..." Jungkook whispered to himself when your image became too vivid for his sanity
Your moans got a pitch higher and Jungkook knew you were close. He increased his pace, stroking his dick insanely fast but he couldn't stop. This moment was one of the most erotic ones of his life: you pleasuring yourself in the shower, having no idea that he was listening to you and jerking off on you.
"Come on, baby, cum for me" Jungkook spurred you even though you couldn't hear him
But it didn't matter because chance made you come right after, and Jungkook finished too, his cum making a mess on his fist and pants.
Even though it was one of the best masturbating sessions of his life, Jungkook promised himself not to ever think about it again because, at the end of the day, what he did was so fucking wrong.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
You made a decision. You looked at yourself in the mirror and found a strength you didn't know you had. And you are sure about it: you are going to step out of this bathroom and you are going to confess to Jungkook.
So what if he doesn't share your feelings? Jungkook is a good man, he won't make a fool out of you and if anything, you know he'll just feel bad for you. But the most important thing is that you are sure of our feelings and you are not ashamed of them. Actually, it's a privilege to have such a friend and roommate in your life.
You give yourself some last words of encouragement and step out of your hideout.
Instantly, all the courage you've managed to gather fades away because you are facing Taehyung. You hate that he can destroy so easily the mere confidence Jungkook gave you. You wished you could just avoid him but he calls you out.
"What do you want?" You ask a little cold
"Give me another chance" He says out of the blunt
Your eyes widen as you wonder if you heard well. You certainly did not expect that. But you also can't believe his nerve: he cheated on you, came to the your friends' wedding with his new girl and now he wants another chance?!
Honestly, if he had asked a few days ago, maybe you would have fall again for him — because you genuinely thought that what you were feeling for him was love — but it's not the case anymore. Not after Jungkook. You acknowledge that it's a strange thing to say when you are actually not in a real relationship with the man and that you have tried real hard to convince yourself that your feelings were not what they looked like. However, now that you have stopped denying, there is no turning back.
You only manage to reply a chocked 'what?', still shocked by Taehyung's announcement.
"I made a mistake. A big mistake" Your ex explains, getting closer to you with hope in his — you hate to say it — beautiful brown eyes "Seeing you with someone else made me realize it. I am so sorry, Y/N, please just give me another chance"
"Are you drunk?!" You exclaim, half choking
"I'm not drunk!" Taehyung defends himself, almost offended "We could start again and forgive each other. You know that I—“ But you cut him off
"Forgive each other?" You scoff "I did nothing wrong, Taehyung!"
"Well, you lied to me when you said that nothing was going with your roommate and that nothing could ever happen" He states
He clearly looks pissed but it's not your problem. You can't believe he is placing on the same level his cheating and your fake relation with Jungkook — well, to be fair, Taehyung doesn't know it's fake and he probably assumes that you've cheated too if you are with someone else this fast after your breakup.
"But I didn't cheat!" You yell, unable to contain your frustration "You cheated on me and you broke my heart but guess what? Thank you because if you haven't, I wouldn't have noticed how bad you are for me. I don't love you anymore and I am not going to apologize for finding a good man who takes care of me. Jungkook is good for me and I'm happy when I'm with him. He makes me happy and I'm in love with him. So please, be respectful to Siyeon and I will act like this conversation never happened"
You turn away, proud of your badass moment but stop and squeak. Jungkook is standing right there. He. Has. Heard. Everything.
If the ground could open and swallow you whole, you'll be blessed. But it stays hard as rock for a greater humiliation of yourself. You didn't plan to confess — if you can call that a confession when you made it to the wrong person — this way.
You stop breathing, not knowing what to say or do. Everything went so wrong so fast.
But as usual, Jungkook saves the day and simply grabs your hand to escape your ex-boyfriend's stare.
. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀ ♡
After the little interaction with Taehyung, neither Jungkook nor you are in the mood for partying. Even though you feel guilty for leaving your friends' wedding party, you know that you'll only ruin the festive atmosphere. Your roommate seems like he doesn't mind and you're pretty sure he feels the same since he has not smiled once, which is rare, but you don't quite get why he is like that.
You don't have to talk to each other to agree with heading back to your room. Maybe being in a more quiet place will help to get your mind straight.
You still don't speak to Jungkook when you reach your door. You don't really know what to say and the same goes for your fake boyfriend.
The awkward air around you spurs you to lock yourself in the bathroom. Honestly, you pray that a hot shower will clear your mind and yeah, it does help a little. But when you grab the knot after changing into your pajama, you don't feel like you're strong enough to face Jungkook. The truth is that you’re embarrassed but you don’t even know why. Is it because he has heard you? Or because he has seen you loosing your temper in front of your ex? Or just because your feelings are all over the place and you don’t know how to deal with it?
He heard everything and you totally terrified that he'll break your heart, even though it's not what he wants. But one thing is sure: you can't hide in the bathroom forever. So you gather your courage and open the door.
You didn't expect to see a defeated Jungkook, sit on the bed with his head in his hands. He must have been like this all the time you were hiding because he is still wearing his shirt, even though he has loosen up his tie around his neck.
You hate to notice how hot he looks despite his... his what actually? Misery? It can't be that.
"Hey" You say softly not to scare Jungkook who is so deep in his thoughts that he hasn't heard you approaching
"Hey" He replies automatically
He lifts his head up and your heart squeezes at his beauty and sadness in his black eyes.
"I think we should talk" You start, not very sure if you're ready for it actually
"Yes, we should" He encourages you with a faint smile
You sit next to him and you wish you weren't that aware of the heat coming from his body. You are sensitive when he is around, it's like you can feel things ten times harder than usual.
"About what you heard..." You wince, embarrassed about how things went with Taehyung — and also you're not sure how much Jungkook has heard actually
"Yeah, don't worry" He cuts you off "I know that you had to act like we are together, so you don't have to mind"
You don't like that. You don't like how cold and hurt he sounds. You don't like that he thinks you lied about your feelings. It's almost painful.
"It's not really how I wanted things to go" You scoff, speaking to yourself more than to him
You're feeling frustrated. You run your hand through your hair and grunt when you destroy the bun you forget you had done. Everything is going wrong. You wanted to confess but it should have come naturally. Why Taehyung keeps messing with everything in your life?
You are so mad against him that you can't even stay sit. You almost jump on your feet and start walking back and forth in front of Jungkook who is looking at you like you are crazy.
"Listen to me, okay?" You find the courage to say after a long minute of silence
You stay straight in front of him, hoping that your feet locked on the wooden floor will help you to get straight to the point.
"I realized something" You continue "This weekend, when I got to spend time with you, I realized that I don't love Taehyung anymore"
You are almost out of breathe with how fast your heart is beating and even more when you see the surprise on Jungkook's face.
"I don't love him. And also, I didn't lie when I said that I love you"
You want to pat yourself on your back for finally saying those words that scared you so much.
"I really, really love you, Jungkook"
You hoped it was like in movies, that your confession brought his confession but he stays painfully silent. Is it the moment you're going to be rejected?
"Can you please say something?" You beg with a broken voice and tears in your eyes
"I don't want to be your rebound, Y/N" He finally says
What?
Does he really think that? Doesn't he realize how perfect he is? That you've never felt something this strong for everyone, not even Taehyung?
"You're not!" You promise "Jungkook, you're not my rebound. You are just... perfect. I don't even know how I could have been so blind. I love you not because of Taehyung, not because you pretended to be my boyfriend this weekend. I love you because you are you"
"Can you please stop talking?" He asks softly, bringing his inked hand to his face and breaking your heart at the same time "You're confused right now, I get it" You want to argue but he doesn't give you time "But you can't do that to me. If you say that you love me just to break my heart afterward, I don't know if I can take it, not after this long of dreaming you would say those words to me"
You're taken aback now. What does he mean? You're afraid to misinterpret and yet, you want to believe it so much.
"I love you" You can't help but say one more time, just because you can't contain your love inside you anymore
You love Jungkook too much for your own good but who cares? He deserves so much.
You just want to feel close to him now, and for that you walk to him and place your body between his manspreading. You cup his so perfect face, admiring his beautiful dark eyes, the little scar in his cheek and his lips. He is so handsome that you're having a hard time breathing.
"I love you" You repeat so lowly that it's almost a whisper
You seal your words with a kiss. And it's the best kiss ever, especially when Jungkook kisses you back. The sensation of the cold lip ring against your burning skin is new but not unpleasant —definitely not unpleasant. Slowly, your hands leave his jaws to tie behind his neck as you're afraid he'll scoot away. However, it seems like Jungkook wants to have you closer — which you are absolutely down for — and grabs your hips to urge you to sit on his lap.
This proximity is great to deepen your kiss. You press your chest against his and your fingers play with his soft and black hair. You honestly didn't know that kissing someone could be this good. And all the stars seem to be aligned for you since Jungkook loves your kiss too, the proof being that he wraps your body with his strong arms, making sure you'll stay against him.
It doesn't take too long for the romantic kiss to turn into something else. Something more... heated.
You just can't help your hips from grinding on his lap, earning a low grunt of satisfaction from Jungkook. He even grabs your waist just to press you deeper, feel you better. You both internally curse at your clothes but you don't want to leave the warmth and wetness of each other's lips.
With regret, you separate from his mouth to catch your breathe but the air is cut off your lungs as you look at him. He is insanely handsome. His hair is a mess, similar to when he wakes up but sexier since you know you're the reason why. He also has this cute side with his faint blushed cheeks, but his lips are what attract you the most: they are glossy by the mix of your salivas and swollen. You even wonder how his lip ring is still hanging on his thin skin.
"Are you sure you want to do this? Because I'm not sure I can stop if we keep going"
You're surprised by the raspiness of his voice. Sure, you know his morning and hoarse voice but right now, it's different. Deeper, sexier and addictive.
You can only shiver, wondering how this voice would sound saying some outrageous filthy words.
You look at him in the eyes and they've never been this dark. But they are beautiful, so beautiful that you stop breathing for a second.
"I'm sure, Kook"
You don't recognize your voice either. You're not sure you've ever sounded this desperate before and yet, you don't care. Because it's true: you are desperate for Jungkook. Everyone seems to know except him and that's frustrating. Doesn't he know that this kiss is the best one you've ever had? That you don't even want to feel someone else's lips on you? Why can't he believe you when you say that you love him?
Frustration from these questions pushes you to capture his mouth again but this time, your hands work on his shirt to open every button. You definitely want to feel more of his skin and it's like a relief when his shirt is open enough for you to caress his bare chest. His skin is soft and warm under your fingertips but his hard muscles are right under it.
You scoot a little over, abandoning his perfect mouth to look at his torso and gosh, what a sexy man he is...
You only have a little peak of his tattoo shoulder and only the upper part of his abs but you are blushing like crazy. Jungkook is too hot to handle, that's for sure, but you don't really care burning yourself.
You run your hands on his skin and you're surprised — and pleased — to feel his hardening cock twitching as you do you.
"You drive me crazy" Jungkook whispers but you're not sure he is talking to you or to himself
The tattooed man buries his face in the crook of your neck to enjoy your touch even more. The second you are getting back at your task on the remaining buttons, he starts setting wet kisses on your throat, which makes you loose your mind. You can't focus on your moves, you only feel his warm mouth on your thin skin, kissing and sucking.
Your roommate smirks a little when he spots the hickey he's done earlier and he can't help but suck on it again, making it bigger and redder. He really much enjoys your choked moans but one thing he doesn't know is how wet your panties are right now. You're happy to be sited because you perfectly know that your legs are as soft as marshmallow.
But this hickey is not enough for Jungkook, not when the shadow of your ex still flows in his head. He wants you to be his, and not only for this weekend, not only for pretending. And he needs a visible proof of that. That's why he creates a whole constellation of purple marks on your throat and it's addicting. If it’s childish, he doesn’t care. 
"Kook" You whine at some point when you reach your limit — you need him right now
"Tell me what you want" He teases you while he knows damn well that you're too shy you ask for it
You bite your swollen lips, driving Jungkook crazy. He really wants to kiss you again but he also wants you to answer, to see this new side of you.
"I-I want you" You decide to settle for, looking away but it's not enough for your roommate
"I'm right here" He says with a smirk
"Please" You whine, your eyes settling in his with all your courage
Fuck, Jungkook thinks. He doesn't even want to tease you anymore. You're too good for him and he can't wait any longer.
With ease, he grabs your waist and settles you on the comfortable bed. You blush even more when he gets rid of his shirt with urge. You brush his firm torso with your eyes and bite your lower lip at the noticeable bulge in his pants.
"Take your shorts and panties off for me" He asks and you deliver 
You're not the most confident person when it comes to sex but with Jungkook, you feel safe. And the way he looks at you, like you were the finest piece of art, gives you some assurance.
"Shit, your pussy is so pretty" He curses lowly at your glistening cunt
His rough fingers slide up and down your wet folds, making you whine. You just need more, you're too horny for teasing but Jungkook doesn't care.
His thumb slowly draws circles on your clit and you can't help but arch your back and grab the sheets in your fists. Jungkook absolutely loves watching you like this. You are so gorgeous all desperate for his touch — just like he is for your love. He didn't know he'd have the chance to see this part of you but now, he is not sure he can get enough of it.
"Kook" You moan as his thumb applies more pressure
"Do you know how beautiful you are?" He asks but slides two fingers inside you at the same time, preventing you from answering 
You gasp and moan simultaneously as the stretch feels so, so good and as his words are the softest ones.
"I'm gonna make you cum so good, baby" He promises
He enhances his pace, kicking the air of your lungs, and his free hand pushes your top higher so he can suck on your hard nipples. The cold metal of his lip ring on your burning skin and his teeth teasing your sensitive buds make it impossible for you to think straight — not that it’s time to do math anyway.
Your right hand goes up to caress or tug on his black hair or push him deeper against you — you can't know.
Your walls start clenching sporadically, a sign that you are close. But it's so good you don't want to stop. However, Jungkook seems to have a whole other plan since he slides a third digit in your dripping cunt.
"Oh gosh!" You chock
"Please cum for me, love"
You hate — love — that he is using the pet name because there is nothing you'd refuse when he does so. You reach the highest high ever, shaking underneath him and clenching on his fingers.
You have to take a moment to reach back to Earth but Jungkook doesn't urge you. He pull off his fingers from your hole and settles sweet kisses on your boobs, neck and cheeks. You're not sure you've ever felt so good. Jungkook is too good. You love him too much, so much that you want to cry but you gather all your strength to prevent your eyes from getting wet.
"You did good, baby" He praises softly, kissing your forehead
The smile that his words has drawn on your face disappears when you watch Jungkook leave toward the bathroom.
"Where are you going?" You ask, panic noticeable in your voice
"You cummed hard and you had a long day, you must tired" He explains like it was evident that you deserved some rest
"But... what about you?" You vaguely point out his crotch
"You don't have to worry about me" He smiles but you pout
It's not that you worry about him, it's that you want him. Yeah, you did come hard but you feel like you would never get enough of him, of his touch. And it took you a lot of courage to get to that point, you won’t chicken out now. 
“I want to feel you” You manage to say with burning cheeks
Jungkook hesitates but a little pouted ‘please’ from you convinces him to come back next to you and kiss you even deeper. You enjoy his weight on your body and you enjoy his warmth, especially when he takes off you top completely. You’re left totally naked under him and you want him to be just like you. You mentally curse at his remaining suit pants but your bodies are too close to each other for you to sneak a hand and free him from his clothes (your only reward is the fabric of his pants rubbing your sensitive clit delightfully). 
Your silenced wish comes true when Jungkook lifts up his body enough to undo his pants and slides them down along with his briefs and god, what a sight! You certainly didn’t expect him to be this big and this thick. You get it now when you heard him on the phone with his friends from time to time, bragging about his size. And still, he is damn modest! 
You stare at his hard member, not really daring to touch it even when you crave to do so. And Jungkook seems to read your mind as he delicately takes your hand and places it around his dick that immediately twitches. Just like the rest of his body, his skin is soft, velvety even, but rock hard — you’re not complaining at all. You are completely hypnotized and you instinctively start some light stroking.
Jungkook closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose since your touch is delightful. Better than he could ever be able to imagine. Even with his cock in your hand, he can feel your shyness yet your tenderness. You’re an innocent girl doing filthy stuff and someway, it makes him incredibly horny. Call it corruption kink, he’d call it love. Now that he has a taste of you, he doesn’t want anyone else to touch you because there is no way they won’t fall for you. 
“Do you like it?” You shyly ask when you brush his tip with your thumb, sending shiver down Jungkook’s body
“Yeah” He says in a shaky breathe
He cannot control a drop of pre cum from escaping, which makes his tip glistening — and appetizing for you — as you spread it with your fingertip. 
You lift up your eyes and meet a very, very hot Jungkook. His eyes are dark, intense but you still can spot some shininess. It tells you that he likes how you touch him. It’s what you needed to gain  confidence and enhance just a bit your pace around his dick. 
Maybe you’re an expert, or maybe you don’t realize it but you are caressing the very sensitive part connecting his tip to his length every time you go up, and Jungkook is two seconds away from losing it. With a low growl, he quite roughly cups your face and kisses you messily. The sudden force and urge that you feel from him is overwhelming and you don’t even know how to move anymore. That’s why your hand stands still on his member that you feel twitching from time to time — especially when the tattooed man captures your swollen lower lip between his teeth. 
“You are so precious” He whispers and his words seem so profound that your heart squeezes “Let me make love to you” 
You nod instantly because there is nothing more that you’d like but then you freeze as reality hits you. 
“I don’t have condoms” You say but disappointment is as noticeable on your face as in your voice 
Jungkook looks at you, amused. He gives a quick and sweet kiss on your nose before heading towards his bag where his wallet is. With a victorious “Ah-Ha!”, he brandishes a metallic square fold. 
It’s your time to look at him funny and, when he realizes it, Jungkook turns a little bit white — a sign of his panic. 
“It’s not what you think!” He exclaims with urge “I didn’t plan to have sex with you — or with anyone! It’s just that I always have one with me, you know, just to be careful”
You wait for him to stop rambling and open your mouth, amused.
“I didn’t say anything” 
The playful smile on your face cocks a brow on Jungkook’s face. 
“You don’t have to speak, woman, I know what you think” He states as his usual confidence comes back 
You playfully push his shoulder with your foot but Jungkook gently grabs it and settles a kiss on your inner ankle. The gesture is so tender, so intimate and so lovely that your heart could melt out of love. He can’t not realize that everyone would fall in love with him when he acts like that. Everyone is looking for someone that makes you feel this cherished and you just wish you were able to make him feel the same. 
The tension builds up when Jungkook marks his way up your leg with kisses. Each one of them draws delightful goosebumps and wets your pussy a little more. When he is close enough to your core, Jungkook kisses your inner thigh one last time before settling a sweet kiss on your clit and you can’t help but giggle like a stupid teenager in love — but well, you’re in love with him. 
You’ve never been this impatient while waiting for someone to put a condom on but Jungkook seems to shake your whole universe. When he is done and has settled his strong body between your opened legs, he looks at you just like he was wordlessly asking for your consent again, which you grant with a big smile and a light stroke on his cheek. 
He still teases you a little bit when he grabs the base of his cock and slides it between your folds. The pornographic moan that escapes your perfect lips drives Jungkook crazy, and he cannot resist anymore. He needs to feel you. So he places his tip at your entrance and almost faints out of pleasure as your tight cunt throbs around him. He has no other choice than to bury his face in the crook of your neck to prevent from groaning your name, which would be very embarrassing this soon. 
His tattooed hand finds yours and he intertwines your fingers in the best possible as he enters you slowly. You can’t help a gasp and squeeze his hand tighter because gosh, he is big. He is definitely stretching you, almost to your limits, and the pain blends into pleasure — something you’ve never felt. 
“You’re okay?” He asks, not without worry, his eyes scanning your face
“You’re big” 
“Sorry” He apologizes, almost embarrassed 
“It’s so good” You reassure him and you witness relief on his handsome face 
When Jungkook captures your lips again, you feel his urge coming back and he finally pushes his whole length into your cunt. You feel full. Jungkook is big and thick, and he fits so well in you. You wish you could keep him like that forever. Your legs wrap around his firm torso to keep him close, to cuddle him. 
When he settles a slow but passionate pace, you feel like in Heaven. You love how Jungkook makes love to you because he is gentle but he still provides deep and strong dick strokes making you see stars. You moan louder and Jungkook curses when you tighten around him. 
“You feel so right” He whispers in your ears before kissing the thin skin of your throat
His inked hand hasn’t left yours and his other one his gently caressing your boob. His hips know how to move to hit that special place inside you. 
“Fuck” You moan and Jungkook remembers how bad he wanted you to say that when he heard you masturbating
It’s even better when you curse while he is fucking you and that thought spurs him to enhance his pace. Long forgotten is the slow and romantic rhythm, Jungkook has turned into a sex freak. The air is kicked out of your lungs, you can’t even moan anymore: your mouth hangs open. 
“You’re so good for me, baby” He praises you “You’re taking me so fucking good”
His words make you clench and you know that he has felt it because his hand squeezes yours equally. You’re completely high on sex, your skin is sweaty and your brain is fogged. The sinfulness of your clapping skins and the light growls — due to his physical efforts and your magic pussy — in your ears arouses you beyond words. You’ve never been fucked like this before and you don’t want it any other way from now on. 
“You like being fucked like that, uh?” He smirks 
“Yes, yes” You chant, your brain fogged with pleasure of his dick pounding into you 
“Perfect little girl is taking a big fat cock” He grunts and god, how sinful he sounds
“More, more!” You beg
Jungkook looks at you with a mix of awe and surprise — since he can’t believe how naughty his little cute roommate is — but he is happy to provide. 
He digs his knees strongly into the mattress and lifts up his upper body, enjoying the view of your tits bouncing at the same time, and makes sure to pound into your dripping cunt rougher. Your whiny moans are so lovely that even if he would love to drive Taehyung mad by making him hear them, he is selfish enough to want to keep them for him only. 
Your brows are furrowed and your swollen lips are parted to let the most beautiful melody fill the room. You look ethereal and Jungkook is afraid he is dreaming. That’s why, with apprehension, he gently caresses your cheek. But you’re real. You are truly under him, his dick is truly sliding inside you and fuck, the way you are creaming it is insane. 
Your hands desperately grab the sheets while his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs to keep them against your chest. It allows him to get a better access to your pussy and fuck, he is pounding into you even harder. At this point, you don’t even know how he hasn’t broken the bed yet — or you. 
“Look at you” He coos as his dark eyes land where your bodies connect — he swears he could faint at his dick in your cunt “So fucking cute. ‘Could fuck this pussy forever” 
You wish. 
“I’m gonna come, Kook” You notify him 
The first orgasm he gave you was amazing but coming on Jungkook’s cock is a whole other level. Your cunt wants to clench but can’t because of his fat dick, which makes it even better. However, the pleasure is almost unbearable. Your hand instinctively finds his and you intertwine your fingers in a strange way as your digits are trapped between his palm and your thigh. 
“Cum for me, love. I want to feel you squeeze my cock” His voice is so deep that it sounds like a growl 
Your eyes shut down and your toes curl as Jungkook fucks you harder to help you reach your high. You have so much pleasure that a tear rolls down and witnessing it, the tattooed man goes insane. One of his hands finds your sensitive clit, drawing quick circles that make your body shake, and the other one squeezes your cheeks not so gently to help him capture your lips in a messy kiss. His sudden power over your body sends you on cloud nine and you cum so hard that you almost faint. You might scream a broken “Kook” but you’re not even sure and gosh, Jungkook doesn’t even slow down. 
He keeps fucking you hard and fast, overstimulating you — triggering a sob from you. 
“Fuck, you’re so hot” He groans before burying his face in your neck to focus on cumming too 
“Please, Kook, I can’t” You tell him as you’re feeling way too sensitive now 
He stops his ministrations on your poor clit and caresses your boob instead, trying to soothe you a bit, even kissing your throat. He prays you to hold on just a bit: the way your walls throb around his cock is delightful and he knows he is close too. You try to help him by running your hands in his sweaty black locks, bringing tenderness into this wild fuck — something that you don’t know how much Jungkook loves actually. 
He growls at the same time he releases his seeds in the condom. 
“Fuck, it was so good” He pants “You did perfectly, baby” 
He kisses your forehead and your heart squeezes out of how gentle he is. You just wish that this moment never stops. That’s why you hold him tighter when he initiates a move to scoot away. You wrap your arms around his neck, hide your face against his neck. You just don’t want him to leave you — both physically and emotionally. It’s so painful to imagine that it’s the last time you get to cuddle him that you can’t help your tears. 
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Jungkook asks, alarmed
“Please, just stay like that five more minutes” You beg
Your wish is granted and even more since Jungkook’s strong arms circle your body and hugs you tight. 
“Please don’t cry” His voice sounds hurt “I hate when you cry, baby”
Gosh, the pet name is not helping you to accept that this moment was actually one moment. 
“It’s just that I love you too much” You confess and your words make Jungkook lifts his head up to look at you 
He looks a bit confused because your tone sounds like an apology. 
“Is that bad?” He questions 
“No but it hurts. But it’s okay that you don’t feel the same” You try a weak smile despite your aching heart 
“I've just made love to you, Y/N” He says, basically scolding you “I love you. I’ve fallen for you a long time ago” 
Your heart stops but this time it’s because you’re too happy to even believe it. You can’t stop yourself from hugging him again and Jungkook hugs you back, smiling wild in the crook of your neck. He settles sweet kisses and makes you both roll on the bed so you’re on top of him. It’s crazy with how much softness you’re looking at each other, grinning like two idiots in love — which you are to be honest. 
“Say it again” You ask
“I love you” 
“I love you too” You giggle and you swear you could fly right now 
“I have to do things right when we come back” Jungkook announces 
“What do you mean?” You frown 
“I have to take you on a date and do all the things cheesy couples do” 
He sounds oddly proud of it. 
“You want to be a cheesy couple?” You tease him
“First of all, we already are a cheesy couple” He kisses your nose, illustrating his point “Secondly, cheesy couples have the best weddings”
If you get to spend your life with such an amazing man, you’ll happily be the cheesiest couple ever. 
Taglist @gimeow @parapiop7 @mylyus-blog @knjjjk @namelesskeid @nesisrey @somehowukook @turn02 @ttanniett @whoa-jo @sncx3 @vsr4197 @lerasi @coralmusicblaze @mimi122880 @missmorningglory @thatgirliehan @daisiesarepretty7 @vkjmjjk @reallygenerouskoala @hoseokteardrop
So sorry that it took this long but I hope that you guys love it 🩷 If you do, please like and comment 🩷
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hyprfixate · 2 months ago
Text
a genetic disposition (to loving you) :: [BC x Reader]
read on AO3
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summary: seeing chan at the genetic clinic when he told you he was too busy to hang out was one thing. noticing he was now significantly taller than he was a couple weeks ago was another.
learning he's been diagnosed with the werewolf disorder is something different entirely.
pairing: bang chan x reader
tropes: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, modern werewolf au, no transformations tho, chronically ill reader, reader has EDS (ehlers danlos syndrome), some angst, slight miscommunication trope
smut warning: masturbation (m), handjobs, blink-and-you-miss-it subby chan, voyeurism, pussy eating (x2), no actual ABO dynamics but that's not stopping Chan from calling himself Alpha, dirty talk, lots of begging, standing/wall sex, cumming inside AND cumming outside.
content warning: talks about being in pain, self deprecating talk, anxiety spirals, very brief internalized ableism, panic attack
word count: 21.6k
author's note: if you saw the three different attempts to post this, no you didn't. enjoy! <3
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Chan was acting weird.
To be fair, he always acts weird. Weird might actually be his default. But this was a different type of weird– a weird that involved canceling plans last minute and making up flimsy excuses about why. 
Today, he was supposed to accompany you to your doctor's appointment. A simple, low stakes kind of hangout. You looked at your phone with a sigh.
Channie: sorry, can we do a raincheck for our hangout? not to sound like a fuckboy but something came up
Channie: i really am sorry babygirl. i'll make it up to you i promise. please tell me how it goes okay?
You let out a small huff of air. You would love to be annoyed, mad even, but at the end of the day, this is Chan, your best friend since elementary school. The guy who held you through heartbreaks and stressful semesters. The guy who memorized your ridiculously complicated Dunkin order. The guy who dropped everything to stay with you at the hospital a few months ago when things got really bad.
The guy you're secretly in love with.
Okay, maybe that was a minor and insignificant detail in the grand scheme of things. Either way, you can't be mad at Chan. 
You: don't worry channie. i'll be okay. I hope your stuff goes well ok? 
Channie: love u, good luck with your appointment, it's gonna be ok
Right. Your appointment.
You'd been having some increasingly bothersome and worrying symptoms for the better part of 2 years now. It started with a noticeable dull ache in your knees that wouldn't go away, reaching a peak now where there's not a single day you wake up pain free. The doctors were just as stumped as you were, and as sort of a last ditch effort, they sent you to a geneticist in the expensive part of the city. Thank goodness for adequate health insurance.
You were a bit nervous, which is why you asked Chan to come with you, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You've been to specialists before. 
Still, disappointment rises in your chest as you finish pulling your hair away from your face and securing it with a scrunchie before grabbing your essentials and heading out the door. You're more disappointed about the fact that he's not coming instead of what he's not coming to. You're getting a little weary and tired of the excuses and him bailing on plans. 
But then you think about the way his voice sounds when he calls you babygirl, and everything seems right again.
The trip to the geneticist office is long, and by the time you arrive, you feel the exhaustion in every joint. For such a high caliber place, it's decorated just as sterile and modern as you were expecting, with white walls and white furniture. When you go to check in, the receptionist hands you a tablet with various forms pulled up and points you to the waiting room.
You settle into one of the white waiting room chairs, balancing the iPad on your lap as you begin working through the forms. The questions start simple enough - name, date of birth, insurance information. Then they get more involved, diving into your medical history.
Have you experienced any of the following symptoms in the last six months?
The list that follows is daunting - joint pain (obviously), muscle weakness (sometimes), unexplained fatigue (who doesn't have that?), difficulty concentrating (depends on the day). You find yourself checking more boxes than you'd like.
Your mind drifts to Chan again. You wonder what was so important that he had to cancel. Usually, he at least gives you a concrete excuse, even if it's something silly like having to wash his hair or visit his parents. Today's vague "something came up" feels different. Worrying.
Before you can stop yourself, you pull out your phone.
You: this intake paperwork feels like the ending of a medication commercial
You: i’m surprised they haven't asked me if i or a loved one has been diagnosed with mesothelioma
The message stays on delivered for a while, longer than you expect. You give up on staring at your phone and turn your attention back to the paperwork.
After a ridiculous amount of questions and an even more ridiculous amount of signatures, you finish the preliminary stuff, heading back to the receptionist desk to hand her the iPad. She gives you a polite nod and smile and lets you know the nurse will be out in a second, so you can wait in the small chair by the double doors.
You're lost in thought, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when you hear the gentle sound of your name called. The sound makes you look up, tucking your phone away and grabbing your bag. A nurse stands by the double doors, clipboard in hand, wearing deep purple scrubs and a smile that somehow makes the sterile environment feel a little more human.
You push yourself up from the chair, joints starting their songs of protest after sitting still for so long. The nurse offers pleasantries that you respond to with your usual politeness. As you're walking towards the open door, you hear a beep and the whirr of an electronic lock unlocking. The closed side of the door swings open and–
There's Chan.
You both freeze mid-step, eyes wide and locked on each other like this is the first time you're seeing each other in years. It feels like it, but you did just see him last weekend at a mutual friend's birthday party. It was a fun night, but he was acting strange and dodgy then, too.
something came up.
You squint at him, not sure whether confusion or anger is winning the war in you right now. He opens his mouth once, twice– words are failing. The most he can do is let out a shaky, “Babygirl…”
You take that moment to really look at him. His hair is in its natural curly state, but significantly more messy than usual, wisps falling over and around themselves. His eyes are red and bagged heavily, and his shoulders seem like they're scrunching in on themselves. He hasn't looked like this since that night in the hospital with you.
Something is definitely wrong. 
The nurse clears her throat, and you remember you're being waited on. You motion wordlessly towards the nurse and he gives you a shaky nod.  
“I'll, um. I'll text you,” he mumbles weakly, holding the door open for you as you walk past. When you do, you can't help but look up at him, like way, way up. More than you usually do. You almost pause again– are your bone problems making you shrink, or is he somehow taller? Why does he look like that?
It's you who nods shakily this time, forcing yourself to tear your eyes away so you don't bump into a wall. It takes concentrated effort not to look back at him while you walk down the hallway, but somehow you manage.
The nurse brings you to an exam room and tells you to sit tight while she gets the vitals cart. You obey, still dazed and confused and maybe even a little hurt if you allow yourself to really feel it. Your phone buzzes less than a minute later, and you don't even have to guess who it is.
Channie: i'm so sorry.
Channie: i can explain. i promise.
Channie: i just.. i need some time before i can
Channie: im such a fucking idiot. i'm so sorry babygirl. please. 
There are a million and one responses in your head, each with varying levels of confusion or annoyance. But, among the haze, the image of his exhaustion floats back to you, and you find yourself folding.
As usual.
You: breathe, Chan. it's ok. 
You: whatever it is, we'll figure it out, yeah?
You: i do wish you told me but. it's okay. I can wait for an explanation.
Channie: you're so amazing. i don't deserve you. 
Channie: i'll call you when you get out ok? i love u
The nurse comes back with the vitals cart and begins prepping materials before you can respond properly, so you send back a heart and slip your phone into your pocket. When the blood pressure cuff tightens around your arm, you wonder if the nurse will notice how fast your heart is beating – though you're not sure if it's from anxiety or the way Chan's voice cracked when he called you babygirl.
Maybe both.
To his credit, Chan truly does make it up to you, in the form of an extended weekend away at his parents’ cabin upstate. The invitation, or request rather, comes a couple days after the geneticist incident while you're in bed feeling anxious over your test results.
Channie: picking u up thursday night, we're going to my parents’ cabin till monday
Channie: had plans?
If anyone else were to text you like that, you'd balk at their audacity. But because it's Chan, there's a growing heat in your face when you simply reply:
You: no plans. promise you won't bail?
He sends you a picture of his already packed duffel bag and backpack sitting by his door, then another picture of him and his laptop that's clearly pulled up to Google Maps. His eyebrow is raised, sinfully plump lips pulled into a smirk as he points at the screen.
Channie: give me some creditt
Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned
You giggle, feeling the perpetual knot of nerves in your chest loosen. A weekend away with Chan sounds like the perfect thing. It'll be a way to get your mind off the maybes and anxieties from your appointment, and a way to spend time with your best friend. 
A win-win.
You spend the next few days packing and gathering supplies for a weekend at the cabin, which isn't as simple a task as it sounds. Chan is adamant that you worry about nothing except getting your stuff together, so he won't tell you what he has planned or what to pack. After losing many back and forth arguments, you toss a little bit of everything in your small suitcase, leaving your backpack for entertainment and snack purposes.
Thursday creeps up slowly, then all at once. Unfortunately, you wake up to deep pain in almost all of your joints– even your fingers seem to be screaming with every movement. Getting ready takes longer than you want, but you push through, and it isn't long before you're sitting on your living room couch, waiting for Chan to let you know to come out. It was a wonder what large amounts of Ibuprofen could do.
You hear the familiar puttering of his engine before his text even comes through, the soft ding of your phone cutting through your apartment.
Channie: i'm here babygirl
Channie: coming up to help w ur bags 
A warm flutter runs through your chest at his thoughtfulness. You're not sure you'll ever really get used to it. 
You push yourself up from the couch, breath hitching when the movement causes a dull ache to radiate down the length of your legs. You pause, gripping the arm of the couch and squeezing your eyes shut for a moment.
It's fine, you reason with yourself. It's not that bad. You're fine.
You're thankful that you had the foresight to pack a suitcase instead of a duffle, at least this way you'll have something to bear your weight on while you walk.
Your jacket is slipped over one shoulder when you hear the buzz from your doorbell. Chan's smiling face greets you when you open the door, looking both insanely handsome and–
“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”
He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest, which is somewhat concealed by the oversized sweater he's wearing. You want to scold him for such a light outer layer in the bitter late autumn, but your words get stuck in your throat as you find yourself tilting your head up further than usual to look at him.
And then you give yourself the pleasure of really looking at him.
His hair is its usual wispy, beautiful mess. He cards his fingers through it as he looks at you, smiling as though about to say something, when suddenly his smile drops, his eyebrows furrowed as he stands up straight.
“You're in pain.”
It’s not a question.  He's providing the information to you as fact. You blink in surprise.
“Yes, I am, but how did you–”
"I can–” He cuts himself off, looking uncertain for a moment before shaking his head. "I just know you, babygirl. You're not putting much weight on your left leg, anyway."
Hm. He caught you there.
“How bad is it?”
You finish shrugging on your jacket. “Um, maybe six out of ten. But I took medicine, I should be– Are you sweating?”
It's a stupid question, because he is, and you don't need a verbal response to confirm it. Sweat is beating at his temples and dampening his hair. Something flickers across his face, but then his expression is back to normal again. 
You watch him flip through a million different responses in his mind, but before he settles on one, he spots your bags next to the door and goes to grab them, slinging your backpack over his shoulder with profound ease. He's moving so fast and he's so jittery that you barely get a second to process everything.
“Chan,” you finally say when he whizzes past you again to put your remote back in the organizer. He pauses, back stiffening like he's a little kid again about to be scolded. He turns to you slowly. “Are you okay?”
You watch him take a deep, shuddering breath, his entire body seeming to expand and contract. The unnatural stiffness in his body seems like he's forcing himself to stay still, and you see his finger drumming patterns on his thigh.
You repeat his name, softer this time. “What's wrong?”
He shakes his head a bit too fast. “No, nothing, I–” He runs his fingers through his hair, pausing to grip the roots to ground himself to this moment. It works for a second. “I'm… okay. I can explain everything later babygirl, I just… I really just want to focus on spending time with you.”
There's a raw edge to his voice that makes your chest tighten. You study his face, taking in the exhaustion, the sheen from sweat, the way his eyes won't meet yours. Every instinct screams that something is wrong, but…
“Okay,” you relent with a sigh. It should be embarrassing how easily you fold for him. It should maybe even be studied. “But you promise that you'll explain?”
He deflates, eyes brightening with relief. “I promise. Chris-Cross my heart.” He punctuates his sentence by putting his hand over his chest.
You can't help the smile that takes over your face at that– the reference to the silly rhyme you'd made up when you were kids based on his English name. A bit of the anxiety in your chest loosens. “Now let's go before the traffic gets unbearable.”
You grab your keys and headphones, giving your apartment one last glance over before following Chan out of the door. By the time you finish locking up, he's already halfway to the elevator, his abnormally long legs quickening his pace. As you try to catch up with him, you can't help but notice his stature– how his shoulders seem broad under his sweater, how he just seems… more.
The elevator ride to the parking garage under your apartment building is quiet, but not uncomfortably. Chan is humming something under his breath, his increasingly restless fingers tapping out the rhythm on his leg. Despite all of it, you feel relaxed. No matter what's going on, this is still your Chan, your person. 
He tosses your bags into his trunk with an ease that perks your entire body to attention. When you go to pull open the passenger door, he beats you to it, adding a dramatic flourish as he holds it open for you.
Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.
In the passenger's seat is a small pink box with a label from your favorite bakery, alongside a nice variety of drinks in the cupholder. He's got a pair of fluffy slippers on the mat by your feet, too, and you can see on the dashboard he's turned the seat warmers on.
“Chan,” you breathe. Your heart is doing strange things in your chest, and you're either feeling extremely touched or about to pass out. “You didn't have to–”
“I wanted to.” You turn to look at him, and he's looking away, scratching the hair at the base of his neck. “Felt like an ass, you know, being so distant and weird. Needed to make it up to you.”
It's entirely unfair that he can just… say those things to you. He's your best friend, so of course he's affectionate– that's just how he's been since you met in third grade. What started with bringing extra GoGurts and tying your shoes when you broke your wrist has just now turned into spoiling you with cabin vacations and things you mention offhandedly that you like. 
No biggie.
He nudges you in the car playfully, making some lighthearted joke about him getting too soft on you. You can barely hear him over the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears, choosing instead to follow his movements in the rear view mirror. You watch as he pauses by the trunk, carding a hand through his hair and taking a big breath, before eventually making his way over to the driver's seat. He tosses his phone to you, effectively putting you on music duty, and then you're on the road in a matter of minutes.
Time with Chan is always easy. You talk about any and everything for the first hour of the drive, including his job, your lack thereof, and your appointment, and he listens to every detail carefully. 
“So, they think it's a collagen issue?”
You nod, wiggling your feet in your new slippers as you shift your position. “They aren't entirely sure, but they're looking at collagen based connective tissue disorders, like Ehlers Danlos and Lupus. They think that could explain the other issues too.”
He looks contemplative as he peers around you to the mirror by your door, trying to merge into the next lane. “Are you scared?”
You shrug, body moving with the car. “Its.. complicated. On the one hand, it would be scary to receive a life changing diagnosis. On the other hand–”
“You're just happy to have answers.”
You nod again, taking a sip of the caramel latte he bought for you and wincing as you shift again. Long drives are always hard, but paired with the changes in the pressure as the two of you drive further into the mountains, your joints feel like they might disintegrate.
“Scale of one to ten?”
You blink. Chan hadn't taken his eyes off the road, so how could he have seen you shifting? You open your mouth, prepared to lie, but he glances at you with a single eyebrow raised. You sigh.
“Maybe a six,” you breathe.
“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”
“It did, it's just wearing off.”
You put the latte back in the cup holder, using your hands to bear your weight as you try to find a comfy position to sit in. 
“What do you need, babygirl?”
You fight the shiver his voice sends down your spine. “Nothing. Well– I don't know. Maybe a nap? Is that okay?”
“‘Course it is. Here.”
With sinfully dexterous fingers, he reaches across your lap to recline your seat for you. You let him, body going still as his strong forearm helps ease you back with the chair. When you're comfortable, he reaches behind him to the floor of the backseat, fishing around until he produces–
“Is that your couch blanket?”
His answering grin is soft. “The one you've been threatening to steal? Yeah. Maybe.”
He drapes it over you skillfully, with you having to do very minimal adjusting. The familiar, homey smell of his apartment– warmth and something else very distinctly Chan – floods your senses and wraps you in the warmest hug. It feels like coming home.
You adjust yourself again, sleep wanting to come now that you're cozy, but the dull ache in your legs doesn't want to let go. Without warning, Chan's free hand slips under the blanket and finds the knee of the leg that hurts with amazing accuracy. His hand feels blazing hot through the fabric of your sweats as he rubs his thumb in soothing circles. 
“This okay, yeah?” he asks, his low voice a soothing sound to your ears. Words are caught in your throat, so you can only nod, but you don't miss how the pain starts to dissolve by his touch. You also try very hard not to think about how big his hand is on your knee.
“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”
The combination of his gentle touch, the music, and the smell of his blanket is making your eyelids heavy. As you finally drift off, a contented smile pulls at your mouth because no matter what, this is where you're meant to be. 
This is home.
Chan wakes you up about half an hour before you're expected to arrive. However, paired with delays, the pitch blackness of the mountains, and the general unrestrainedness of Murphy's Law, you were only now getting to the cabin at just past 1am. 
The cabin is beautiful, as always. It's nestled amidst a thick grove of evergreen trees, and its tall, warm wood exterior seems inviting even at the ungodly hour you two arrive. As he swings the car onto the gravel driveway, the headlights illuminate it, like it’s a secret just for the two of you.
“Cabin sweet cabin,” he murmurs as he kills the engine. He picks his phone up from the cup holder and gives it a few flicks, then suddenly the porch lights come on. You give a little stretch in your seat, your joints feeling pleasantly loose and mostly pain free– the nap worked wonders. 
The two of you pile out of the car, the fresh mountain air filling your nostrils. It smells like pine needles and freshwater, with an undercurrent of something wild and electric, like the air before a storm.
“Is it supposed to rain?”
Chan barely hears you, his antsyness now back full force. He's got both of your backpacks and his duffle bag slung over his shoulders, and he goes to grab your suitcase, but you appear by his side and pull it away from him. He blinks down at you, seeming surprised to see you there.
You tilt your head to the side. He still looks sweaty, and from where you're standing, it still seems like he's radiating an insane amount of heat. His breaths are labored, and you find yourself reaching over to rub your thumb over his hand. However, once your hands connect, he jumps and pulls away like you've shocked him.
At your hurt face, he tries to backtrack. “Static,” he supplies weakly. You say nothing, and the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Come on, let's get you out of the cold.”
You try not to jump to conclusions. At the end of the day, if something is really bothering him, if something is really wrong, Chan will tell you. He has always been the brooding type, but there is but so long he can keep things from you.
Still, no matter how much you try to take things at his pace, you keep seeing his face at the clinic: the deep bags under his eyes, the messy hair. The last time you looked into those eyes and saw that same pain, you were in a hospital bed hooked up to more monitors than you could count.
Chan had been brooding then too, refusing to leave your side, asking the doctors all the right questions, keeping your parents up to date when they had to go back home. You remember one night in particular, when you were chalk full of pain meds and falling asleep under the whirr of an oxygen mask, he'd stood at your bedside and rubbed his thumb over your forehead to soothe you. You couldn't speak, too exhausted and in pain to move in any capacity, but you didn't need to. He spoke to you the entire time about everything and nothing, switching his  murmuring to quiet comforts when you started to cry. Just before sleep took you under, you met his eyes– his exhausted, red rimmed eyes– and he gave you the softest, most tender look.
“We'll get through it, babygirl,” he had murmured. “You're gonna be okay. You'll come home.”
You did come home, of course, but that's when things became different. Chan was distant, constantly canceling plans, avoiding you.
You shake the memory from your head as you watch him fiddle with his keys in the lock. This weekend was meant to be about the two of you having fun. You could worry about everything else later.
Chan flicks on the overhead light in the living room area and the room floods with warmth. Everything looks just as familiar and homey as you recall.
Before you can take a good breath, he's got your bags and suitcase and is bounding up the stairs with them like they weigh nothing. You choose to busy yourself with getting comfortable, peeling off your coat and hanging it on the nearby hook.
You're tugging your hair back into a ponytail when he comes back down, and when you look up and spot him the scrunchie flies across the room.
He's taken off his hoodie, leaving him in a fitted white tee that does nothing to hide just how different his body looks. It's no secret that Chan works out, but he fills out this shirt like it was painted on him. You quickly pull your spare scrunchie from the other wrist to tie up your hair, trying not to dwell.
"Do you want me to put these in the kitchen?" you call out, holding up the bag of road trip leftovers.
"Yeah, just–" his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "Just throw them on the counter. I'll organize everything later."
You pad into the kitchen, bare feet silent on the wooden floors. Everything is exactly as you remember it – the mismatched mugs in the cabinet, the worn wooden spoons in the ceramic holder, the string lights Chan installed last summer that give everything a soft glow. If you close your eyes, you could almost pretend nothing has changed.
Almost.
You find, unsurprisingly, that the cabinets and fridge are stocked full. Chan's parents likely came out to pack up some groceries when he told them you'd be coming. You find yourself leaning against an open cabinet, staring into space, your mind a million miles away.
"You okay, babygirl?”
You jump slightly – you hadn't heard him come up behind you. He's standing in the doorway of the kitchen, running his hands through his hair again, that restless energy still evident in every movement.
"Yeah, just..." you gesture vaguely around you. "Memories, you know?"
His expression softens, and for a moment he looks exactly like your Chan again. "Yeah, I know."
The moment stretches between you, comfortable and familiar, until your stomach decides to break it with an embarrassingly loud growl. Chan's laugh is startled but genuine.
"I don't remember that.” He jokes. “Hungry?"
You feel your cheeks heat. "Yeah, I think so.”
He starts rolling his sleeves up. “I could probably make some eggs and toast, if–.”
“It's one in the morning,” you scold him gently. “Nobody is cooking.”
He gives you a pout, which is comical considering his current stature, but you still feel a tug in your chest. “But–”
You shake your head, turning away from him so you don't relent. “No buts. We have tons of snacks. Help me find something.”
At your request, the two of you rummage through the drawers and cupboards. Everything either requires too much effort or won't agree with your stomach at this ridiculous hour. You're ready to call it quits and sleep for dinner when a lightbulb goes off in your head.
“Oh, can I have one of your protein bars? You always buy the good kind.”
His smile is soft, dimples catching the light in a way that makes his entire face seem like a dream. “Of course. They're in my backpack, next to the couch.”
You slide your way to his bag with an excited pep in your step. Chan, being who he is, always buys the amazingly expensive protein bars that manage not to taste like chalky disappointment. They're surprisingly filling, and you know they'll settle your stomach without causing a stomach ache.
You find his bag quickly in the low light of the room, squatting down to rifle through it. With your hand in the front pocket, you dig around until your fingers find something that feels like the protein bar box. In your hungry haze, you yank it out without thinking.
It is not the protein bar box.
Instead, it's a thick packet of paper. You go to put it back when the letter head of the genetic clinic you visited catches your eye, along with the words “After-Visit Summary”.
Maybe if your heart wasn't thrumming in your ears, you would've heard his panicked footsteps coming after you. But the only thing in your ears is the erratic beating of your heart, one that only gets worse when you turn the packet over and read the small words on the margin:
You were seen today for: Hormonal Changes. The following issues were addressed: Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome (Werewolf Gene).
You hear your name through the roaring in your ears. It's a soft, tentative sound that cracks around the edges. You turn, slowly, to see Chan almost right behind you, his face drained of all color and his eyes blown wide.
“Chan,” you breathe. You turn a bit more towards him, the packet still gripped in your hand. “What–”
"I can explain," he says quickly, desperately. His hands are shaking. "I was going to tell you, I swear, I just– I needed time to–”
He trails off, looking around the room as though looking for someone to help him.
Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.
You came across this condition when you were researching the clinic, as they mentioned that they were the only place in the area that had the facilities to test for it. It was, as the paper put it, the werewolf gene. People with the condition experienced heightened senses of smell, increased strength, sensory sensitivities– they were werewolves, just without the whole full moon transformation thing.
To say the condition was rare was an understatement. Both parents had to be carriers for the trait, and even then it only occurred in 25% of those births.
And Chan happened to be one of them.
Everything clicks into place now. The sudden growth spurt, the feverishly hot skin, how he knows when you're in pain without you saying a word.
“This is why you were at the clinic,” you say softly. It's not a question.
He nods jerkily, still looking like he might bolt at any second. You stand up to take a step toward him and he actually backs away.
“Don't,” he breathes. “I'm… I don't want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” You almost laugh. “Chan, you're not going to hurt me. How could you think that?”
“No, you don't understand,” he cards his hands through his hair, pausing to tug on the roots. “I can't… I don't know how to control myself yet. I'm different now, I'm–”
“Still Chan.”
The sound he makes is painful. “You can't say that,” he breathes. His hands drop to his sides again. “You don't know what it's like.”
“So tell me," you urge. You move as though you're about to take another step towards him, and your heart drops at how his entire body flinches. “Chan. Chris. Christopher. Look at me please.”
The use of his full name does something to him, and you watch as he settles, eyes drifting over to you slowly. His gaze is intense, and in the dim light of the living room, you feel akin to a deer staring down a wolf, no pun intended. 
It does not frighten you the way it should.
“Talk to me, please,” you beg. “You're my best friend. I'm here for you, always.”
“I can smell when you're in pain,” he grits out. It's not what you're expecting to hear. He clenches a hand into a fist, then lets it go. “You usually smell sweet, like caramel and linen. But then your scent gets an undercurrent of something harsh, like burnt sugar and metal, and I… I feel like–”
He lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he cuts himself off. “I can't control my strength. I've broken so much shit around the apartment. Don't wanna touch you. Don't wanna break you.”
“You won't hurt me.” You take the opportunity to get closer, but he must smell the closing distance because his eyes fly open. You're in front of him before he can move. “Do you know why?”
Chan's breaths are ragged and labored. “Why?”
“Because you're still my Chan. Still the guy who's been taking care of me since elementary school. Still the person I trust most in the world."
His breath hitches. "How can you say that? How can you just... accept this?"
You can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Chan, I'm literally at the same genetic clinic getting tested for a collagen disorder. Did you think I wouldn't understand what it's like to have your body change in ways you can't control?"
That seems to catch him off guard. He turns away, a frown tugging at his lips. "That's... that's different.”
“Is it though?” You pretend to be thoughtful. “Last I checked, it's like both of our bodies are changing in ways we don't understand. Like we both have to navigate a new normal.”
"That's exactly why I–" he cuts himself off, running both hands through his hair. "I can't risk hurting you. Not when you're already..."
"Already what?" You challenge, taking one final step. You're close enough now that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly. "Already broken?”
His face twists up like you've punched him in the stomach. “No! God, no. When you're already going through so much.”
“A lot of what I'm going through is a waiting game, Chan– waiting for test results, waiting for appointments at specialists. You don't have to keep things from me because of that.”
You poke him in his side, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, this? Finding out you're a werewolf–”
“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”
“-- This is the kind of stuff that keeps me grounded. Having other things to think about. Having you around.”
You watch the tension slowly bleed from his shoulders, almost as though he's deflating. There's obviously more he isn't telling you– you can see it in the way his eyes still can't seem to meet yours– but you don't push it. He's already said so much.
“So,” you start. You rock back and forth on your feet. “Can I make werewolf puns now?”
He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Are you pawsitive?”
He groans at that, a smile pulling at his lips despite himself. “You're the worst. I'm gonna leave you here and go home.”
But he's laughing anyway, his usual giggle that makes everything seem like it'll be alright. You beam at him. and your body lights aflame when he smiles back down at you softly. The two of you hold eye contact for a second, and you watch something untraceable flash in his eyes. Before you can even process it, he's looking away again and clearing his throat.
Another silence falls between you, but this one is different. Chan is fidgeting again, his fingers drumming against his thigh in that restless way you've noticed all evening. He's looking everywhere but at you, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
"What is it?" you ask softly.
He opens his mouth once. Twice. Three times– words seem to be failing him again. You raise an eyebrow and he sighs, a sheepish smile on his big stupidly handsome face.
"Can we..." he starts, then stops. Starts again. "Would it be okay if we... like we used to..."
You wait patiently as he struggles with the words. His ears are turning red again.
"Can we share my bed?" he finally gets out in a rush. "Like– like when we were kids? Just for tonight. I just... I haven't been sleeping well since everything started and I… um…”
Your brain short circuits as the request processes.
Share… a bed. With Chan. Taller, wider, more muscular Chan. Chan whose body heat seeps through every layer of clothing. Chan whose one hand can cover your knee easily. 
From the way your body reacts, your knee jerk reaction is to say no. He's already going through enough, and Lord knows what types of degenerate scent you'd be giving off if you spent an entire night with him.
But when you open your mouth to decline, you notice how he's standing, with his shoulders curved inward, trying to make himself smaller. His big brown eyes are pleading, almost desperate, and you think about how scared he was earlier, how convinced he was that you'd reject him once you knew the truth.
Fuck it.
“Of course, Channie.”
The smile on his face is nervous, like he expects you to change your mind any second. “Yeah?”
You nod, ignoring the way your brain tries to supply you with images of everything you want to have happen. "Yeah. Just... let me get changed first?"
He nods quickly, that restless energy back but different now – excited rather than anxious. "Yeah! Yes. Your stuff is in your room, yeah? I'll be in mine when you're ready."
He's bounding up the stairs before you can say anything. You take the moment alone to take a deep breath. You can do this. It's just Chan. Just your best friend.
When you reach your room, you duck into the attached bathroom to change quickly, opting for the full top and bottom PJ set rather than the oversized hoodie you were originally going to wear. You stare at your reflection, willing yourself to calm down and look normal.
Sharing a bed with Chan is not a new concept. When you'd first gotten close in grade school, the two of you tended to hop from house to house, sleeping wherever without a care in the world. The habit continued as you grew up– in college during study sessions, during movie marathons on school breaks, that one time a few months ago when you'd gotten terribly drunk at your friend Jeongin's birthday party. It had never been anything more than two friends seeking each other's comfort.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again, face flushed and breathing ragged. You force yourself to calm down– if Chan could smell when you were in pain, he could probably smell the indecency coming off of you in waves. 
Everything is fine.
When you reach the doorway of the master bedroom, Chan is already in bed scrolling on his phone. You watch his nostrils flare for a second, eyes fluttering shut as he puts his phone on the night stand.
The king sized bed looks both too big and too small.
When he opens his eyes, he looks surprised to see you. and you watch red start to tint his neck. “Um. Hey,” he breathes.
You hover in the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between you. "Hey."
Chan shifts, pulling back the covers on what has always been 'your' side of the bed “Um. Do you want... I mean, we usually..." He trails off, looking everywhere but directly at you.
You take the initiative and move towards the bed, sliding down under the covers until they reach just under your chin. Chan shuffles next to you, scooting this way and that, flipping like a hot dog on a stick. You both settle on your back eventually, staring up at the ceiling.
“This is weird,” he says after a few minutes of strained silence.
“Not weird,” you supply. “Just… different.”
“Different…,” he murmurs. “Different because I'm different?”
You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”
He's sliding out from under the covers before you can finish. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have– this was dumb to ask.” You ignore the way your heart drops. “I'll go sleep in the other room. Or on the couch. Or–”
You grab at his wrist before he can go anywhere. He doesn't jerk away this time, but his entire body goes rigid. You rub your thumb along the pulse point on his wrist.
“You don't have to leave,” you say slowly. “It’s not weird because you're different. It's weird because we're both over thinking it.”
He lets out a little breath. “We are, aren't we?”
"Yeah." You squeeze his wrist once before letting go. He settles back down into the bed, still looking a bit uncomfortable, but not ready to run anymore. 
You smile at him before holding open the cocoon you made in the blanket. "Come here, you big baby."
"I resent that," he grumbles, but there's a smile tugging at his lips.
It takes some maneuvering to find a comfortable position. Chan is hesitant at first, careful not to crowd you, but eventually you manage to guide him until his head is tucked under your chin, his arm draped carefully over your middle. His body curls around yours despite the size difference, like he's trying to make himself smaller again. When he finally settles, it feels like every part of him is contoured to fit you perfectly.
You ignore the heat in your stomach.
The silence that settles around you is comfortable now, broken only by your breathing beginning to sync up. His body weight is grounding, and the heat he's radiating feels like the world's best heating pad. 
You're just beginning to doze off when Chan makes a low, displeased grunt in the back of his throat. You can feel his eyebrows scrunch together where he's pressed against your collarbone.
“Your hip,” he murmurs.
“Hm?”
He shifts in your hold, maneuvering you until his other hand can slide under your body to wrap around you. “Your hip hurts. Or it's about to start.”
Sleepiness has made you a pliant, barely conscious little thing. You're about to ask how he can tell when his big, warm hand presses against your hip, heat radiating through the fabric until it settles deep into your bones. You can't help but let out a little whimper from the immediate relief it gives you.
Chan makes another sound in his throat, grip increasing on you almost infinitesimally. 
“This good, babygirl?”
“Mmf.”
The warmth and relaxation is muddling your brain. “S'good, Channie.”
He makes a more pleased sound and nuzzles closer. Sleep takes you quickly after that, and all you can think about as you finally succumb is how lucky you are to have him here with you. You'd love to say as much, but you're too tired to open your mouth, so you give him the tiniest of squeezes, hoping he understands.
From the way his arm tightens around you, you think he does.
Things seem less charged in the morning.
You wake up to sunlight glittering through the curtains and the other side of the bed empty. The sheets are still warm, but given what you've come to learn about Chan and his temperature, he could've left the bed anywhere from three seconds to four hours ago.
You stretch a little bit as you try to wake up fully, heading to the other bedroom to freshen up for the day. It seems like an okay day pain-wise. You're at a steady three out of ten everywhere except your hands, but you brush it off. With the way you sleep, your hands take longer to catch up to the lower pain levels in the rest of your body. It's just a matter of time. 
Still, you run them under warm water in the bathroom, hoping to loosen them up.
When you finally emerge, you follow the mouthwatering scent of cooking down the stairs and into the kitchen. After a nonexistent dinner, you're starved, and you could really go for some food right now.
You pause in the archway of the kitchen.
Food is… an understatement.
Chan stands at the stove, spatula in hand and preparing to flip what looks like an omelette. All around him on the counters are various other breakfast foods: scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, hashbrowns, fruit–
“When did you have time to make a sourdough starter?”
He startles slightly, turning to face you with a sheepish smile. “Ah… good morning, babygirl. I may have.. gone a bit overboard.”
“A bit?” You slide into a seat at the edge of the kitchen island in the one spot where there's no food. “If you were planning to invite the woodland creatures you could've given me a heads up, I'd be decent.”
The responding huff makes you smile. “I cannot communicate with animals. Weirdo.” Chan grins. He folds the omelette in half and flips it over. “I just… I got hungry.”
You sneak a piece of bacon off of a nearby plate and snort. “‘Hungry’ seems like a gross understatement. Is this a side effect?”
Chan's ears turn pink as he plates the omelette. "Yeah, actually. My metabolism is... different now. Food tastes different too– more intense." He starts moving dishes to the kitchen island, careful not to overcrowd your space. "Everything is more intense, really."
"Like what?"
He hums thoughtfully as he settles into the chair next to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. "Smells are the biggest thing. Like, I can smell everything. The coffee brewing, the bacon grease in the air, the rain that's coming later–"
"It's going to rain?"
"Yeah, probably this afternoon." He passes you a fork and a plate you never noticed him constructing. "I can smell it in the air. What’s the word? Petrichor, but... before the rain actually falls? If that makes sense.”
You hum around a fork full of eggs, cracking the fingers on your free hand. “That sounds like it can get miserable. Is everything just… enhanced all the time?”
He takes a bite out of a chunk of toast, making a so-so motion with his hand. “It's enhanced all the time, but the way it is right now, the intensity, that’s only sometimes. Only during–”
He cuts himself off, swallowing his bite of toast with more power than necessary. 
“During the full moon?” You supply.
He nods quickly. “Yeah.”
There's a lull in the conversation that you try not to read into. It doesn't take much effort anyway, because you notice that eating is taking more effort than it was a few minutes ago. Your grip on the fork is weird, and you can't seem to close your fingers all the way around it.
That's fine, you think to yourself. You switch hands. Everything is fine.
You try not to let the revelation sour your mood. Chan mentioned it was going to rain, and while your doctors didn't know why you were in pain, they knew what kinds of things made it worse, and the air pressure changes from rain was one of them. This was just something you had to learn to deal with now.
Resentment for your condition rises in your chest with the little bit you've eaten, and you take a sip of apple juice to swallow it down. It's not fair. People your age were doing things like mountain climbing, running marathons, just living. And here you were, struggling to feed yourself and hold a fork.
It's fine.
A hand on your shoulder pierces through the dense clouds shrouding your mind, and you feel yourself startle a little. Chan is facing you, leaning his impossibly tall torso down to look you right in your eyes. His gaze is intense, gold flecks in his eyes swimming around as he stares.
“What hurts,” he breathes. The sound of his voice is light as a feather, floating through the air before coming to rest gently on your lips. 
“My hands.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
You think about saying your number, but upon remembering how nice and easy conversation was this morning, you decide to lie. “Four.”
The look in Chan’s eyes grows more intense, and you swallow around nothing. He levels you with a very unimpressed look, eyebrows creasing and his plushy, pink lips frowning. He only says two words, but they send a ripple through your body anyway:
“Try again.”
Fuck. You're giving yourself whiplash. Jumping from frustration to stark arousal was an Olympics level move your brain wasn't prepared for. There's a different kind of haze clouding your mind now.
“It's a seven,” you breathe. 
He's up on his feet before you can fully compose yourself, long legs taking him up the stairs and bringing him back down in a matter of seconds. When he sits down again, he's holding your decorative medication pouch and a mini water bottle from your backpack.
You gulp at the way the veins in his arm bulge.
“Which bottle is it?”
You come back to yourself, licking your incredibly dry lips before you respond. It takes a blink or two before you can orient yourself in the present. “Um, red bottle. The tall one.”
He places the bottle and water in front of you in a gentle way that contrasts the energy in the room. You fumble with the child proofing for a second before he plucks the bottle from you, undoing the lid with one hand.
Wow. Fuck.
"Thanks," you mumble, accepting the pills he tips into your palm. His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck as you swallow them, and you try not to shiver at the contact.
“Do you need a nap while the pills work?”
You pout, finally coming back to your good senses. “We're supposed to have a movie marathon today.”
“I didn't realize the TV had a flight to catch?”
You glare at him, albeit thankful for the teasing sarcasm to loosen the tension. “You're not funny.”
Chan's lips pull into a smirk and he gives a little shrug. “I think I am.”
You roll your eyes at him as he stands, coming over to you and easing you out of your seat. He gives a little ‘tsk’ at your faux attitude, but his hands are back on your shoulders, guiding you towards the couch. When you finally do lay down, he's already throwing his signature couch blanket over you, tucking it around you securely.
“Comfy?”
You are, but you've also realized he's tricked you into a nap, so you do the adult thing and mock him before sticking your tongue out at him.
“Wow,” he murmurs. He slides down the couch and onto the floor. “I haven't seen that routine since 4th grade.”
You watch as he adjusts his legs a few times, his head resting against the armrest right by your fingers. It’s unspoken, but you know that he'll stay until he's sure you're asleep. 
"You don't have to sit on the floor," you murmur. "There's plenty of room up here."
He shakes his head. "Nah. I'm good here.”
You watch his side profile for a minute, basking in all of his Chan-ness. He settles in a bit more and lets his eyes flutter closed. When he does, he leans his head back a little more, and you watch the delicate bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. 
“Chan?” Your mouth is moving before you know it. 
“Hm?”
“Were you scared? When you… got the diagnosis?”
His eyes open at that, and he turns his head so he can look at you. The intensity from earlier is gone, replaced by that familiar warmth that only he has.
There's a beat of silence where all Chan does is stare, almost as if seeing you for the first time. It passes, though, and then he goes back to his previous position, eyes closed again as he speaks. “No,” he says finally. “I wasn't scared. The only thing I thought about was you.”
“Me?”
He nods against the couch. “They kept talking about what it meant and all of that, and all I could think about was how on earth I was going to tell you.”
You reach a hand over and start rubbing at his scalp in the familiar way you've always done. “And yet,” you tease gently. “I had to accidentally find the papers.”
He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, leaning into your hand. “That wasn't the plan,” he murmurs. “Was supposed to tell you properly.”
You stay quiet, continuing to play with his hair. The quiet domesticity is comforting, and you find your eyes fluttering closed too. 
You move your fingers through his hair in nonsensical patterns and shapes, occasionally letting your nails graze his scalp. His breathing evens out eventually--he's not sleeping, no, just content and peaceful. You're a different story, though, and medication induced drowsiness starts flowing its way through your body.
Your movements grow slower and uncoordinated, hand drifting lower, and lower, until eventually your fingers trail to the nape of his neck. When you drag your nails across the sensitive skin there, Chan makes a sound that shoots straight through you and straight to your core– something between a pleased hum and a growl that vibrates through his entire body.
Both of you freeze. Your heart starts doing gymnastics in your chest while the sound echoes in your ears, making your body grow hot. Beneath you, Chan is rigid, like every muscle has been pulled taut.
The room is entirely still for a second. Then, he clears his throat a little, shifting himself so you have better access. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Keep going. Feels nice.”
You force your fingers to move again, continuing their exploration and tracing the curls on Chan's head. 
You repeat your mantra in your mind:
Everything is fine.
The moment passes like a summer storm– intense and fleeting– and soon Chan is relaxed again, practically melting under your touch. You're actively fighting sleep now but you're realizing it's a losing battle. Your movements become slower, less deliberate, until your hand is simply resting in his hair.
"Sleep, babygirl," he murmurs, voice thick and honeyed. "I got you.”
So you do.
When you wake up a bit later, you find yourself, sadly, alone.
In place of Chan's thick curls is the cold rectangular slab that is your cell phone. You squint at it sleepily, not remembering bringing it down with you for breakfast or having it on the couch. You flick through the unlock process, and when your phone opens, it's on the notes app.
Hi babygirl. If you're reading this, I went to the store. We don't have any vegetables. I'll try to be quick. - Channie
You wipe sleep from your eyes as you sit up, trying to orient yourself in your surroundings. You hear the steady whooshing of the rain outside and carefully flex all of your joints. You're content to find that you're at a steady three out of ten everywhere.
You settle back into the couch cushions, pulling the blanket around you tighter. It's not scary to be by yourself, especially not in the cabin,  but Chan's presence is definitely missed. You decide to fill the silence with television, something low stakes and stupid that you can listen to while you scroll on your phone.
However, the microscopic roku remote has decided to go missing, and after digging through the couch cushions twice, you sit back with a huff. You suppose your phone will do for now.
You open YouTube with the intent to watch one of your favorite Let's Play videos, but as you scroll through your homepage, something catches your eye. The title makes you pause:
Q&A: Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome (aka The Werewolf Gene)
The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.
The video was posted a little over a month ago and has a substantial amount of views and comments. The creator themselves has well over 100k subscribers. It looks perfectly legit. Before you can overcomplicate it and talk yourself out of it, you press play.
“Hi everyone!” The guy on the video has a soft, smiling face, accented by round, thin-rimmed glasses. “Welcome or welcome back to my channel. If you're new here, I'm Seungmin, and I have GLS, which stands for Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome. Or, to put it simply, I have the werewolf gene.”
You are immediately invested.
“I set up a question box on Instagram a couple days ago, and you guys really went to town.” Seungmin chuckles. “So I'll answer a few of those in this video.”
The first few questions are simple enough– what made him suspect he had it, the diagnostic process, how his family reacted. He answers every question thoughtfully and thoroughly in a way that makes you learn more than you thought you needed to.
You're writing down the fact that people with GLS tend to need more red meat than dark meat in their diet when he starts reading out the next question. 
“@jutdae asks, ‘how does the enhanced sense thing not drive you crazy?’” Seungmin lets out a little laugh. “So, the sense thing is kind of tricky for non-GLS people to understand. On a regular day, it might be enhanced, but maybe only 50% better than most people. The real issue is when rut or heat cycles start.”
You drop your phone, cursing when it slips right into the couch cushions.
“During a rut–” Seungmin's muffled voice continues as you fish around for your phone. “-- it's probably around 150% better. And our body temperature will skyrocket, like a constant fever type. The extra sensory input can cause a lot of restless energy too, so we're always feeling like we want to crawl out of our skin. Thankfully ruts, or heats for AFAB people, only happen once every three months, for about a week.”
You finally find your phone, heart pounding as you fumble to hold it still. The boy on your screen adjusts his glasses before continuing, entirely unaware how he's just flipped your life on its head.
“Well, that's for people who've presented for a while. When you first present with symptoms, you can get your rut every month. And that's… an entirely different type of intense. I surely don't miss that.”
Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.
You don't need to Google what a rut cycle is. You already know. It's the one aspect of GLS everyone is familiar with.
You scan through the events of the last 36 hours with unfathomable speed. It's all there. Every single symptom mentioned in this video. 
Extremely heightened senses. Restless energy. Fever-hot skin. 
Chan.
Chan hasn't been able to sit still. Chan's skin is hot to the touch. Chan keeps telling you when your pain is about to start because he can smell it. Chan brought you to an isolated cabin in the mountains.
Chan is in rut. Chan's diagnosis was only finalized less than a week ago. Ergo, this is his first rut.
The sound of a car door slamming makes you jump so hard that your phone flies away from the couch and skitters onto the floor.
Shit.
You scramble to grab it, swiping out of the video before Seungmin finishes answering what you're certain are other life changing questions. You can't hear anything he's saying, laser focused on the sound of Chan's impending footsteps and the sound of rustling grocery bags.
“Babygirl,” Chan's voice vibrates from the entryway. “I'm back. You awake?”
“Yeah,” you call, forcing yourself to sound steady. You clear your throat. “Yes, I'm up.”
You hear him put the bags down and toe off his sneakers, socked feet padding into the room where you are, undoubtedly, staring like a ghost came through the door and robbed you of your possessions. You fight to fix your expression into something normal, but all of that goes out the window when he steps into the threshold.
He's soaked. The rain has soaked through his shirt, making it cling to his chest and highlight every cut of his muscle. His curls are wild, some of them plastered to his forehead while others seem to be competing for the best pose. There's water dripping down his neck an–
You find a spot on the wall to look at instead. 
“Sorry I took so long.” He brushes his hair off of his face. “The store closest was closed, had to run way into town.”
“It's fine,” you squeak. He looks at you, eyebrows furred. “I was fine, just watched some YouTube. I wasn't up for long.”
He tilts his head, studying you with his nearly impossibly dark eyes. His lips push up, almost like he's pouting, but you watch as confusion takes over his gaze. He squints, and you burrow yourself further into the couch. If his smell is heightened, then he probably–
“You okay?”
You nod too enthusiastically. “Yes, of course. Why?”
He opens his mouth to say something, moves his body as though he'll take a step towards you, but he stops. You hold eye contact for a second, feeling small and exposed among his gaze. But then he nods almost imperceptibly, turning to grab his wet sweater from the entrance. 
“I'm gonna get changed and make us some lunch. Sandwiches?”
You nod.
“Good. Find us something to watch, yeah?”
As soon as he's gone up the stairs, you collapse back onto the couch, pressing your hands against your burning cheeks.
Okay. Okay.
You're probably– definitely – making this weird. Maybe you've read too many werewolf romance novels. Chan is going through something a lot more tangible than turning into a wolf and scampering off into the moonlight, and here you are, being a degenerate as usual. He brought you here because you're his best friend. Because he needs support.
The rut thing… is just a coincidence. Or maybe not even a big deal, or something he wants you to worry about. Yes. That's it. 
Distantly, you hear the shower turn on, and everything from your neck to the crown of your head lights aflame.
The remote chooses that moment to reappear, launching itself from the couch blanket and onto the floor. You snatch it up quickly, flicking on the TV and navigating to Netflix. You need something light. Something stupid. Something to fizzle out the charged energy in the atmosphere.
He'll handle himself… however that may be. You repeat this to yourself as you scroll through the comedy section, eyes blurring at the words in front of you. It's none of your business, anyway. You have one job right now, and that's finding something to watch.
You settle on a cooking show when you hear him coming down the stairs again. You focus on the TV, your mantra echoing around your skull as though you have no brain.
Everything is fine. You're fine. He's fine. 
“Worst Cooks in America?”
You nearly jump out of your skin. He's standing behind the couch, now wearing dry clothes– a zip up sweatshirt and loose sweats. You notice, entirely by accident, that there's no shirt under the sweater. Just plain, exposed skin.
Great. 
You hum out a noncommittal answer, just as he turns and heads to the kitchen, mentioning as he goes that he's using roast beef.  You listen to the sound of the fridge opening and the hum of the toaster as he plugs it in, no doubt solely to put your bread to toast, the same way you've eaten a sandwich since you were eight years old.
You can do this. You can act normal. You're an adult, and you have been for a few years. Things don’t have to be weird just because you now know that your best friend is a delicate, walking bundle of hormones. Chan clearly trusts you enough to have you here, and you're not going to mess that up by being a disaster about it.
You hear him humming in the kitchen, puttering about through the cabinets, the clink of plates on the counter. It's so normal, so Chan, that it almost makes you forget about everything else.
You shake your head, hoping to physically dislodge the memories of the noise he made when you were scratching his neck– the deep, rumbling groan that ran through your sleep-riddled body until stopping to wake you up where you're most sensitive. It was just a noise, you make noises all the time.
When he appears in the doorway with the two plates, all smiles and soft around the edges, you take a deep breath before returning the smile. 
You can do this. You can sit down next to Chan and watch the show and be normal. Everything is fine.
Probably.
… Maybe.
Everything is not fine.
The realization comes later in the night when the darkness from the storm bleeds into the darkness of late evening. It's nearing 10pm, and you and Chan are still seated on the couch together, now on opposing sides, still watching the same cooking show.
Or pretending to.
Chan seemed to be getting worse as the evening progressed. When he first came in from outside, he seemed calmer, less tense, but now he was sitting rigid, wound up like a toy no one would release. He was sweating an almost ridiculous amount, and the zip from his hoodie was pulled down to the middle of his stomach, exposing all the skin underneath.
His breaths were coming in short pants now. He had a steady grip on the fabric of his sweats, and you were almost certain that he'd tear a hole in them with the way he was grabbing them.
You weren't sure what to do.
You had tried nudging him with your foot gently a while ago, but when your skin made contact, he made another low sound in his throat that shot right up your leg and into your core. You pulled your foot away quickly, apologizing, making sure to press your knees together so the scent of arousal wouldn't reach him. 
And that was before he had started panting like… well, a dog. Now you weren't sure you'd be able to reach him through the fog of his own mind even if you screamed right in his face.
You're about to try saying something, anything as the episode that was playing ends, but he shoots up off the couch before you can think of words to say. He's pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, visibly shaking with the effort of breathing normally.
“Chan,” you start.
He holds up a hand. “I'm– I'm okay,” he breathes. 
He's not. 
“The rain, I think,” he grits out. “Too loud. Too much. You're okay, though?”
Of course Chan would find the time to check on you while going through his own crisis. You sit up a little on the couch, staring at him even though he has his eyes covered. The words are coming out of your mouth before you can even think about what you're saying: “Do I smell okay?”
He grunts. You suddenly understand why cavepeople had so many kids. 
“Smell fine,” he breathes. He slides his hands down his face, fixing his gaze away from you. “You do, I mean. You smell good.”
It dawns on you then that maybe the newly awakened wolf-like part of his consciousness is reacting to your smell because you're a girl, and he's in a rut. Maybe you should leave the room, give him some space?
You're trying to find a way to ask if that's what he needs without giving away what you know, but he fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie again, wanting to tug it down some more. He stops, takes a deep breath, and then drops his hand.
“I think I need a second,” he says. His hands are twitching at his side. “Need my room. Need the quiet, yeah?”
You nod. That's fine. It's for the best anyway, right?  “That's okay. You can come back when you're ready.”
He nods, still not looking at you. There's a moment where he seems to hesitate, but whatever internal war he's having ends quickly, and he basically runs up the stairs. Just before you hear his door close, you hear the sound of his hoodie zipping down all the way.
Heat floods your face as you turn back to the show.
After a while of still failing to really pay attention, you pull your phone out from under the blanket. Despite the pure, unfiltered desire thrumming through your veins, you still want to help Chan. It's bothering you how bothered he is, how helpless he seems. There has to be something you can do for him.
You type, How to help a werewolf in a rut into your search bar, and after realizing very quickly that that's actually the title of an erotica series, you change your search to something more medical sounding.
It takes trial and error, but GLS and Rut Cycles Help seems to give you the best results.
You find a forum on a website dedicated to rare genetic disorders. It’s the one link that seems to have real information, ironically nestled between a fanfiction website and Twitter. 
You stop on a thread that catches your attention:
Non-GLS Roommate Here: Any way I can help with heats?
Not in that way, they write. But my roommate just presented with this disorder and she's absolutely miserable, and I feel so bad. I'm not trying to fuck her, but is there anything I can do to help?? Meds? Chocolate?? Leaving her alone??
There are only a handful of responses, mostly people lol-ing about how non-lycanthropes always think a heat cycle is like a period. One answer sticks out to you:
if it's her first heat, she's probably running a pretty high temp. make her some cold drinks to bring the temperature down and the hormones may follow. that used to work for me. ideally, try to convince her to take a cold shower, but her instincts might be telling her not to. it's a delicate game lol. don't press the shower thing if you don't want her to bite. like, literally. AFAB lycanthropes have a thing for biting idk
It makes sense now why Chan looked better when he came in from the rain. It was, essentially, the cold shower that he needed. You wonder briefly if you could convince him to go back out, but you decide against it. It's dark now, and you don't need him getting hurt.
So, instead, you peel yourself away from the couch and head into the kitchen. There's tons of juice cartons already in the fridge, but you bypass them, instead grabbing the bag of lemons and the carton of blueberries. 
The first time you made lemonade for Chan, the two of you were in fifth grade. You wanted to save money for the new and extremely expensive ride-on jeep that you saw in the store, and the only thing you could think to do was sell lemonade. You forced Chan (who had no interest in the car but wanted to help anyway) to sit down and taste batch after batch of your lemonade.
After he threatened to tell your parents you were trying to poison him, you made one last batch of the lemonade, and on a whim, dumped some blueberry syrup into it. He grumbled as he took the cup, but he couldn't hide his satisfied smile.
“That's the one,” he grinned. 
You never did save the money for the car, but you kept the lemonade recipe anyway. There was nothing your blueberry lemonade couldn't fix.
And you were prepared to add rut fevers to that list.
You dump a ton of ice in Chan's reusable water bottle before pouring the lemonade over it, putting the top on and swirling it around. You take a sip first, nodding in contentment when it nearly freezes the back of your throat.
With your phone in your back pocket and the lemonade in hand, you make your way up the stairs, pausing in front of Chan's bedroom door. A feeling of nervousness washes over you, but you beat it down with a stick. You're just delivering some lemonade. You'll be fine.
“Channie,” your voice is tentative as you knock. “You okay? I brought you a surprise.”
You listen carefully. You can't hear anything on the other side of the door. You don't wanna bang or yell, knowing his ears are probably sensitive already. You knock gently again, really straining your ears to hear.
He must be asleep, you think. You'll just leave the cup on the nightstand for him to find when he wakes up. You turn the doorknob and push open the door and–
Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.
Chan is not asleep.
Chan is very much awake.
He can't see you, no, because his eyes are closed and his head is tipped back against the headboard of his bed. His face and ears are red, and his lips are extra plump. You wonder why until he bites down on his bottom lip, hard.
You let your eyes trail down. He's touching himself.
Oh.
One of his hands is wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously like it's just not enough. The other hand is white knuckling the pillow you slept on last night, bringing it up to his face so he can no doubt inhale whatever leftover scent is on it. 
He has no idea that you're in the room. The pillow is already carrying your scent, so there's no intrusion to his senses. You should look away. You should go, you should…
You can't look away.
His hips are thrusting upwards to meet his hand now, his entire body writhing on the bed like he's trying to find the perfect spot. With his sweater open, you can see the contraction of his ab muscles as he moves, all the hard contours of his body chasing his pleasure. You watch as he twists his wrist, thumb sliding across the slit of his cock and smearing precum down the shaft. 
You hear him make a sound, almost like he's grunting, and then he's mumbling something under his breath. It's low, too low for you to really hear it, but when he speaks again, you definitely understand.
"Babygirl," he groans. He squeezes his cock at the base before stroking it again. "F-fuck, babygirl."
It's then that you squeak, slamming a hand over your mouth almost immediately. His eyes fly open and he shoots up, face panicked, but he doesn't stop moving his hand.
"I'm-- I'm sorry," you manage. "I came to-- I just-- Oh my God."
Chan's eyes are wild as he looks at you. His chest is heaving and his curls are sticking up all over the place. He looks pained and conflicted, likely warring within himself about whether he should stop or not. From the way his ears turn a deep shade of red, you can tell he thinks that he should.
He doesn't, though. He's still jacking himself off, faster and faster, even as he gives you a devastatingly desperate look.
"Fuck," he grunts. "I'm sorry. I can't-- you just smell so fucking good and I–” He pants, looking at you with eyes that can barely stay open. “I can't stop. Babygirl, make me stop."
Your brain is malfunctioning, but the part of it that can still process information has taken notice of what he's saying. You were right earlier. It's your smell. Your smell is driving him crazy because you're a fertile, childbearing aged female. It's not poorly contained last or a bad decision on his part.
It's biology. It's what that primal part of his brain needs.
Your body goes hot as you think of your next words.
"You..." you swallow around nothing. You're wearing socks, but the cold from the floor seems to seep into your feet. "You don't– um. Do you… need help?”
His pupils blow.
"I don't… I don't want to hurt you," he whines, chest heaving as his fist pumps faster. "You shouldn't."
"But I want to help," you breathe. You take a step closer to the bed, legs shaking from the sheer intensity of how fast your arousal hits. "What if I want to help?"
He stops then, staring at you with the same intensity he had last night. You feel stripped, exposed, but you don't feel unsafe.
You take another step closer.
"Chan," you whisper. You're at the foot of the bed now. "What if I want to?"
He makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat.
"I won't… touch you if you don't want me to." You take another step to the side of the bed, feeling somewhat bold under his gaze. "But I'll... I'll let you touch me, if you need. Whatever you want. Just... just tell me what to do."
You're only a couple steps away now. Chan is practically shaking with the effort it takes not to move, to wait for your permission. It's then that you realize he's waiting for you to make the first move, and all of the power shifts to you.
You're standing right next to him now, the two of you locked in an intensely heated gaze. He reaches for you silently with the hand not fisted around his cock, moving slowly like you'll dissolve if he's too eager. When you nod, his hand slides down the length of your arm, fingers interlacing.
Then–
"Please," he whispers. His voice cracks on the lone syllable. "Please, babygirl. I need you.”
He brings the hand he's holding over to his already throbbing cock, dragging your fingertips over the sensitive skin on his tip. His head rolls back again and his hips buck up. You try not to shiver.
"I just... I just need this," he breathes. "Please. I won't touch you, I'll be good."
Maybe it's the desperation in his voice. Maybe it's the way his eyes look so innocent, absolutely contrasting what he's begging you to do. Whatever it is, you let your tongue dart out to wet your lips, throat feeling incredibly dry as you stare down at him.
You wrap your fingers around his cock tentatively, not missing the way his body seems to come alive at your touch, and start moving up and down. He's already so hard, his entire shaft coated in his precum so you can slide up and down with ease. The sounds he's making are going straight to your core, and you can feel the way your underwear is sticking to you.
"Tight," he grunts. "Tighter, please."
You tighten your grip, speeding up a little bit. You feel him thrusting upwards to meet your hand, his hand squeezing yours like he needs the support to ground himself. You let your thumb brush over his tip, using his precum as lube to give him even more friction.
He cries out, back arching. "Yes," he chokes out. "Fuck, babygirl, do that again.”
You do, swiping your thumb across the slit and spreading more precum over him. It makes everything slicker and wetter, and the way you're able to move faster now has him moaning nonsensical little things.
His hips are bucking up harder now, and you watch as his abs tense and release, the hand not holding yours going up to tug on his hair. Your body feels like a loaded stick of dynamite, and you're so careful to keep your hips still, knowing how badly you want friction.
"M’close," he breathes. "Fuck, babygirl. You feel so good."
You pump faster, giving him the extra tightness and friction that he needs. You watch as the hand in his hair drops to his stomach, nails digging into his abs.
You wonder how long he was in here like this, pained and desperate. You try not to think about him moaning your name in the empty room, fucking up into his fist as he thinks about you, chasing your scent on his pillow.
Just because of the rut, your brain supplies. Because it would be absurd to think otherwise.
You glance up at his face. His eyes are screwed shut, lips parted as he pants and grunts and makes other sounds in the air. The look on his face is enough to make you clench around nothing. You've only been hot and bothered for the last 5 minutes and you already feel desperate to cum, so you can't imagine what he's going through.
You let your other hand reach up to cup his face.
"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”
He opens his eyes slowly, pupils completely blown as he meets your gaze. You see sweat sliding down the side of his face, and you wonder if it's from his fever or his pleasure.
"You're okay, babyboy," you whisper. His cock jumps in your hand at that. "You can cum, you know. You don't have to hold back."
"Wanna--wanna be good," he grunts. You feel him start to thrust faster. "Don't wanna hurt you."
"You're doing so good, Channie. You're not hurting me."
The two of you stare at each other for a moment before you drop your hand from his cheek and slide it down the column of his throat, letting your nails scratch across his skin. His reaction is immediate, body spasming as he groans.
"Shit," he cries. "Yes, right– right there, Oh my God."
"Yeah?" You scrape your nails across the base of his throat again, making sure to be a bit rougher this time.
He nods quickly, the grip on your hand tightening. You take your other hand off of him, drinking up the sound of his whine before you slide it underneath his hoodie, feeling his chest up. You scrape your nails over his pecs, making him jolt a little.
"C'mon, Channie," you coo. "You're okay. I want you to cum for me."
He lets out a strangled sound, hips bucking up into your fist even faster now. His head falls back again and you see the muscles in his neck strain.
"Please," he chokes out. "I need-- I need--"
You slide your hand from his chest back up to his neck, finding the spot from earlier that made him make that deliciously memorable noise. When you drag your nails across it, his hips stutter in their rhythm, and that's the only warning you have before his entire body is convulsing with pleasure.
"Oh, fuck," he grunts. "Babygirl, fuck–”
His cock pulses in your hand as he cums, releasing all over himself and your fingers. You stroke him through it, gently moving your hand up and down until he's spent.
Then, there's silence.
You're not sure what you expect. Maybe for him to turn over and go to sleep, or for him to act bashful and apologetic, letting you know it won't happen again.
You certainly aren't expecting for him to grip your hips and lift you up onto the bed. Or for him to gently push you down on your back. Or for the desperation in his face to be replaced with something harder, something more in control and dominating as he says, “Please let me eat your pussy, babygirl.”
You almost choke.
You feel like you should protest. Tell him he doesn't have to, that this is already more than you thought you would ever get. But then he's sliding his hands up under your shirt, and the only thing your mouth can form is a moan.
He's never seen you naked, always a respectable gentleman, but there's no hesitation or uncertainty in the way his hands move around your body. He's not tentative and gentle like you expected; he's touching and pinching and running his nails along your skin like he's done this before, like he knows all your spots. He reaches your chest, where you have no bra, and rubs his thumb across your already hardened nipple. Your back arches and your legs fall open for him with a groan, letting him slot himself in the now empty spot.
He pulls his hand away, moving up to your face and cupping your jaw so you can look at him. He's looking down at you with dark eyes.
"Please?”
He's asking, you know, but there's nothing gentle in the way he's looking at you. You nod as best as you can, and he brings his hand down from your jaw to your chin, fingers sliding over your lips. You feel him nudge his thumb against your bottom lip, and you take the hint.
You open your mouth for him, letting him slide his thumb inside and rub it across your tongue. He's looking down at you intensely as you swirl your tongue around his finger, and when you suck on it a little, he lets out a grunt.
"Fuck," he breathes. He pulls his thumb away, watching as a string of saliva connects it to your lips. "You're gonna let me make you feel good, yeah?”
You nod again, but he gives a little humorless chuckle, head tilting at you.
"Use your words babygirl."
"Yes." Your voice is quiet. "Yes, I want you to.”
He stares at you for another moment. You watch his eyes dart across your face, your body, before settling on your lips again. He leans down then, hovering just above you as he licks his own lips.
"Gonna kiss you now," he murmurs. "That okay?"
You fear you look stupid, the way you're just staring up at him, jaw slacked and eyes going in and out of focus. You nod anyway, trying to act normal.
Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.
He doesn't waste any more time after that. He leans down the rest of the way, pressing his lips against yours. It's slow at first, a sweet little thing that makes you feel warm and safe. You sigh into it, eyes fluttering closed.
But then he licks a stripe across your bottom lip, and you let out a pathetic little whimper, lips falling open just enough for him to slot his tongue in your mouth. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. It's desperate, burning, hot and filthy. He's licking into your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lips. You try to press your thighs together again, but his strong, muscular slab of body is between them, forcing them open.
His hands slide down your sides and settle on your hips. Your shorts do nothing as a barrier, and you feel every modicum of heat in his hands. He slips those warm hands into the waistband of both your shorts and panties, sliding them down your body antagonizingly slowly.
He sits back on his knees then, pulling them both all the way off before tossing them to the side. Then he leans forward again, pressing wet kisses to the skin right below your belly button.
"Chan," you breathe.
"S'okay baby," he mumbles against your skin. You feel a new wave of wetness flow through you. How could your usual nickname be even hotter with half of it missing?
Then he's moving his mouth down, down, down, and you feel him pressing his nose to your slit.
"Oh god," you whine.
"I know," he murmurs. You feel his tongue press against your clit, and your entire body spasms. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your legs and squeezing your thighs to hold them open. "I know babygirl.”
He licks you again, making you groan out loud. You can't help but bring one hand up to his curls, weaving your fingers through them and tugging on them like you've always wanted to. He responds by moaning, the vibrations shooting straight to your core.
You feel his tongue dip lower, spreading your wetness around. He dips it into your entrance, tongue fucking you at such a languid pace you feel like you'll fall apart. You hear him groan against your cunt again, and his hands tighten on your thighs.
"So wet, baby," he murmurs. "Taste so good.”
He presses his tongue to your clit again, and you pull on his hair harder. He grunts, and you feel him rutting up against the bed, his cock hard again, chasing some form of relief. 
"Please baby," he mumbles against you. "Want you to cum for me. Please."
You know yourself, know what gets you going and what really makes you cum, so you want to tell him that it's going to take more than this, that you're not there yet, but you don't get a chance to before he's sliding a finger inside of you, curling it up and finding your spot with such accuracy your vision goes white.
You feel him suck on your clit then, swirling his tongue around it as he slides another finger inside of you. You tug on his hair again, not even realizing that you're grinding up against his face.
You feel yourself getting closer, chasing the release you've been desperate for since he pulled you onto the bed. His fingers curl inside of you again, pressing that spot and making you scream out his name.
"Yeah?" Chan groans against you, voice hoarse and desperate. "Like that? S'okay baby, let go."
"Chan," you choke. You're so, so close. "Chris. Chris.”
He moans at that, speeding up his fingers and moving his tongue even faster.  He's rocking himself up against the mattress with more urgency now, panting and moaning with his mouth pressed to your cunt.
"C'mon babygirl," he mumbles. "Need you to cum. C'mon, please. Need it."
He presses his fingers into that spot again, and you're gone. You arch up off of the bed as you cum, his name ripping itself from your throat as he fucks you through it. You feel your cunt pulsing around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm. He keeps licking, his moans sending vibrations straight up your spine until you're over sensitive, tugging on his hair for him to back away. He does, but not before pressing wet kisses to the inside of your thigh.
He sits up then, his hair sticking up all over the place from where you've been pulling on it. He's sweaty and breathing hard, his lips swollen and red from where you were kissing him. You feel his eyes roam over your body, and you know that if you look down, you'll see how your skin is flushed from your ears down to your chest.
He's still sporting a semi, but his focus isn't on that anymore. He gathers you up in his hands, pulling you with him to the top of the bed and settling you with him on the pillows. He presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling you to rest your head on his chest.
"Sleep," he says into your hair. You notice how his body temperature has dropped-- he doesn't feel like an inferno anymore.
You're too tired to do anything but whine gently at the way he's holding you, too relaxed and spent to say anything. You feel sleep pulling at your eyes as he fixes your shirt over you carefully.
"Ah, shit," he murmurs. "Gotta clean you up. Then I'll come right back, yeah?”
You nod, trying to fight off sleep just a little longer. He presses a kiss to your hair before sliding out of the bed, going to the bathroom and coming back with a warm washcloth. You feel him wipe you down gently, and you mumble out something that might've been a thank you.
He takes the washcloth back to the bathroom, coming back to join you in bed. He pulls you back on top of him, settling the blankets over the two of you.
You're asleep before he can even kiss your forehead again.
When you wake up in the morning, you do your usual pause to see what does and doesn't hurt. You're mostly pain free, you realize sleepily, except for a dull ache in your hips and knees and a pleasant soreness in your–
Oh shit.
Everything slams back into you at once. The lemonade, Chan, him begging for you in more ways than one. It feels like you've been doused in cold water and tossed off of a bridge.
You go to sit up, but when you make an attempt to move, you feel an impossibly heavy weight around your midsection. Said weight snores a bit, and you realize that it's Chan's arm draped across you.
He's sleeping soundly next to you, hair still ruffled and unruly from where you were pulling it, lips still slightly swollen and red. The blankets are pulled up to his chin, hiding his body from view.
Your face burns as you try to really remember everything that happened last night, either to orient yourself through the brain fog or torture yourself. You're not entirely sure. Chan was... he was in rut, you knew that much. And you offered to help. Then he ate you out and gave you what was probably the most intense orgasm of your life, and then you fell asleep.
Typical stuff. Of course.
The memories are still there, but the reality of the situation has you panicking. His eyes are still closed, so you don't have to deal with the embarrassment of him catching you staring, but you're frozen anyway.
You're immediately hit with the overwhelming realization that you just made a mistake. There's no way you can possibly continue to keep your feelings for Chan a secret after this, no way that you can pretend you don't know what his amazingly deft fingers feel like inside of you. How would you ever be able to look him in the face again?
A vibrating sound pulls you from your spiral. For a second, you wonder if it's coming from Chan, but you recognize that, no matter what genetic issue he has, a person cannot vibrate. 
The sound is actually coming from just off the side of the bed, where your shorts and panties lay discarded. You reach over and pluck your phone from the back pocket, turning it over to see an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.
You're about to send it to voicemail when your heart sinks like lead along with recognition in your chest. It's the genetic clinic.
You're untangling yourself from Chan's arms in record speed, shirking your shorts on and stepping into the hallway. He doesn't stir, thankfully, but you still close the door gently behind you anyway.
"Hello?" You breathe.
The nurse on the other side of the line greets you enthusiastically, and after confirming you are the intended recipient of the phone call, she asks you to hold while she transfers you to the doctor. You wait anxiously for a minute or two, pacing your way to the kitchen island and picking at the skin around your fingers while you listen to the generic hold music.
"Good morning," the doctor says as she comes on the line. She, too, sounds far too chipper. "I apologize for the wait, I was in the middle of rounds when your nurse flagged me down."
"That's okay," you say. Pleasantries feel superficial right now.
"Right, so. We did get some of your preliminary genetic results back," she says. You can hear pages being turned on the other side of the line. "I wanted to let you know that, unfortunately--"
The floor falls from under your feet.
"-- You did test positive for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Classical type."
You can't really hear anything else she's saying. Something about coming back in, maybe. About starting physical therapy. Taking care of yourself. You feel sick, like you might pass out. Or throw up. 
You manage to push through the rest of the conversation, your voice sounding far away even to your own ears. She lets you know that she's sending follow-up information to your email, says that it's important to have support at such a time like this, and you make a very non committal grunt of acknowledgement before ending the phone call. Your phone chatters on the island, the sound echoing in the empty space.
You can't even form a concept of a thought before your chest feels tight, like there's a rubber band stretching across your ribs and pulling taut. You skin suddenly feels like there are a million and one tiny sets of feet thrumming underneath it. It's too hot. Your shirt is choking you. It's all suddenly too much at once: last night with Chan, the diagnosis, the way you're feeling an ache building in your back.
You need to move. You need to get out.
You're up the stairs before you can really process it, standing in front of your suitcase and rifling through it with speed. You find a pair of sweats and what you’re almost certain is Chan's old hoodie, but you toss them on quickly anyway.
The air is crisp when it hits your face a few moments later. It's exactly what you need. The path around the cabin is familiar– you've walked it countless times during family trips and weekend getaways. You know exactly where to step to avoid the mud, which trees mark the loop back to the house.
You walk until your legs burn, until the tears on your face dry in the cold air. Your mind races with everything and nothing at once.
Classical EDS. Your PCP was right about it being a connective tissue disorder. EDS explains the tummy aches, the racing heart, the migraines, and most obviously, the joint pain. There's no cure. Just management. Just a lifetime of being careful, of physical therapy, of putting in insane amounts of effort to make sure your joints don't fucking disintegrate.
You find this to be the most manageable of all the issues at the moment. 
But Chan…
God, Chan. What were you thinking? He was in rut, vulnerable and needing comfort, and you just... what? Offered yourself up like some kind of heathen? Let him touch you in ways you've only dreamed about, knowing full well it would change everything?
This feels like the biggest issue to you, you realize when you pause on a tree stump. Because if you lose Chan, from something you initiated, you will lose everything else. He is the center of your universe, and everything revolves around him. You can't lose him, especially not over your own stupidity.
You think about going back. Talking to him. Maybe trying to convince him that you're fine, that he doesn't have to worry about you. That you don't like him like that, and you were just being a good friend and helping.
But then you remember his face when he came, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he moaned out your name. The way his fingers felt inside of you. How good he smelled.
You'll never be able to forget any of it now, you realize. And it will tear you apart if you lose him because of it.
You realize you've been walking much longer than intended when you catch a glimpse of the position of the sun. The morning chill has given way to a warmer temperature, though your face still feels numb from the wind. Your joints are definitely making themselves known now.
You suppose you may as well head back, even if you don't have any idea what you’re going to do when you have to face Chan. You can't stay out and freeze.
As you round the final bend that leads back to the cabin, you see him.
Chan is standing on the front porch, shirtless despite the cold, his hands visibly shaking at his sides. He's looking in the opposite direction, but you see when your scent hits him, because he whips around and his eyes lock onto you immediately. There's a look on his face that makes your chest ache– he looks terrified, like he's been coming apart at the seams.
You both freeze in your spots, an echo of that moment at the clinic. The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You notice then that his eyes are red, not the same red tint you now recognize from his rut, no. This is the red tint from that day he had to drive you to the hospital.
He's been crying.
“Where–” his voice is labored. “Babygirl. Where have you been?”
"I just..." you gesture vaguely at the path behind you. "I needed some air."
He takes a step forward, then seems to think better of it, stopping himself in his tracks. "You weren't... you were gone when I woke up. Your phone was on the counter, I couldn't... I didn't know where…”
He makes a pained noise in his chest, and then you see his entire face crumble. He pulls one of his arms up to his face, covering his eyes as you hear him start to cry.
Your heart breaks in two.
You rush to him as quickly as your protesting legs will allow, taking the stairs two at a time until you're in front of him. You reach up to gently pull his arm down, but he jerks away, a wounded noise escaping from his mouth.
"No," he cries. "You shouldn't–  don't touch me. I'm sorry.”
“Chris,” you breathe, hoping to cut through his emotional fog. “Chris, please, look at me.”
“Tell me what I did.”
You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”
“What did I do wrong?” His voice cracks around the words. “Last night, I couldn't… control myself. And you were so good to me and then– you were gone.”
"Chan, no." You reach for him again, and this time he lets you pull his arm down. His face is streaked with tears, those big brown eyes red and swollen. "You didn't do anything wrong."
He shakes his head violently, words tumbling out around hiccups. "Then why did you leave? Why didn't you wake me up? I woke up and you were gone and I couldn't– your scent was gone and I couldn't–"
A sob cuts him off. You grab his hand and tug him towards the door. "Let's go inside. Please? It's freezing out here.”
He lets you tug him inside, at least just until you can close the door. You try to bring him over to the couch, but he's stubborn, keeping his feet planted where they are. He won't look at you, keeping his gaze downcast no matter how much you tug on his arm. You let go after a tense moment, sighing and wrapping your arms around yourself.
“Chan. The clinic called,” you say softly. “Thats why I left. My results came back.”
His head snaps up at that, understanding settling over his face. “You… did you test positive for–”
“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.
He looks like he'll cry all over again, reaching his hand out to you before pulling it back to his side. He squeezes his hands in and out of fists a few times before he shakes his head, tilting his head back until he's staring up at the ceiling.
“I'm so sorry,” he breathes. “Last night… I shouldn't have–”
“Stop, please,” you cut him off, voice hoarse in the quiet. You've run out of energy. “You didn't do anything wrong.”
“No, I did everything wrong. I thought I could handle it, thought it wouldn't be too much. Everyone told me it was a bad idea but I didn't want to listen, thought I could control myself.”
You feel bile rising in your throat. “What?”
He shakes his head again. “I shouldn't have said yes.”
He murmurs it, but the cabin is dead silent, so there's no way you don't hear it. There's no way you can misinterpret what he means either. Last night. He shouldn't have said yes when you asked if he needed help.
You take a step back, and you watch his face crumble a bit more. “Right.” Your voice sounds hollow. “It's fine. It was a mistake anyway."
"A mistake?" Now he looks confused through his tears. "No, that's not–"
"It's okay, Chan." You force a smile that feels like it might crack your face in half. You need to end this conversation now so you can go cry in your bed. "We can just forget it happened. You were in rut, I was... available. It's fine."
"Available." He deadpans. His gaze loses some of the previous softness. "Is that what you think? That I just... used you because you were there?”
You find yourself backing away towards the stairs, already mentally checked out. “Isn't it? You said it yourself last night, it was just my scent.”
His face flashes through so many emotions, you're not sure how you would begin parsing through them. He settles on something that looks like a mix of thinly veiled disgust and anger. He fixes his posture until he's back up to his full height now, brown eyes ablaze.
You decide to turn away from him fully at that moment. Whatever this is, this half argument you're having, it can wait until you've taken a good nap. You prepare to climb the stairs, keeping one hand on the railing and one foot on a stair.
That's about as far as you make it before you feel the unmistakable heat of Chan behind you. You stifle back the gasp that threatens to spill when he presses himself right up against your back, head dipped down so he's right by your ear.
“Ask me why,” he breathes. 
You shiver at the feeling of his breath on your ear, and your entire body lights up in record time. You've forgotten how to speak, maybe.
So, you eloquently stutter out a simple, "What?"
He slides a hand around you, reaching from the base of your back all the way to your stomach, pulling you closer to him. “Babygirl. I said, ask me why.”
You swallow thickly. His voice is still hoarse and low from the crying, and it sends a shiver up your spine that rocks your body so hard, you think you would fall if not for the strong arm around you.
"Why," you breathe. The word has no conviction in it. You're getting dizzy.
He leans even closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your outer ear. "Because," he murmurs. "Yes, your scent smells so fucking good. So sweet and warm. But I don't want you because you smell good, baby. I want you because you smell like you're mine.”
You whimper involuntarily at that, and you feel him inhale sharply. His other hand reaches up to hold your chin, tilting your head up towards him. You're looking at each other now, his eyes blown wide and his pupils blown so black, there's barely any brown left.
"Do you understand me, babygirl?" He's breathing hard against you. "Even under the harsh scent of your pain, or the saccharine scent of when you're happy, something in you always smells like you belong to me. Do you know why?"
Your knees feel weak. Not from pain, but because of whatever is happening right now. You let out a pathetic mewl in Chan's hold and watch his nostrils flare. 
"Because you are mine. My mate. You hear me, baby? Mine.”
Then he's tilting your head to the side and kissing down the column of your throat, nipping just hard enough to send electricity through your body. You whine, unable to stop the way your body arches into his touch. 
He makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest, pulling away just long enough to look you in your eyes again. "Wasn't using you," he huffs, saying the word use like it leaves a nasty flavor in his mouth. "I needed you, needed your scent around me to make it better. I couldn't control myself, baby."
He spins you around so that you're facing him now, hands still wrapped around your waist. You think he's about to kiss you, but you see a wave of clarity and seriousness push everything else to the side.
“They asked me at the clinic,” he starts, shuffling with you in his arms until you're back in the living room with him. “If something happened to a family member, or if I had a girlfriend who was hurt.”
You're hanging on to every word, unable to look away from his eyes.
“I told them no to both, but I told them about the hospital, about how you called me crying cause you were in so much pain, and you just kept passing out on me. I told them about how scared I was that if I left the hospital, I would come back and you wouldn't be there. You'd be gone. It was ripping me apart.”
You reach up to touch his face without thinking, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. He leans into the touch like he can't help himself.
“I presented because I wanted to protect you down to my very DNA. I was going so crazy about you that my body needed a way to protect me– protect you.”
“Chan,” you breathe.
“They said my inner wolf, that primal part of me, recognized it as my mate being in pain, and I was powerless to stop it. It's you, babygirl. It's always been you.”
The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy. 
You think about how you'd tried to touch him during the drive up, how he'd pulled his hands away like he was in pain. You supposed maybe he was. Going through his first rut, stuck in an enclosed space with his mate, unable to do anything about it.
You can't imagine the amount of restraint it probably took him to remain normal. The sheer thought of it alone has you blinking back up at him, looking right in his eyes.
With the eye contact, you feel his body swell microscopically, like he's flaxing every muscle so he can look bigger, more threatening, but he is neither of those things to you.
To you he is just Chan.
You're rising up on your toes before you even know what's happening, hand sliding up Chan's neck to pull him down towards you and catching his lips in a hot, burning kiss. 
The hand around your waist tighten's its grip, slotting you even further against his body.
It feels like home. It feels like safety.
You feel his growing bulge press against you, and you hum into the kiss. 
It feels like perfection.
"M'Sorry," he slurs against your mouth. He makes no effort to pull away. "Still in rut. Sensitive."
You say nothing, sliding your free hand down his chest, over his stomach until you reach what you're looking for. You rest your hand over it softly, not grabbing or pressing, but he responds like you do, grunting and rutting up against your hand as he starts panting.
"Babygirl," he groans. "Baby, please."
You start moving your hand in earnest now, cupping his bulge through his sweats as he grinds up against you. His eyes flutter closed and he pulls away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours.
"God, I wanna fuck you so bad," he grunts. "Wanna be inside. Wanna cum inside you so deep you'll never forget who you belong to. Make myself your alpha."
It's insane how your body reacts to that. You feel your clit jump in your underwear. The Alpha/Omega thing wasn't real-- or at least wasn't based on any science with the condition, but the way Chan speaks, the way his grunts sound so close to your ear, you believe it could be.
"You're gonna let me, right?" He whines. "Please? I'll make you feel so good. Been so good for me already baby. Just wanna make you cum on my cock."
Your moan gets caught in your throat when he slides a hand down your body to grip the swell of your ass. Between that and feeling him, rock solid against you, your entire body comes back to life with desperate, almost delirious need.
"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Channie, please. Want you. Please."
His chest vibrates with a growl and he wastes no time pushing you back until you're laying against the couch. He kneels over you, large hand reaching down and palming himself through his sweats.
He notices what you're wearing at that moment. He reaches his free hand down, gripping the material of your– his – hoodie. It's entirely too big for you, even when you're standing, but laying back like this, the material absolutely dwarfs you. 
He must like the sight of it, because you watch him grip himself tight.
"Fuck, babygirl. You don't know what you do to me. Wearing my clothes? Are you even wearing anything under that?"
Feeling bold, you reach down and pull the hem of the sweater up, just enough so that he can see the expanse of skin right under it. When he looks back at your face, you give him an innocent expression, eyes wide and blinking.
He doesn't even bother taking anything off, just pulls his cock out of his sweats and starts stroking himself again. You feel your mouth go dry just from the sight of it– hard and flushed red, precum dripping from the tip. You grip the material of his sweater tighter.
“Gonna be good, baby?" he breathes. "Wanna get off like this."
You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. He looks fucking delicious above you, cock in hand as he strokes himself faster now, moaning at the way you look underneath him.
"Gonna make myself cum on your stomach," he grunts. "Mark you. Then I'll fuck you until you're screaming, so everyone knows who you belong to.”
You feel your cunt throbbing in your underwear. You cant help the way you whine out his name, the way you squeeze your thighs together to try to get some relief. He looks like he's going to explode just from hearing you say his name like that.
He leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch by your head, effectively caging you in. You can feel how his muscles flex under your hands as you touch him, sliding your palms up and down his chest. You find your eyes locked onto his hand, watching the way he moves up and down.
"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he breathes. "Fucked my fist so many times wishing it was you.”
You wrap your arms around him, one hand going up to that special spot at the base of his neck. As you graze your nails against it, he turns his face, pressing his nose into the pulse point on your wrist, inhaling you and your smell.
He starts moaning louder, breath fanning across your arm as he gets closer and closer to the edge. You're so turned on from it, you feel like you might actually cum without a hand to your body.
"Babygirl," he grunts. "Baby, fuck. I'm close."
You pull him down to you, pressing his face right into your neck. You can feel how his eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back, the arm by your head straining with how tightly he's gripping the couch.
"Gonna let your alpha cum on your stomach, baby? Mark you?”
You nod quickly. You feel him lean in even more, brushing his lips against the soft part of your throat where he no doubt can feel your erratic pulse. You right into his ear, and then he's groaning out your name and nipping at your throat hard, all teeth and tongue and need as he spills all over you.
He makes sure to press his body flush against you while he rides out his orgasm, so that his cum splatters all over your stomach. He grinds up against you with his hips, making sure his cock slides along the fabric of his sweater. You watch him get lost in it, eyes screwed shut as he mouths at your throat, panting and moaning through his high.
Then he stills, just a bit. He pulls away from your neck, his pupils still completely blown as he looks down at you.
You're not sure what he sees when he does. You know sweat is starting to stick to your skin, plastering little bits of your hair to your face. Despite not being touched yet, you feel absolutely cock drunk if only on the sight of Chan alone.
You can't tell if that's what he sees, but whatever it is, it makes his still-hard cock jump against where it rests on your stomach. He's pushing himself up to sit on his knees before you even remember your own name.
He slides down the couch until his face is level with your hips. He pulls the waistband of your sweats down just enough for your cunt to be exposed, and then he's leaning forward, dragging his tongue along your slit.
"Fuck," you cry, body jolting. "Chan."
He doesn't respond verbally, just hums and pulls back enough to stare at your dripping cunt. You find your hips bucking up when he lets his mouth water just enough to drool right on you.
He dives back down to your cunt and pushes his tongue inside of you. You feel him moan against you as he licks you, slow and deliberate. You can hear how wet you are, and you feel yourself throb around his tongue when you hear it.
"I kept noticing your scent change," he says against your clit. He gives it a few kitten licks before diving down and flattening his tongue on you, licking and slurping you from end to end. "Sometimes, I would look at you, or touch you, and you smelled like citrus. Couldn't figure out why."
He takes those absurdly plump lips and suctions them around your clit, one strong arm coming to hold you down when you arch up off the bed.  "Thats just your scent when you're aroused," he continues, nudging his nose against your clit. "Smells so fucking good."
You're certain you might be delirious at this point. The way Chan eats you out feels so much better than anything else you've ever felt, and his tongue has you hurdling to the crest of your orgasm faster than you can believe.
"Oh. Ohh," you whimper. "Channie, m'so close."
"That's my good girl," he murmurs. His lips are still right against your clit. "You're so perfect baby. Let me make you feel good. Want you to cum for me."
He slides his tongue back inside of you, and you feel a hand come up to play with your clit. You're so dangling off the edge, so ready to jump with the right push. You just need a little more, but then you feel a finger slide inside of you and crook up.
You're gone. You cum with a shout of Chan's name, arching up off of the couch as your body shakes from the intensity of it all. He licks you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine and wiggle around from the sensitivity.
He sits back on his knees again, watching you pant on the couch as you try to collect yourself. You look over at him when you catch your breath, and you see him licking his fingers clean.
He leans over you again, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down. You don't bother asking first, just slot his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. It's absolutely wet and filthy, the flavor of yourself bursting over your tongue when he swipes into your mouth. You suck on his tongue, hard, and he groans into your mouth, hands sliding up under the sweater to touch your bare skin.
"Gonna fuck you good now," he grunts against your lips. You whine and press your body into his. "Okay, baby? Do you think you're ready for me?"
"Yes, Chris," you sigh. He pulls away from the kiss gently to stare at you. Despite the haze of his rut, you can see a hesitancy in his eyes, like there's something he wants but he's not saying. It takes all of two seconds for you to connect the dots.
"Please, Alpha?" you whine.
That seems to be the magic word, because he's lifting you up into his arms and standing up from the couch immediately. In a split second, you're pressed up against the wall next to the TV. You're very thankful for the layer between your bare skin and the freezing cold wall.
He wraps your legs around his waist, and suddenly you can feel the heat of his erection right on you. He presses his cock between your folds, holding you tight while he ruts up into you. 
You're so wet that the head catches against your entrance every so often, making both of you moan into each others mouths.
"Thank you, baby," he murmurs, uncharacteristically soft at a moment like this. "'m so grateful. So--" He lets out a pant, eyes rolling back as he lets his head drop back too. "Fuck."
You know Chan well enough to know what he's trying to say. He's thanking you for accepting him, for coming back to him, for letting him be vulnerable.
How could you not? He was so distressed by your wellbeing that a distant part of his DNA woke up to protect you. He ignored his doctor's orders to take you on this trip because he knew you needed it. He was content to suffer through his first rut in silence if it meant just taking care of you.
How could you not love all that he is?
You learn forward and nip him right as his pulse point, and his whole body jerks. You know werewolf lore, know that a bite there means a forever. You don't have the same genetic syndrome, but God do you want to be in his arms forever. You don't even feel like you need to question it.
His eyes, heavily lidded, find their way to your face. "You know what that bite means, right baby?" His voice is hoarse, and even when he clears his throat at your responding nod, it doesn't get better. "You wanna mark me there, babygirl? Make me yours?”
You nod, sliding your mouth up his throat until your lips are pressed right against his ear. You slide your tongue over his lobe and tug on it. "Please alpha. Wanna show everyone who you belong to."
He snakes a hand up your back until he finds your hair, fingers tangling in the roots as he grips, pulling your head back. "I mark you first," he grits out. "Let alpha take care of you."
You can't help the way you go pliant, letting your head fall to one side just enough to expose your neck to him. You watch his eyes and make your expression as wanting as possible.
He groans at that, finally pulling you away from the wall just enough so that he can line himself up. He pushes his tip right into you, and you press your forehead against his, the mixed sounds of your breathing being the only thing filling the atmosphere.
"I love you," he sighs. Your heart squeezes in your chest. "Gonna take such good care of you always, yeah?"
"I love you more, Chan," is your breathy reply.
"I'll give you everything," he sighs. "Everything you want. I just need you to come on my cock first, yeah? The alpha's got you. I got you."
Then he's pushing in slowly, and you both sigh as he bottoms out. You cling to him, pressing your face into his neck as he fucks you slowly into the wall.
He keeps it slow, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your forehead and hair, telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how you were made just for him. You're already feeling the pressure building up in your stomach again, barely paying attention to what he's saying. 
"Gonna breed this tight little pussy," he murmurs at some point. You do hear that, and you clench hard around him, making him groan.
"Oh fuck," he gasps. "You want my seed, huh? Want me to fuck my seed in you, angel?"
Your walls around him again, swallowing him up. You know you can't get pregnant-- birth control and all of that-- but the idea of him filling you up has your body begging for more. You dig your nails into the skin of his back and you feel him throb inside of you. He makes a sound between a grunt and a moan, slamming his hips into yours, cock sliding into you deeper than before.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, m'so close already. Think you can you cum with me angel? Hm?"
You nod, clinging to his shoulders as you bounce up and down on his cock. It feels so good, too good, and you're already so close yourself.
"Chris," you whine. "I'm– fuck, I'm close."
"I know, babygirl," He sounds so wrecked. "I'm right behind you. You can cum for me baby. Cum for your alpha. Want you to cum on me, please."
He presses a kiss to your neck, right over your pulse point, and that's all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge. You cry out his name, letting him fuck you through it while your cunt pulsates around him. You feel him twitch in you, a deep guttural moan leaving his lips as he slams into you one last time, spilling all his cum inside of you.
He bites you then.
Its not painful, not really, because he doesn't break skin. His teeth aren't sharp enough for that. The bite is more performative than anything, but it sends a shockwave through your body.
 It's a strange feeling, almost like your blood is simmering under your skin, but you're so lost in the bliss of your orgasm that you don't even care. It feels right, anyhow. Like the final missing piece to a puzzle you've been spending a lifetime constructing.
He stays there for a second, sucking a bruise into your neck. His hands are shaking, but he's holding you tight enough that you don't even worry about falling.
Then, he licks the spot on your neck where he bit, soothing whatever pain he might've caused. He pulls away from you just enough to press a kiss to your lips, still holding you up with his cock in you.
"I love you," he whispers. "My mate. Mine."
You reach a hand up to touch his neck, and he tilts his head to the side, giving away to the instincts thrumming under his skin. You take your fingers and trace them along the column of his throat, stopping just under his Adam's apple. 
You don't say anything at first, just lean forward and press your lips against the same spot. Your bite is more restrained, more gentle. He hisses out a strangled sound, and you would assume it was pain if you didn't feel his cock pulse in you.
When you pull away, you look at him, a small smile on both of your incredibly fucked out faces. You lean forward and press a little kiss to his lips.
"I love you too," is your quiet reply. "My mate."
As promised, he's so gentle with you afterwards, cleaning you up and giving you your medication when he scents your hips are about to ache. The entire ordeal is so familiar, so cozy, you wonder how you could've ever let yourself believe that Chan didn't love you too.
Hours later, when you're cuddled together on the couch, dozing off in his lap, you hear him whispering something against your hair. Your mind is so muddled with sleep you can barely make out the words he's saying.
You string together something about mates, something about how he'll protect you, how you're his everything, how he loves you so much.
It doesn't really matter though. You know already, because he's yours, and you're his.
His everything.
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