#See if you can't do something just don't do it it's very simple

[incorrectcalex]

i'm really bored rn, so i'm gonna answer those questions based on what i think abt how was their wedding. (don't mind my english, not my 1st language 😭)

Alex was the one that first brought it up while they were watching Wedding Factory, suddenly asking Casey, 'If we ever get married, would you choose a classical wedding cake or something like, I don't know, a HotWheels Speedway themed cake?' and Casey, being Casey, just stared at Alex with the biggest puppy eyes she'd ever seen, simply saying 'You'd like to marry me somewhere in the future?'.

And what it was just a silly doubt in between a show, became a heartwarming conversation about their expectations for their future.

After three years, when Casey cleared a space of her closet for Alex to move in, she decided it was time. They had been living together for a couple of months when she decided to celebrate Valentine's day differently. She planned a whole trip for them, so Alex, being the smartass she is, wouldn't guess what Casey was doing.

First, they shared breakfast in bed, eating fruits and pancakes before they started packing to spend the night out. Their first parade was in a flower shop, where Casey had bought her a pink dahlia and lily bouquet, Alex's favorites with a mug trinket for her bracelet, simbolizing their first date in a coffee shop.

They had two other parades after that. One so they could have lunch at a random restaurant so that Alex wouldn't suspect and the other at a grocery store, so Casey could buy marshmellows. Alex tried to take any information off of Casey so she could know where they were heading to, but she always avoided the question with another one, and honestly, Alex was getting anxious just like a little kid asking their parents if they arrived at their destiny.

Finally, when the sun was starting to set, they got to a camping area, where, without explaining much, Casey asked Alex for help to tidy up the tent and light the fire and a very confused, but excited Alex tried her best to fill up the air mattress while Casey finished the tent.

Casey gave Alex a match box for her to light the fire while she gathered their stuff to put inside the tent, taking advantage of Alex's distraction it as an excuse to get the ring box, stuffing it into her jacket pocket. When she went outside, She saw the fire lit and Alex had her back turned for her while and smiled, trying to focus about the repellent she was talking about.

'Yeah, of course I brought it. I couldn't have us going back to work tomorrow like we were rolling in a pool of stingers.', the redhead said jokingly, looking at the sun, that it was almost setting. Taking a deep breath, she knelt, taking the ring box out of the pocket, 'Good, because I really don't want us to be itching the whole wee-' Alex finally turned to face Casey, looking down to see her there, with a black velvet ring box opened there looking like she had just ate a whole bag of black pepper 'What are you doing?', the blonde asked silently, her face blank with shock.

'Lex, we have been together for almost five years and... God I'm terrible at this, but, do you remember when we had finally admitted that we actually liked each other and you said something like, "we're gays, Casey, if there's something that we can't do is pretend that being public about it isn't dangerous. But I'm willing to try if you also want to laugh in the face of danger with me", and I can't see a better way of doing it than marrying with you, so... Alexandra Cabot, would you like to marry me?', she finally proposed, seeing the blonde chuckle, crying a bit as she stared at Casey's gleamy eyes 'Have I ever said how much I love the Disney freak you are? Of course I do!'

And they hugged after Casey puts the engagement ring on her finger. It was a private and simple moment, but it was just perfect for them.

Their rings were just perfect for them. Nothing too flashy, but nothing too simple, either. 👇 ( pinterest pic ofc )

The wedding was planned by them. They wanted it to be perfect and to have a little touch of both. Like, the classic tradition of something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue and a sixpence in your shoe was Alex's idea, but having a picture wall was totally Casey's ( they literally decided those things the morning after the proposal ).

They didn't tell a soul about it until they were back in town. They came at the precint with smiles bigger than the room, Olivia was surely the first to tease about it, 'It seems like someone had a good weekend', she said, looking at both of them and they giggled as they looked at each other just like high school sweethearts.

'Well, yeah, I guess it was good, what do you think, Lexie?', she stared at her now fiancée, that just smiled back, looking at Liv 'I think so, but now my hand kinda hurts, do yours too?'.

Fin and Munch had came near them, looking at them weirdly, 'What are these two up to?', the older man asked and Liv just shook her head. 'Mine does too, it must be the weight of being engaged, don't you think, love?', 'It surely is, what do you think, guys?"

And both showed their hands at them, their smiles were huge and the detectives just stared at them surprised, their smiles growing. 'Oh, my God, finally!, Liv was the first to say, hugging both of them individually, 'I'm so happy that you two weren't talking about your sex life' Munch said, listening to their laugh as he also hugged them, 'You two owe me 50 bucks, I told you it wouldn't pass this year.', Fin was the one who said it as John growled as he handed his partner the money, just like Olivia.

'Wait, you made a bet about it?', Alex was the one who asked, laughing. 'Of course, four years of taking you two being gays 24/7 and nothing about wedding?!', Liv said, 'Besides, who proposed?'

'I did. In a camping trip'. Casey smiled at the blonde, who just smiled back, looking at her soon-to-be-wife. 'Damn it, Alex! I bet on you!' Liv complained, giving twenty to Munch and Fin. 'What can I say? Casey was faster than me!'.

The planning endured for two very stressful years where they gathered money enough for the ceremony, reception and their honeymoon. It was hard, but they finally had, not only the money, but everything planned and set for their wedding to happen. And with the planning, they chose their bestmen and maids of honor.

Alex chose Huang and Olivia, her best friends since forever. Huang was the first gay man that was actually open about his sexuality and that made her have the courage to actually accept herself, meanwhile Olivia was the one that encouraged her to talk to Casey about her feelings and actually admit them to her. Without them, Alex probably would never give herself an opportunity to this relationship.

Meanwhile Casey chose Munch to be her bestman and Mary to be her maid of honor. They were the ones that made her realize that she was in love with Alex and that, even though Casey's religion said otherwise, she could love other woman romantically and that that wasn't a bad thing.

Munch trusted her and treated her nicely since day one and not only that, but they actually trusted her work and her intuition and that was something that she really valued on their friendship.

And Mary, the woman who guided her when she first started working as a prosecutor... she was the one that made all of that happen, even if they didn't knew that at the time they met. She was the one that didn't let her give up on being a prosecutor and that was what led Casey to be where she was today.

They didn't really know what to do, but they preferred to make a simple invitation in their own handwriting in a box with a bottle of wine to each one of them and invite them to a small dinner at their house. In the middle of the conversation, the couple gave the box with each one of their names to them, smiling when they accepted with a very pleasant smile on their faces.

It was simple, but seeing their reactions, it definetly couldn't have been better.

Both of them knew that it wouldn't be easy to make the guest list. Not because they were unsure of who they should invite, but because they knew exactly who they couldn't have there. Alex was her parent's only kid, so when they died, she didn't had anyone of her family to invite besides her uncle Bill, his wife and their kid. She surely wanted her parents to be there and the worst part is that this was something that she couldn't even change.

It was hard, of course, but she knew, or at least tried to believe, that they would be there somewhere, cheering for her.

Casey also was okay with every friend they invited to, the problem was that she also didn't had anyone of her family to be there for her. Her entire family is catholic, the kind of catholic that would scream at you if they saw a rainbow drawing on your notebook.

Both of them knew it would be difficult do handle their absense, but they were glad to have their chosen family by their side.

manip out of my manip acc on insta!! @/caseycabvt_

When the day finally arrived, they were surely a pile of nerves and happiness. It was like half of them were about to faint while the other was running around the house screaming "I'M GETTING MARRIED! I'M GETTING MARRIED", while their maids of honor tried to calm them down.

Alex's uncle decided to give his backyard so they could get married. It was a large place, and, as there weren't many guests, there was still plenty of space for them to dance and enjoy the ceremony and the after party.

The ceremony happened as the sun started to set. Fin was the one who held the ceremony, having obtained his license online the day before, pretending the whole time he didn't want to cry for being the chosen one to marry his best friends.

Huang was the one that got in charge to take care of their rings while Mary would hold their bouquets when they exchanged their vowels.

Liv and Munch were the ones who carried them to the aisle, where both of them met with huge smiles in their faces, wattery eyes and shaky hands. They couldn't stop looking at each other, both clearly too stunned to say something more than "I love you" before they walked together through the aisle.

'We're reunited this evening to not just celebrate love and the union of the brides, but also courage. We know how hard it is to actually have the strenght to admit and show everyone that you love someone who has the same gender as you. It was hard, all of us know how much you two tried to hide your feelings, not that they were successful, you were terrible, actually', he said, hearing both giggle, 'but the day finally came and we couldn't even say it wasn't true love. You two had a long history and we're here today to witness you guys take this very important step for your relationship. So, without further ado; Do you, Alexandra Cabot, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?', he read what he wrote from the site script, looking at her, who couldn't stop smiling at her soon-to-be-wife, 'Yes, I do', she said with a tender voice, 'Do you, Casey Novak, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?'.

'Yes, I do.', the redhead replied, her lower lip shaking as she held her tears back. Fin stared at them with a smile in the face, trying not to cry as much as them. 'Before you exchange the rings, did you guys have anything you might want to read?', both of them nodded and Alex was the first one to take out her paper.

'God, this is unlike me, but I might sob in between the words so I hope you can understand me', she joked nervously, seeing Casey chuckle 'Well, it has been a very long decade. I got shot, went to WitSec and when I came back because my shooter was about to be prosecuted, it wasn't me the one who was about to put him behind the bars and that's what pissed me off more about it. I mean, who was that nosy redhead who had took my job so easily? And not only that, but was also very good at it. I could say I wasn't very pleased with a younger A.D.A being so good at her job that she put the man that hurted me in jail having only a ballistics results as evidence. I was intrigued by her. So when I came back permanently from WitSec, we saw each other a few times in the DA's office when she needed something from the Homicides Department. And we started chatting, the chat became an implicit flirt here and there, but we always said it was nothing when some of our friends asked. But there was something in there. At the time I wanted to pretend it wasn't what everyone was talking about. There was no love, nor attraction or tension. It was just friendship. So what that I would always smile when she laughed? Or that I would always reach out to her hand when I was distracted or that i would be the first one to smudge the sause off of her mouth corner when she was eating... and getting really close to her face while doing it? I mean, that's what friends are for. Besides that, how could I fall in love with someone that rolls a baseball bat for fun? But I mean, when she does it... thank god I'm able to watch it. Well, it took me a lot of "or what?"s for me to realize that I had fall in love with her and this got me so freaked out that I had to take a moment to calm myself down and figure it out what to do with that information. And then, one day we went out to grab a few drinks with the squad, we drank a lot of cheap beer and when we realized, we were kissing in the back of my car after telling our friends we were heading home, even though in opposite ways from each other. No wonder nobody believed us. Well, the morning after we talked so much about our feelings that I think we learned more about each other in a day than we had in like, two years. That day was the day we swore to laugh in the face of danger together and I guess this day finally came. I love you, Casey. And I can't wait to spend the rest of our lives calling you my wife."

The redhead laughed and cried during the whole speech, trying her best to not smudge her makeup. 'God, can't I kiss this woman already?', she asked as she chuckled, 'Not until I say so. I'm your highness until the party begins', Fin said while puffing out his chest, as a sign of false superiority, 'I'm regretting the traditionalism now' she mumbled, trying to shake her anxiousness off.

'I suck when it comes to sharing my feelings, but I swear I really tried my best. Alexandra Cabot was like a myth when I first started at the DA's office, they talked about her appearance, her mannerisms and her talent to win a case with little to no evidence but at the same tome they admired her, it also came with the "beware of the Ice Queen" warning and, to be honest, the 25 year old me got scared like a puppy to even bump into her at the courthouse or even the DA's office and it never happened. But it happened a few years later and, to be fair, I never knew if it was the WitSec that changed it or the people who talked about her that exaggerated, but I could never see Alex as an Ice Queen. She was the most kind, loving and caring person I could ever met and, even when she had all her deffenses up, she had the most warming gleam in her eyes, like the ones we see in literature but I could never understand quite exactly what the authors meant until I looked into those blue eyes. And, being honest, you know when you promise yourself that you would never fall for that especific person and you're already there? Well, that's what happened. I swore to my life that I would never let myself fool for those perfect blue eyes, neither for that beautiful smile, but guys, I wasn't fooled by them, I drowned in those eyes and found safety in that smile but I still couldn't let myself admit it. I mean, come on, how could I ever admit that when I wasn't even sure about myself? I did tried my best to hide it and to shove it deep down my guts and it kinda helped, for like, five minutes and I was already drooling over how I loved to watch her talk about anything she was interested in, because, if you see Alex talking about Star Wars, you'll surely see how her eyes gleam and how her voice goes up and she starts to make those crazy teen fan faces that makes you giggle and just see how much of a child she can be behind those walls. And, I guess that wasn't only her looks and how smart and confident she is that made me fall in love with her, but also watching her eating her food after days of poorly feeding herself because of a case, or how caring she is with the victims she helps... and how she smiles with her eyes when she snuggles up with a kitten and also starts to sneeze and gets her nose all red because of the kitten's fur, the way she crying laughs at dad jokes and how she decides to paint her toe nails right before she fells asleep and wakes up with her nails smudgy and with the sheets marked all over the polish', Alex laughs, mumbling something confirming what Casey says 'I knew that way before we get involved because I actually saw her doing it, and she just brushed it off by saying it that nobody would actually look at her toes, so it was fine. Besides everything I struggled with while trying to accept I was in love with this amazing woman, I also fought with my faith. I cried everyday since I was a kid asking for God to take these feeling away from me, to make me happy with a man, not a woman. To make me feel the things for guys and not girls and for years I pretended it worked and I was fine just stealing looks and pretending it was just an admiration, until I had Alex sleeping in my shoulder, her breath hot against my cheek and I had to fight the urge to not just kiss her goodnight. It was the hardest moment for me and I kinda went on meltdown. And how was the odds of having a jewish old man helping me out in that moment,' she looked straight towards Munch, who had her eyes wattering, 'making me realize that God still loved me the same no matter who I'd chose to spend my life with... I know everything is kinda messy with this whole speech, but I think there's no way better to finish it then saying: "Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.", and I love you with all my heart, Alex. And I'm just glad I let it be rainbow with you.'

They shared a emotive smile across their faces as they held their hands, still looking at each other's eyes. Fin cleared his throat and stared at them, 'I've never seen them being this gay in my whole life.' he tried to pretend he was about to cry too, smiling clearly happy, 'Well, if anybody has anything to say against this communion, I hope you stay shut and complain at home, by yourselves. Someone? No one? Good.' they chuckled as he proceeded to read through his speech, 'Well, so you guys can know exchange your rings.

Huang came near with the small red velvet pillow in hands, which had both of their wedding rings, and as Alexandra got Casey's ring, she smiled at her soon-to-be wife, sliding it across her left ring finger, kissing on top of it, whispering 'I love you' to the redhead, who already had tear marks over her makeup. Now, Casey grabbed Alex's ring and did the exact same thing. They both stared at each other as Huang stepped aside, both of them smiling so much it almost hurted their cheeks.

'And now I pronounce you bride and bride, and you may... well, kiss!', he smiled, all of their guests standing up to applaud them as Alex held Casey's waist while the redhead cupped her wife's face and kissed her, hugging her tightly right after.

The party went great after that. They laughed, danced and, after a really long time, they remembered to threw Alex's bouquet — which landed on Munch's head and he asked proposed to a really drunk Fin, that fake cried and accepted, saying that Munch's third time getting married would be the lucky one.

They took their time after and finally flew together to their honeymoon, which they passed in Romania, learning their culture, language, and even risked to learn to dance like a professional belly dancer – no need to say they mostly had fun then actually learned anything.

Alex also recall once in a while to have someone reading what was called the gypsy oracle deck that was paint in hand by the reader's family, which talked about a very happy and long marriage and succesful carreers.

Fifteen years had passed, but Alex still hasn't forgotten about that, because that's what exactly happened. They're exactly where they wanted to be. Alex found herself helping victims of abuse and domestic violence to get through everything and even hide from their aggressors, everything backed up by law and Casey became a law teacher in HLS.

In their Fifteenth anniversary, they renewed their vows, having only the few people that lasted in their lives all those years at the ceremony and during the after party at their house.

When Alex was asked to describe their marriage in a sentence she'd say "everyday with her is a rainy day under a warm and comfortable blanket. i couldn't ask for anything better".

And when Casey was asked about it, she'd reply "being married with her it's like jogging the whole morning, just to get back at home and feel that delicious fresh coffee smell. a total rush of dopamine and endorphin".

I'd say that they make the whole marriage stuff seem easy. They have a connection that goes beyond the physical and, even with struggles, it's like they understand and can solve any problem by just sitting down and taking a deep breath. It's like a connection made by forces that goes beyond nature itself.

Wedding ask game for your newly (and not so newly) wed OTP

(made mainly with couples in mind, feel free to adapt to as many people as you want)

Who first brought up the option of marriage? Was it an easy topic?

Which one proposed? Was it grand and public? Discreet and private? Was it expected?

Show us their engagement and/or wedding rings!

Did they plan the wedding by themselves, with help, or with a professional planner?

Was the planning and time up til the wedding stressful?

Who were the first people to find out about the engagement? How did they react?

Who are the maids of honor and/or best men? Why and how were they chosen?

Was there any drama whatsoever regarding the guest list?

Show us a mood/stimboard of their wedding's general aesthetic.

Do they get married through court? Church? Third secret option?

When do they get married? Night or day? Any specific reason for either?

Do either of them play music while walking down the aisle (if they do at all)? If yes, show us their song.

Show us their outfits!

Do they follow any familiar, cultural, and/or religious traditions at any point of the wedding?

Who was the ringbearer?

Who married them?

Show us their vows. Did either of them tear up at them?

Did anyone oppose the marriage? Did they speak then, or did they just forever hold their peace?

What was the ceremony like? Any highlights?

Did anyone pass out from a food/alcohol coma?

Do they have a honeymoon? Where to? How soon after?

Do they renew their vows? Remarry, even?

If the couple could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would they?

If you could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would you?

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

104, 216 and yeosang please please please 🙏

➯a/n: yes yes yessss 😩 i know deep in my guuuut that yeosang is freaky, he's a perv and i can feel it in my bones (me too fr) also damn it why do i keep going overboard with these simple prompts !? the ateez brainrot is so real ...

Fair

❥Kang Yeosang x fem reader

104 + 216: "give me your panties" + piss kink

✈︎queued for: sun. 18th

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: STRONG dom/sub dynamics, bdsm relationship, MEAN NASTY dom sang, degradation in the form of: being peed + cum on and name calling (bitch, slut, whore, dirty). omorashi (sang gets off on making reader hold her bladder), teasing, shower 'sex', fingering, sub-space, praise, orgasm control, overstim, one light slap, pet names (darling, baby), healthy communication of consent (which is very important in bdsm, be safe !!)

♡masterlist !♡

➯a/n2: the concept of yeosang teasing his s/o until they can't take it anymore all while nonchalantly watching tv or something is just fried in my brain ever since i wrote "Yours" like gawd 😭 i seriously feel like he's the freakiest, nastiest member of ateez and i will die on this hill — then i want you all to bury me here lmaooo

18+. MINORS GET OUTTA HERE.

☆゜

"Will you stop fidgeting?" Yeosang groans as he pins your leg to the couch by your thigh as you bounce it incessantly.

"I have to pee..." You whisper for the third time in the hour. You know you can always just get up and go, or you can say 'stop' and tell him you seriously can't take it anymore. But you know how much Yeosang loves to see you struggle. You can see the sparkle in his eyes as he watches the TV, the little smirk on his lips at your words.

"Just hold it, I don't want you to miss the show." He doesn't give a single fuck about the show, and you both know it. When he moves his hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder again, you cross your legs. His smirk gets wider.

Another twenty minutes pass. The television and the rotating fan fill the silence. It's summertime, and you're both in nothing but your underwear to fight the heat — but also because you'd just had a rather steamy make out session in which you stripped each other.

His hard on hadn't gone away from the way you were grinding on him, and you have to seriously commend his self restraint. It's been almost two hours, but he's not going to cum until you cave.

You shift in your seat, leaning your head against his shoulder with a small whine.

Another ten minutes pass.

He has to commend your self restraint now. You've never made it this long. You must really want to please him. An idea hits him —

"Give me your panties."

You look up, slightly stunned, but you're already moving to obey him. After having been together so long, you never question him when you're in sub-space.

"Thank you, Darling," he rewards you with a soft kiss, grinning into it as he feels the little wet patch on them while he sets them aside. He gently pulls one of your legs over his, effectively spreading your legs.

When the fan hits your wetness, you jolt. Yeosang, the evil genius, chuckles into your lips, giving you one last lick before pulling away.

"Hold it, Darling. You can do it."

The cool air makes the sensation of your full bladder a million times harder to ignore, but you bite your lip; determined to make it through the — wait, is this a different show? That really shows how much the two of you are paying attention.

Every time the fan passes over you, you let out a sigh, a whimper, a groan. And he drinks them all up like he's dying of thirst.

His fingers are drawing patterns on your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your center.

Your heart is beating so fast you think he might be able to hear it. And when his finger finds your clit, you squeak out a simple, "stop."

He immediately hauls you up off the couch and carries you to the bathroom, rubbing down the back of your thigh and to your ass. "You made it really long, Darling," he hums, setting you down in the shower and starting the water, "hold it just a bit longer~"

You cross your legs with a whine, blinking at him desperately. "Baby, please, hurry-" You yip as he turns you around to face the wall, joining you under the stream of water after ridding himself of his boxers. The sound of the shower is making it near impossible to hold it. You're about to burst.

As soon as he wraps an arm around you, two of his fingers slide inside of you. And as soon as they do, your bladder has had enough.

The stream of pee coming from you is broken into spurts as Yeosang starts a brutal pace with his fingers, a wide smirk on his face as you sob with the simultaneous relief and onslaught of pleasure. He wraps his free arm around your chest and holds you upright as you trembling like a leaf in the wind. "There you go," he hums with a deep satisfaction, "let it all out, my dirty darling~"

You can finally open your eyes as your poor bladder finally runs empty, panting and bracing your hands against the wall as he continues to curl his fingers inside of you. "Fffffuck!" Is all you can manage to slur, spreading your legs further.

"How good does that feel, huh?" He presses his forehead against your shoulder, nipping your skin, "say thank you, bitch."

"Thank you! Oh, sh- thank you, thank you, s'good-"

"You did so good for me, such a patient little piss slut~" He slides his hand down your chest, briefly pinching one of your nipples before traveling further. As he starts drawing figure eights on your clit, he tells you, "cum for me."

Your body is hardwired to listen to him, you can't help but do as he says — especially when he's just flooded your brain with so much relief and sexual pleasure all at once.

You grab onto his arms, moaning unabashedly as you cum around his fingers, "oh, good fuck!" You wail as your knees give out from the force of it, wavering in his strong hold as he overstimulates the living daylights out of you; holding you under his actions until your pussy is throbbing. "S-top," you manage to hiccup, and he does so immediately — breathing just as heavily as you and chuckling as he catches the sounds of your little pathetic moans over the running water.

"Such a good whore for me," he praises as he kisses along your neck, slowly and gently removing his fingers from your sensitive cunt. He knows your limits, and holding your bladder this long has definitely pushed you to them. He would love nothing more than to fuck you against the shower wall until you can't breathe — but he knows that would be too much for you at the moment. Oh well, painting you in as many nasty ways he can will be just as nice.

"C'mere." He pulls you away from the wall and gently turns you around with your back under the water. "Kneel."

There you go, down on your knees without a second thought. Actually, you're so deep in your sub-space that you don't even remember what thinking is.

"Look at you," he coos, a devilish grin on his lips as he inspects your form. Back straight, legs folded neatly under you, hands behind your back. "My perfect little plaything~"

You smile up at him, eyes trained on his despite the way you really, really want to look at his erect member. You fail when he starts stroking it. Your eyes flick for only a second, but of course Yeosang catches it.

He slaps you in the following second, although he does so lightly — just as a warning. You know he can be much rougher. All things considered, this scene could be called "vanilla" or "soft" by you and Yeosang's standards.

"Sorry, Baby," you say immediately, earning yourself a soft stroke to your poor cheek.

"Take your eyes off me again and I'll make you drink my piss, got it?" He tilts his head, words spoken so nonchalantly that it makes your sensitive heat throb. You know he won't without asking you first, but something about his threats always make you hot and bothered.

"Yes, Sangie."

"Good slut." He smirks as he notices your thighs pressing together, giving your cheek a soft pinch before standing back up to get the full view of you while he jerks himself off. "So pretty..."

Before he can command you to; you're already opening your mouth wide like he likes. Sticking out your tongue to act as a landing pad for his cum.

You know him just as well as he knows you. You can see that little twitch in his eyebrow, the way his chest rises and falls faster.

"Fuck-" He curses under his breath, eyes scanning you with wide pupils, "my bitch knows what I like, yeah?"

A hummed 'mhm!' sounds from your throat, and he has to hold himself back from fucking straight into it. You seriously test his self control sometimes — it's hard to stick to what you've planned and agreed to whenever you're so goddamn perfect for him.

"Keep that tongue out until I say so." He's getting so close he can feel it in his balls, his body begging for release after being denied so long. But he doesn't want to stop yet. He wants to admire you longer; you really are his perfect plaything.

"Ah," you moan as you open your mouth wider, your eyes obediently trained on his even as they wander your body. When they come back to yours — he's hit with his peak whether he likes it or not. You look like the doll of his dreams, eager to please and knowing just what makes him weak.

He's taken off guard by it, jaw dropping with a string of moans as a few ropes of his cum paint your face before he manages to pull you closer and shove his tip into your mouth.

You barely even flinch as his warm release meets your face; your eyes only shut for a split second before they're back on his and making his heart skip one too many beats as he cums into your mouth.

You keep your tongue out all the while, playing with your hands behind your back so you don't play with yourself. You moan softly, tilting your head back so none of his cum drips out when he pulls away.

It's so sweet and salty. He loves cumming in your mouth, so he drinks all of pineapple juice — it may seem unnecessary, but he likes for you to enjoy it too. And it's something small that you appreciate as he absolutely ruins you for anyone but himself. Something to focus on when he makes you hold it in your mouth as he goes back to fucking you ruthlessly or degrading you in such beautiful and debaucherous way.

It makes you not hesitate when he says, "close your mouth. Don't swallow." You revel in the taste of his cum.

Panting quietly, he kneels down infront of you and swipes the milky white release on your face; gathering it up on his fingers. "Spread your legs, slut."

You do so with breakneck speed, one of your hands coming out of position to steady yourself on the shower wall. He lets it slide — you've been so good for him. And he lets you know how much you've pleased him while he spreads his cum on your cunt, "you've been such a good whore for me, Darling. Getting all dirty, that's how you like it, huh?"

"Mhmmm," you moan with your mouth full, your cheeks puffed ever so slightly. You almost throw your head back when he starts massaging his cum into your heated skin. You can only communicate with your eyes, making them begging and wide and letting your eyebrows crease together.

"You want to cum again, is that it?"

You nod quickly, breath picking up as he slips his fingertips between your lips and caresses your hole teasingly.

"Do you want to cum now, or do you want to cum when I fuck you later? Choose carefully, Darling. If you want it now, nod." He's cruel, you think, and he's so hot it's unfair. He knows you love having your orgasms controlled. He gets to say when, how, how many — this is just an illusion of choice.

And you chose to shake your head. If you'd chosen to cum now, you'd be edged to near insanity later and not allowed to cum until the morning. That's just the way Yeosang does things. And even though you whine as he moves his fingers, you love it.

"I think that's a good choice for my needy slut," he leans and kisses your forehead so affectionately that it makes you dizzy. "Open."

His release is all mixed with your build up of spit, stringy as you open your mouth and carefully stick out your tongue with your head tilted back; not spilling a single drop.

"Good," he pecks your tongue softly, licking his own release from his lips before saying, "swallow."

You almost don't want to. The taste of his cum is comforting on some level. But you do it anyway, because you always get rewarded with a smile.

"My obedient slut," he gives you that smiles, and you return the gesture. He swipes back your wet hair, tracing your cheekbones softly. "Would you like to continue?"

He's rough and he's mean, but he loves you. He checks up every so often during scenes like this, even if you don't use your safe word.

"Yes, please."

He keeps his smile as he pats your cheek, then it's gone when he stands up.

"On your ass."

You swing your legs out from under you and are sitting on the shower floor in a second flat, leaning back on your hands and waiting for your next instruction.

"Spread your legs."

Done. The moment he asks for it.

"Since you pissed all over me, I'm going to piss all over you now. Sound fair?" He looks so excited behind his dominant persona that even if you didn't want him to — you'd be caving.

But, you do. You're just as eager. You're just as nasty as he is, albeit in a different way. That's why you're so perfect for each other.

"Sounds fair."

☆゜

[chaos--s]

Okay, so like I got this idea from playing a short Roblox game called 'Prototype'. It's just a quick and brief game, similar to Stanley Parable, except you act as a game tester for a game developer and help the dev try out the game's controls and mechanics. There's only 2 endings for the game and I honestly don't know if the irl game devs are still working on it.

But anyway, that had me thinking and I thought what if a programmer creates his very own digital child (aka the reader), and because reader is a purely digital being made of 1s and 0s, they have an inherent want to learn more about anything and everything. Bonus points if their creator made them not because of a tragic story like 'reader being based off their dead child' or something but the programmer honestly just wanted a child to care for without all the hassle of finding romance.

I could say that the programmer has the potential to be one of the chillest yandere dad out there since he knows reader won't be going anywhere and he can always monitor his baby even from the comfort of his phone. Additionally, he can provide lots of activities for reader so their curiosity is always satiated and he even lets them help him test his games to look for bugs and test out the controls and whatnot.

this is such a cool idea :0

i'm just gonna do a quick thought dump and y'all can tell me if you guys want a drabble of this idea :3

--

idk why but my brain immediately went to powerpuff girls, because they were made for a scientist right? the perfect daughters, but then he fucks up and makes them superhuman. but reader was made with the programmer's idea of what a perfect child to him is, he doesn't fuck up because to me he's a little bit of a perfectionist.

he feels like the kind of guy that generally does not like children, avoids them when he can because he thinks they are nuisances and a waste of money. but there's a small human side of him that wants to take care of something. and seeing as he can't keep his pet fish alive for more than 2 weeks (he forgot it existed after working on his project for too long. bro should not be taking care of actual living beings.) programming a small child-like being is the next best thing right?

so poof, reader comes into existence. it's a small project, simple programming of a little landscape and a cute home. it's adorable really, the cutest thing he has ever made.

reader is perfect from the get go, i mean obviously they are. he made them so why wouldn't they be perfect. the curiosity, the way they interacted with their surroundings was fun to observe. and slowly but surely, he starts to become attached.

he doesn't have friends, so most of his attention has turned onto reader. he spends hours conversing with them, talking to them about the world. about himself, making himself seem so much more cooler than he actually is. like yeah, he actually has a bunch of friends but he makes time to talk to reader.

totally.

reader becomes the only thing he genuinely cares about in life. keeping them happy and their curiosity satiated. everything from real life he would program into reader's digital world. every time their eyes sparkled as they explored the new thing that popped up in their little world.

all they know is what he tells them. he is reader's dad creator and the real world is scary and that they should be glad that they're made in the digital world.

bro is so completely normal about reader.

[chondrichthyes-x-mantodea]

Bit of a rant on "baby trapping"

on here again to ask yall something. What the fuck is baby trapping, and when has it ever happened via force on a man?

Every single time, I bring up something like rape and forced reproduction and how it is a target ON WOMEN, People always have to bring up poor poor male victims. When I talk about how false accusations are a very rare occurrence, people tell me "no I've seen it." "No, I knew a guy. ".... as if they most likely didn't just write the possibility off. And the same thing goes with this "baby trapping" shit. "Oh, women will purposefully get pregnant and trap a man with a baby!!!!" Literally when? Because last time I checked men do that to WOMEN. There's literally a name for the act of secretly removing a condom during sex (stealthing). Not to mention the social dynamic of fathers vs mothers.

But I saw a post on threads today of a man saying that "a woman lying about being on contraception to """get herself pregnant""" should be a crime"

.... so first, let's take note of the irony. "Get herself pregnant" even in the case of their own victim fantasy, they prove that they see this act as one-sided. Sorry but thats funny as shit to me. Wahhhhhh women are abusing men *words it as something that only effects her*. Even in this world where they're supposedly hurting more from baby trapping, they are only connected via association and ownership of said woman.

Second, if this was a real issue, you'd be advocating for male birth control. But you aren't lmfao. Recently I read a study that showed around 80% of an increase in young women developing cancer. Of course, the male doctor chalked this up to delayed childbirth and weight, but I know the truth. It's hormonal birth control, I'm certain. Screaming and crying about how women lie about being on a pill that is most likely causing exponential growth in cancer risk while you have condoms is the most male thing I've ever heard of. And really, why would she need to be on birth control? To fulfill your breeding kink (because all men have one) of needing to ejaculate in a woman? Because you see that as some form of domination? And I'm supposed to feel pity for you in this fantasy of men being forced into fatherhood? If you're that worried, wear the condom that has 0 health issues connected to it. But of course, the comments were full of men screaming about how women would sabotage the condoms.... be fr. I can't even word that part right now. Men think in such a convoluted way, they make such a maze out of simple concepts by picking and choosing which situation benefits them most. Loophole galore in their logic. But it makes sense, the whole world is a male narrative, their delusion is fact.

And finally, this is all not taking into account the way we socially handle parenthood. Its actually taking this topic and throwing it out the fucking window. 80 percent of single parents are women. Upon looking at child support statistics, they really REALLY want you to believe mothers don't pay child support as much as fathers.... but who is fucking staying with the kid 80 percent of the time? This is what I mean by male narrative always trying to make themselves the victims. Custodial fathers recieve less payment, but they make up all of 20 percent of single parents. I guess women just don't know how to abandon children the right way. And even so, men are the ones constantly crying about how child support is inhumane. Women are not making money off child support, the cost of raising a child is much higher mentally and financially.

The whole child support and single parent dilemma don't even account for social perception. Mothers are chained to children by the fucking ankle. From birth, women are raised to be big sopping emotional messes when it comes to babies. Mothers have to revolve their whole identity around emotionally catering children. Most fathers do in this culture is stand there and watch a woman care for "his offspring." If you think a woman would risk pregnancy (in this day and age with our politics and health care) and raise a child to get some fucking money, you're delusional. I feel like most of this argument stems from mens lack of understanding of how laborious parenthood actually is. A woman would not be benefitting from this. Her identity, her social life, her finance, her ability to get a job..... that's not a benefit on her. Especially when men aren't pressured to be there for a woman. Tell me, is it common practice for a man to go to OBGYN appointments with his partner? Is it encouraged? No. WHAT IS THERE TO BENEFIT FROM. On the other hand, men have always trapped women with children. Women are taught to care for their kids, and we are paid less. But no, something that happened to a man once is actually worse than when it happened to women when they couldn't even own a bank account.

TLDR: I think men are coming to terms with responsibility and parts of reproduction where they are susceptible and inferior. This is the same shit as the men pissing themselves over not having a say on abortion.... KEEP YOUR CUM IN YOUR BODY. It is not oppressive for you to not be able to cum inside a woman and fufill a fetish without worry. How tone deaf to think thats an issue for YOU while abortion is outlawed. If you are relying on her and need her to be your little sex toy, compromising her health for your ability to squirt inside her and go, then you deserve to be "baby trapped" (aka. Have to pay 200 dollars a month while she raises a whole child).

[starberry-cupcake]

THIS IS IT!!! THE FINAL ONE!!! at least, for know...

previously, in nona ice cube barbie del 9 de la tumbita:

this happened

this is the whole tlt journey minus some gideon messages I sent @lady-harrowhark and live as screenshots in her blog, because we didn't know what this would become at that time

kinda regret not being as thorough from the start, because I'm pretty sure gideon is my favorite book of the 3

someone left me a comment about that, about my lack of being thorough for gideon, and I'm sorry, I didn't know back then T_T

now, get ready for...THE UNWANTED GUEST

the title immediately reminded me of one of the edward gorey books I physically own

this one's written as a theater play, just in time for the tonys

(I haven't been able to trade for anything yet :( 👢)

I want to take a moment and send my respect and appreciation to the head editor of this book series

I want to hold their hands and look them in the eyes and tell them to hang in there

because this author can't just not do everything at all times

being an editor is a thankless job most times, because a good editor has to be invisible

people only notice us when a mistake is unchecked, but when the job is well done, the editor doesn't get noticed

and these books are insane to edit, especially as an ongoing series, because of how much they change all the time, in register, in format, in pov, etc.

Carl Engle-Laird, I appreciate your work, thank you for what you do

you are doing great and working very hard

(I'm supremely jealous of how English speaking authors have platforms like Tor and Strange Horizons and ClarkesWorld and Beneath Ceaseless Skies)

ANYWAY, WE'VE GOT A PLAY

the scene and stage situation is giving me sucker punch vibes

robed figures are feeding something in a coffin with meat

or kissing the person, we don't know

the last one to come in is our dear beloved friend palmolive, who's looking less sharp than the other figures

in the coffin, yandere twin sits up and says "you're fucked, my lad"

then, we change scene

I think someone had told me in the recap where I mentioned palmolive getting inside chad's body (we'll talk about that) that this story was about that

so I had an idea, but it's still nice to see what happened

any time I get to see a sixth house person kicking some other house's ass, either physically or intellectually, it's a good day for me

next scene we see yandere twin in an alfred pennyworth cosplay, by a fireplace

and palmolive comes in looking like a tattered professor plum

so maybe yandere twin is tim curry

tim curry butler yandere twin alludes to palmolive having been there earlier, and he says he's "all the gentlemen who called earlier"

then, palmolive starts giving a monologue on how annoying the passive aggressive "if you'd be so good as to wait here" is

kinda loving the play situation going on here

it's very immersive for the scene and also matches how dramatic yandere twin is

yandere twin then comes in dressed as yvette

palmolive continues roasting yandere twin's passive aggressive-ness, because someone has to

yvette!yandere twin leaves and tim curry!yandere twin comes back

this is starting to remind me of that scene in peter pan goes wrong where the same actress plays mrs darling and the maid

kills me every time

the coffins are back and so is yandere twin with an open shirt, leather pants and a clutch bag

she says he doesn't have much time, pointing at the fact that palmolive's suit is tattered and falling apart

he's unmoved

kinda love yandere twin having to be confronted to someone who is unmoved by the way she talks and counteracts with objective facts and simple humor

so, because yandere twin is bored and, when she's bored, she makes it everyone's problem, she decides to play a game

palmolive has 5 questions to ask, not related directly to either chad or his body's whereabouts, to find out where said body is

if he does figure it out, he gets to control it

he also gets one less question because he asks "are you going to play fair?" and yandere twin is the way that she is

when I read the gideon book I kinda felt bad for her being ostracized and pushed aside a lot but now I kinda get it a bit

palmolive exits the curtain and a voice starts talking back to him

so, it wasn't just a monologue

these books with their hidden characters around the corners

the voice tells palmolive to try to ask questions that can give him psychological insights of yandere twin's position, instead of questions that give him facts, because she will never provide facts

voice person also makes a comment about yandere twin deciding to flash the audience so much

palmolive's first question, when he's back on the stage, is whether yandere twin believes in the permeability of the soul

there is a coffin rearrangement

yandere twin is disappointed and asks why he didn't ask anything r rated

allos, am I right?

palmolive says that "in the Sixth, pillow talk is a science"

I wanna read fic written by Sixth House folk, actually

he re-frames the question to clarify that he wants to know whether she thinks the soul can be altered or deformed by external sources

they agree on that because of the way in which revenants work

so palmolive is like "if it can change irreversibly, then it should be able to lose parts of itself over time"

and yandere twin says no

not because she thinks it over, but because that's what lyctors gamble their cavaliers for

nobody's so intent on believing something than someone who doesn't want to be wrong

she uses augustine as evidence and says she's thankful he didn't live to see this conversation

I personally would love palmolive to intellectually kick lyctor ass

even more so than he's already done it

also, love the assumption that the lyctors knew what they were doing at any given time

the fact that someone was wrong for ten thousand years doesn't make them less wrong

palmolive says that just because it happens slowly and nobody has looked at it, it doesn't mean it can't happen

I'm high-fiving palmolive in my head at that

yandere twin's only argument is that she is a lyctor and he's not, which 1) doesn't prove anything and 2) just you wait, bitch

he goes back to the voice confessionals and the voice calls him "babe", at which point I'm lost at to who this is

the voice also says this doesn't look like camilla's idea

the voice is correct on that and also on the fact that yandere twin is putting on an act, something the voice calls their "topic of expertiese"

because if yandere twin was so much of a wild party girl, she wouldn't have been the way she was back at the Third and become a lyctor

voice says yandere twin is trying to manipulate palmolive by giving him what he wants and not what would serve his purpose

palmolive says he's not good at yandere twin questions which...I don't know who can be

maybe augustine, he had a similar vibe

voice says they believe in palmolive and he says "You didn't always. I had to fight for that"

palmolive goes back and announces he has a new question and yandere twin says that it's like playing strip poker with harrowcita

and she "hopes it doesn't awaken anything in her"

as if she hasn't been on that camp for a couple books already

the question is *drum roll*

"Do you regret the murder of Naberius Tern?"

WHAT A QUESTION, HUH?

the robed figures hit the lid of their coffin because they're also very interested

when yandere twin tries to avoid the question, palmolive gets all ace attorney

which is like, a lot of energy out of nowhere and very funny

yandere twin is all like "cavaliers are meant to die for us" and palmolive goes "if it comes to that, you insensitive gremlin"

not in those words

she goes "this is why harrow and I are lyctors and you're not" and I'm like

GIRLLLLLLLLLL

I WAS THERE I SAW WHAT HAPPENED

HARROW DID NOT WANT GIDEON TO IMPALE HERSELF FOR LYCTORHOOD

SHE GOT A BRAIN HAIR CUT TO FORGET WHAT HAPPENED AND EVERYTHING

also, it's cool to know this now, after we know of camolive paul atreides's existence, because we know there WAS a different way forward and it's a BETTER way to reach the same sort of state

yandere twin calls palmolive a "purse-mouthed sophist", which I think is very funny, actually

she also says that chad was a very good source of drama because he got cheated on a lot

palmolive says he's surprised because he was very pretty

he says "good looking" but, same difference

yandere twin goes "Was he your type, Sextus?"

I'VE BEEN SAYING

YOU WERE HERE YOU KNOW I'VE BEEN SAYING

THERE'S POTENTIAL THERE

I mean, I know palmolive is too far gone on og!dulcinea and whatever but

it has the same energy that coronabeer and judith have for me

the nerd and the popular kid, this dynamic

I'm weak for that

ANYWAY yandere twin says that chad was loyal to coronabeer more so than her

I honestly was never quite able to understand the dynamic with chad and yandere twin, but that's for them to figure out now huh

she also starts roasting other necro and cav pairings and calls out abby for having magnus as her cav

"Look where that got her"

she actually did a lot, but you weren't there to see it, yandere twin, you were in the emperor's bolthole making a lot of drama about your arm

palmolive goes back to the off stage voice, who compares chad to a "perfect tool", which got me laughing

then, the voice goes "Cam would have smiled at 'perfect tool'"

it was funny

then, palmolive starts smoking

?????????????????????????????????????

voice person and palmolive as are shocked as I am

my theory is that it's a yandere twin thing, but we'll see

voice person tells palmolive to make the next question a good one, because he's running out of options

he says "I wish I had more time to think" and voice goes "Oh, you used to say that a lot"

👀

the next question, the one that's meant to be super important, is:

"What did you make of Gideon Nav?"

I do think that is a very important, crucial question, actually

yandere twin starts roasting every house for free

she calls abby and magnus "dull and stupid" which is absolute slander and a terrible lie

and says that gideon was not the ninth vibe because she was like an overeager dog, which is quite correct

"She wandered around like she was the protagonist and we were all there to give her something to look at"

palmolive says gideon was smarter than she even thought, which is very nice of him to say

yandere twin doesn't act like she's a fan of gideon or the way she fights

says she uses the sword like a racquet

if you'd watch prince of tennis, you'd know that's a compliment

voice person says they would have liked to know gideon

palmolive says he liked her when he got over being jealous of her

I kinda forgot the whole not!dulcinea and gideon situationship that palmolive had to go through, believing she was og!dulcinea

kinda wild camilla didn't try to murder not!duclinea right out of the gate with all the history and how not!dulcinea made it seem like she didn't care about palmolive's entire devotion to saving her life

it would have been a shorter book

camilla killing a lyctor two days into canaan house and going "what, like it's hard?"

voice person calls palmolive "my child"

"babe" and "my child" is a wild combination of pet names

palmolive's starting to sound like sugar baby

he says he didn't like chad much and he probably wouldn't have liked him, even if he got to know him better, but he doesn't deserve to be puppeteered like this

keep your mind open for enemies to friends to lovers, palmolive

voice person quotes shakespeare

hamlet, specifically

palmolive hasn't read it, which I respect, because I haven't read a lot of shakespeare either

and then we get the big reveal

that mysterious pov

is

OG!DULCINEA

I totally forgot she had told harrow she had something to tell her

and that she'd like to drift into nothingness

which might be what happens to her here

"Palamedes, the very best of Palamedeses"

best of wives and best of women

"Truly, wonderful news for my haters"

I'm gonna stay silent on that

my hate was towards not!dulcinea, I don't know this one as much

don't appreciate her inserting herself into a sixth polycule, saying camilla has to cook, though

take your turbonerd and leave camilla alone

but she does she say they were her friends and she loved them, and that there's freedom in never being completed

so, before turning herself into confetti into the ether, palmolive asks to see her for the first time

palmolive quotes the bible, very dr reverend emperor john of him

and when og!dulcinea asks him if she was cute, he says she's perfect

what else was he going to say? the man is smitten and all that

so, palmolive asks the very best of the questions, for drama points

whether yandere twin would have used coronabeer for lyctorhood if there was no other choice than her

yandere twin wants to escape the question by saying coronabeer isn't a good cav and doesn't fight well

which is kinda bs, as we know

palmolive asks what she would have done then, if chad had died prematurely

and she says she would have gone for martita instead

but palmolive continues and gives her a scenario in which she wouldn't have been able to do that

but yandere twin doesn't want to hypothetically kill coronabeer

and palmolive goes "there are costs that even Ianthe Tridentarius won't pay in pursuit of her goal. Or...Cornoabeth herself is part of your goal. You can't spend her, because you'd invalidate the very thing you were trying to buy".

palmolive says he gets one more question, and it can be just a yes or now answer

if yandere twin can't answer, then he wins, if she can, he loses

he also says that he's been inside her head enough to know she never does anything either decent or polite, which checks out

the question is:

"Do you know where Naberius Tern's body is?"

he says he's suspected since the suit and purple tie but the cigarettes were the moment he started really paying attention

because he doesn't know how to smoke and wouldn't even know where to start

he also points out the comment where she said gideon used her sword like a racquet and the fact that yandere twin wasn't present to see gideon fight

especially with the way in which yandere twin was upset at gideon's lack of propriety in dueling, which palmolive says she would have found funny rather than irritating, to know chad got decked

the first question was, he says, the crucial question, because she isn't accepting what is happening, which is that souls are permeable, and that's how palmolive picked up cigarettes and trash talk

all the while they've been opening coffins and all of the ones they open are empty

palmolive says that they're intermingling, the souls, until they become unable to separate from one another

"There is no body left to find, Ianthe. Or, as I gather, they call you now...Ianthe Naberius"

palmolive leaves and yandere twin opens the final empty coffin

mic drop from the sixth

SO

this explains why yandere twin was smoking when they found her in the cave

I thought that was a habit she picked up due to stress, but apparently, it's a chad-ism

this also sort of gives some context to camolive paul atreides and how they intermingled their souls voluntarily, creating a new person rather than this sort of thing that's going on here

it also gives some complicated perspectives on the lyctors and makes me think what things from their cavs they were integrating and whether anyone noticed

the og!gideon and pyrrha situation means there was a way to separate the two, or for one to die and leave the other, but she's the only one who got there

there's a lot we don't know because dr reverend emperor john didn't care enough to ask

like one of the best movies ever made says, they were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn't stop to think if they should

AND THAT'S IT FOR TLT AS OF NOW!!! I have an ask meme thingy to do that @lady-harrowhark shared and I'll see if I do some other things here and there to keep this alive, but I can finally now look at posts, I guess!! Until the next book rolls around!!

Thank you for sharing this journey with me and being so patient and respectful. Especially for not saying anything for over a year when I said the ice cube barbie thing and you all knew I was right for totally random reasons. You're the best! ♥

[liarvibe]

This ask grants you permission for one (1) uninterrupted yap session.

Wise usage not recommended.

You know what--since we were talking about it before and stuff, I'm going to talk about something I've personally experienced in this fandom and have been witnessing others experiencing it currently as well--and that is this fandoms utter lack of acceptance for the "weird" and "abnormal" takes--or what they ACTUALLY are--takes people just don't agree with.

This mainly pertains to my and an friends theories and analyses that have been scrutinized for years at this point, but it also pertains to a new theory about Byakuya Togami being Mentally Unwell that I've been on and off reading.

And the hate certain people have been giving this theory.

For one thing, I actually like the theorizing done by @duhhtheyellowrose. It showcases a different, interesting, and most importantly, extremely valid interpretation of Byakuya! Again I haven't had the energy lately to read everything they've been writing, but what I have read has given me a much greater appreciation for Togami as a character because before, I thought of him as a very flat, prideful rich kid who's whole character arc was bruising that pride and bringing him down to earth. Not a bad arc, but just... simple, kinda boring. I love deep dives like this into a character's psyche and really thinking about their motivations and thoughts and feelings. What I HAVE read of Yellow's theories has done exactly that--it's given Togami more depth and dwells on the rather harsh pressure he grew up with, and what exactly that can do to a person's mind going forward.

Like yeah, actually, Byakuya having to fight his half siblings to be the chosen heir, no matter how you spin it, is really fucked up! That kind of pressure and strive for perfectionism does horrible things to a person's mental health, especially when they falter and crumble in a way that isn't their picture-perfect self.

And yet. Once again, there are people going off in this fandom insisting that Byakuya Togami can't be 'suicidal'. He just can't be! Nevermind the horrible statement that is, saying that a person in any position Cannot Be Suicidal, because even the Happiest Person on Earth can have suicidal idealization--it's just blatantly disregarding an interpretation and saying it's "mischaracterization" simply because you don't like it.

Also, I've seen people go so far as saying that giving Togami mental ailments or making him a more complex character is making him. Softer? I'm sorry that you have this idea about mental illnesses that makes you think people with them are "softer" and less of an asshole just because they have a reason to be an asshole, but also no I'm not sorry, please actually think about what you're saying. You're saying that people who are assholes cannot have a reason to be an asshole and thus othering people you deem as "jerkish" or even "evil" just because you don't want to admit they are human.

This is just one example of how this fandom can jump through horrible mental hoops just to justify their "take" on a character--but also hate on another take they don't agree with or like. It's the same shit I've talked about before where people infantize Gonta to make Kokichi look like more of a monster than he actually is. Because if Gonta is a big stupid dumb monkey who Kokichi manipulated, it makes things easy--bad guy gets to not be a Person(tm) anymore ("So I get to hate him as much as I want and feel justified in hating him") while the Poor Innocent Babu gets to have their Purity and never be wrong, ever. ("So I feel justified in liking this character without having to tackle the idea that maybe they did something wrong because they cannot be blamed and I cannot be wrong!")

Don't you guys see how utterly boring that is? To simplify characters to the point where they're not even people? Like sure, sometimes you need a character who is a Symbol and doesn't need to be anything more than that for narrative purposes... but like. These characters aren't meant to be symbols of evil or assholery or whatever. They are meant to represent a person with thoughts and feelings and ideals, with dreams and heartbreaks and complexities that make them unique as an individual.

I think making post after post trying to "debunk" someone's interpretation is just making you look like an asshole. I think fighting over what interpretation is right vs what one is wrong is jsut not the play.

Like--in the Undertale fandom! If someone had an interpretation you didn't like? That's an AU now! See, isn't that more fun? Now you can engage with the interpretations you don't agree with in a more constructive and positive way. It's also the first step in accepting different interpretations without them having to be "AUs" because it promotes critical thinking and acknowledging that Literary Analysis is actually an art, not a science. It's never factual. It never WAS. Literary Analyses (or writing metas/theory crafting as the kids call it these days--like Literary Theory is why it's called Theorycrafting, people!) is all about interpretation of text, and there is no objective way to do so. It's all subjective!

I maintain the sentiment from my theory blog, to my old personal, to this one--No analyses done in good faith are ever "wrong", not unless you are: 1. Doing a meta to hate on something, 2. including bigotry in your meta, or 3. otherwise being malicious (whether intentionally or unintentionally so).

If you correct yourself when you make a mistake (in that you display unintentional malice or bigotry) and aren't actively being an asshole, then any and all interpretations you come up with is correct! So is the person who's come to the opposite conclusions as you. Yes you are both correct. No it does not matter how opposite they are from you. No it doesn't matter if their interpretation changes the whole character from your perspective.

You can dislike it, but accept that it's valid. Move on. Or, maybe analyze the other interpretation with a open mind--maybe you'll actually come to like aspects of it! If you just hate on it without giving it a chance, you'll never know.

So yeah. That's what I'm gonna yap about with this ask. Hope you guys don't mind!

[aurora-starlight-silly]

Alright guysss so huhh I stopped answering this aurora asks cuz I lost the fun of doing it

Especially because I used like a kind of sprite and it's annoying to go on ibis paint, find, find the good layer, choose the good expression, choose the good mouth...so yeh (that wasn't a good idea to do it like that ;-;)

And ig it especially helped to introduce aurora, but it's probally not the last time you'll see her in an ask blog :33

I'll answer the last questions I got now !!!! Sorry to everyone who I didn't answer with art TwT

I'll answer in two ways: aurora's answer and mine

Aurora: oh ! Heh, thx ..! Also, that's not really a void, like I said, but idk if I can really call that an au, so I'll just say it's my home :3

Yeah it's cool here ! I mean, it's very pretty ! I can, look at tbe sky, and huh...sleep, on, huh...the grass ? I think I should add some things here ;-;

But if I wouldn't enjoy it here, I think I'd choose outertale, it's really pretty and peacefull !!!

TYSSMM !!!! Aaaa 😭

Yeah she does, it's a bit cold there, but just a lil bit, not alot at all, it's fine :p 👍

And yeaaah outertale's probally the best, I mean it's peacefull, poeple are nice, and it's pretty :33

Question by @the-white-soul !!! Thx again ! ^^

And sorry for being like 3-6 or more months late

The other asks under the cut :p 👇

I have a three !!!

..yeaaah alright I don't really have a shelter but it's not bothering me, it's not that cold -w-

But maybe I should have one yeah ?? IwI''

I don't really sleep, I don't even know often when it's night or day !! But I think it's cool to sleep sometimes, I understand some poeple can like this activity, it's nice :3

Oh ! I've never seen that thing ! It looks so cool :0 *eats*

Heheheh thx for your second ask soul :]

Yeh I think if I make an ask blog and she's apart of it and is in her home, it'd be cook that y'all give suggestions or something similar and you add things to her home together, it'd be fun :0

I love her she's dumb she thinks sleeping is a hobbys that poeple does at night AHAAHAHAHWQUGDJSGD JAHDHSHDHS

Also she doesn't know often if it's night or day because y'know, the underground, we can't see the surface...

I mean the monsters go to sleep but yeaah we can't REALLY know ig ?? And she doesn't knows how that works

She appreciates the candy :p

Ask by @soul100 !! Tyy >:33

Oh no did u mean a strawberry or a necklace ;-;

OH NO WHY DOES THE TRANSLATOR DOES THIS TO ME 😭

Well either way she appreciates the gift !!! :33

If I had drawn that : Aurora eats the cookie and is happy, and I would had fraw Shar with aurora ! Shar looks cool !!!!!

Ask by @funzyoff !!! Thx !

Hello ! Yes, I hear you !

My birthday ? What's a birthday ??? :>

I haven't tried alot yet, but from what I've seen in Ccino's cafe, I think blueberry muffins are awesome ! It's so cooool :0

*tries to comfort Sorrow and play cards with him*

Welp, now her bday has passed skdgsjgd, but yeh it was the 21 april :p

She doesn't know what a bday is because usually poeple don't really talk about their birthday before it is, so yeah she doesn't know :0 (cuz she doesn't have a memory and is learning abt the world :>)

WAIT THEN WHAT I DRAW FOR HER BDAY ISN'T CANON

Welp let's say a random person told her it was her bday and told her what it was lol (idk how else to make it canon to her ._.)

Istg these are so tasty !!! Also she usually likes more hot things since it's more cold in her home (not alot ofc but yeh)

New fact, when she doesn't know what to do with someone cuz she doesn't really know them, she'll play cards, cuz y'know almost everyone is on with okay with playing that usually, and btw it's probally the 7 family game cuz it's pretty simple :)

Oh no. Oh no. I just got a new au idea out of that. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ask by @luvyourself2hell tyy yugo >:33

I would had drew her getting scared of it cuz she never saw that animal ^^

And THX FOR THE CUTE ANIMAL :PP

ask by @salem-the-puppet tyy !!!

I would had drew her being scared of you and suprised hehehehehheheh >:]

She's probally pretty tasty :1

Ask by @ribboncrimson YAYAYAYAY :D

---------

Alrighhhtt again sorry for abandoning this T^T

I hope y'all still enjoyed the answers even if it's not in art !!!!

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

I'm afraid to draw Miguel cause he's so - 😐

he's a manwhore. At least Hobie has the decency to WEAR CLOTHES

But guess what. My Spider-sona Moche is 4'11 so I can make it height accurate and just draw him like this

I might as well make it a running joke and never try to draw him at all not even once and

only draw pictures of Moche going like this with his dialogue coming from above

Problem solved

[thebluebygracieabrams]

.

[barbatos-sama]

this is an ask to the creator of the show this is so ominous. raggattha npc theory real maybe??

[bredforloyalty]

i had a good day i like having things to do but unfortunately i have just remembered i am insane</3

[fandomfuntimem]

Dp x dc: batshit crazy driver au.

Bruce hired a new personal driver for the Wayne's. He was a nice enough guy. His grades weren't great, but he was a great driver and very patient. Like, really patient. Like, he is so unbothered by traffic, stupid drivers, and villain attacks, its kinda scary. But all the background checks came back clean. Minus his mad scientists parents, of course.

Daniel (Danny) Fenton. He could relate to any of the Wayne kids and hold an intelligent conversation with Bruce. Bruce feels that he doesn't need to be all Brucie Wayne around the young man. He doesn't know about their nightly activities yet, though. They're not quite sure if he even needs to know.

The first sign there was something more to Danny happened when Tim was sitting in the passenger seat. Tim was struggling with a math problem. It was driving him nuts. It only took a quick glance for Daniel to solve it, though, "it's thirty-six"

"What?"

"The answer is Thirty-six. You forgot to carry the three."

"Huh..."

He was right, Tim made a simple mistake, sure. But that was advanced college level math. Danny was a straight c student and never went to college. It only took him a momentary glance to solve it. Tim, though suspicious, chalked it up to a simple case of gifted kid syndrome. He related to it and began to consult with Danny on some of his math problems. Danny was more than happy to help, for a price, of course.

Then, there was a villain attack. The villain's goons ran rampant through the city, terrorizing anyone unfortunate enough to be outside at the time. But not Danny, they'll tried, oooh they tried. But those goons swiftly found themselves zip tied, in the trunk of a car, and on their way to jail. All while Danny blasted some music by a small artist named 'Ember'.

Alright. He is in Gotham, and his mother was a black belt, so maybe he was just well trained. Its good to know how to deffend yourself.

Then, Damien was kidnapped. It was so fast they barely saw, but a white van sped by and grabbed Damien as he made his way tawords the car. Initially, Damien expected the chauffeur to panic and call the police. But when shouting and cursing were heard from the front seat, and the men in the back slipped the van door open to check behind them, it was revealed Danny had followed them and he had a gun.

What could only be described as an action movie chase scene ensued. Every corner they swerved, every shortcut they took, Danny was right behind them. Driving like a bat out of hell, he shouted and fired at the wheels of the van. Knocking one out, the van swerved and was forced to come to a stop.

A kidnapper grabbed Damien by the hair and held a gun to his head, but before the threat could even leave his mouth a bullet flew through his hand. He dropped Damien and fell to the ground screaming, clutching his hand.

The kidnapper in the van already took off running but was swiftly stopped by Redhood arriving just in time to see Danny helping Damien up and checking him over, profusely apologizing for "letting this happen."

When asked why he did all of it, his simply answered, "I don't think I would get paid if I let Mr. Wayne's kid die! I can't let a kid die in general!"

Bruce, of course, gave the young man a bonus and a few days off for the stunt. Accompanied wlth a few stern words about safety. What was truly remarkable was that there was not a single scratch on the car. Untouched, meaning he never hit anything during the whole ordeal. "I just learned what not to do from my dad!" He joked, but Bruce felt that, despite the clear joking tone, there was some truth to the statement.

The family is suspicious, very suspicious. The man they previously viewed as their simple and humble driver turned out to be a monster of a fighter, and they have no idea how or why.

----------------------‐------

A/N: Feel free to add onto this in any way you would like :3

[chamerionwrites]

Honestly this gets at my chiefest complaint/frustration/discomfort with fandom as a whole. Which is: in their rush to defend the artistic merit of fanworks I think a ton of people have really valorized transformation and remixing and reinterpretation in and of themselves, when imo those are all quite neutral actions. When done well, they can expand and build upon and subvert meaning in really powerful and thought-provoking (and fun!) ways. When done poorly, they are just as likely to flatten and oversimplify and decontextualize and completely erase meaning. The simple act of changing something does not imbue the choice to do so with creative validity. It is entirely possible for a cover song to be bad (or just boring!). To exactly the same degree that it is possible to transform a pretty shallow and straightforward work into something deeper and more nuanced and subversive, is possible to transform a work into a vastly shallower and less interesting shadow of itself. As with nearly everything in art, it's all about the execution!

But the second you voice this position (which should honestly be a pretty uncontroversial one imo), you get people shrieking at you about being gatekeep-y and pretentious and betraying the sacred fandom etiquette of Don't-Like-Don't-Read.

And like...listen. I was not raised in a barn. I am 150% capable of quietly back-buttoning out of a fanfic I think is bad or boring - which is exactly what I do when I encounter them - and I am obviously not advocating for stupid ships wars or any kind of harassment or leaving hatemail in people's AO3 inboxes. (Which some people will also accuse you of the second you say anything less than lavishly positive about fandom, in true piss-on-the-poor fashion.) Literally all I am saying is that you can't have your cake and eat it too - that if fandom and fanworks (in the broadest sense) have artistic merit then fandom and fanworks (in the broadest sense) are fair game for artistic critique. Which means, in practice, that I can go on my own blog and make a post exactly like this one - critiquing broad trends, or stating that some interpretations are bad actually, or pointing out that subverting or talking back to or reading against the grain of canon is very different from simply ignoring it, or saying "fandom's culture of collage/remix/fuck-canon-I-do-what-I-want can lend itself to to really creative and interesting art but also to a lot of really bland homogenized cut-n-paste art, not to mention some pretty troubling decontextualization." And that if you feel this rains on your personal parade, you are then free to DLDR by back-buttoning out of my blog and/or blocking me so you never have to see my hot takes again, rather than clamoring in my notes about how I should let people enjoy things.

[lymtw]

A Perfect Night For Wine

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Toji invites you over with a simple text of:

You busy tonight, doll?

To which you respond with:

I don't think so... Not that I know of. Why?

He laughs through his nose when he reads your message. Even the way you text him has your timidness imbued into it. It's precious.

Come spend the night at my place. You told me you're off tomorrow, right?

I am, but are you sure? Driving home is not a problem for me. I can hang out and go home after.

You're staying. I wanna try something with you and it requires you to stay the night. You can't go home.

Oh okay! I'll be there in 10.

Drive safe.

Toji likes that you're very precise about the time you'll be arriving somewhere, and if you're ever late when it comes to spending time with him, you apologize profusely, nonstop. You won't stop blubbering about why you're late and how sorry you are for making him wait, even after Toji's expressed that he's more than understanding. He's the king of showing up late to plans, so he can't be a hypocrite and scold you when you don't do it often at all.

You're so sorry, though, and you don't shut up about it until he makes you shut up with a kiss. You're helpless, and you can't for the life of you figure out where to put your hands when you're so focused on the grip he had on your waist to pull you up against him.

He releases your lips, cracking a grin at the look of wonder on your face. He can't deny the pride that swells in his chest at his ability to disarm you and prevent you from having a total meltdown over a three minute delay.

Toji has gotten so much better at handling situations like these with you. It's only fair for him to gain satisfaction out of making you feel better. After all, you are a first for him. You're emotionally fragile, you're a nervous wreck, and your voice competes with the wind just to be heard. Toji doesn't set aside the fact that you're also beautiful, warmhearted, and you try for him. He sees your attempts to be affectionate. You'll slowly reach your hand out to hold his and then bail the second he catches you. He ends up having to interlock his fingers with yours because your embarrassment doesn't allow you to try again. He still appreciates that you leave your comfort zone for him and allow him to guide you towards new experiences.

"Stop with the guilty feelings, ma. We have all night and all day tomorrow. What's a couple minutes to ensure you get to me in one piece?" He says, comforting your droopy self. You look like a sad, abandoned puppy, now sporting rosy cheeks from his surprising gesture.

"Okay," you say, feeling a little more at ease. "What did you have in mind for tonight?"

"Follow me," he says, leading you through his living room to his kitchen. He pulls out a stool for you and points at it. "Sit." You want to laugh at the way he says it like he's teaching commands to a dog, but you know he doesn't mean it that way, so you obediently sit down like one anyway.

"Have you eaten anything?" He asks, silently hoping you have because he doesn't have anything to make you dinner. He would have to order in or pick something up.

"I ate a couple hours ago. Still pretty full," you respond, watching him reach up for something in his cabinets. There's now a tall glass bottle with a red label and matching cap sitting on the counter.

"How 'bout it?" He says, a large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "We could go to the couch and watch a movie or something."

He's never seen you under the influence of anything, but based on your reaction, maybe he'll get a show tonight. He's always wanted to know what you would be like if you were more extroverted and outspoken. There's nothing wrong with the way you are, but if things keep going the way they're going between you and Toji, he's bound to meet your chatty alter ego at some point in the future. What better way to have this experience than in a secure place with someone who can handle their alcohol and take care of you if it turns out that you can't.

"Okay, sure." You giggle, excitedly.

You're a lightweight. Even the fruitiest, sweetest alcoholic beverage will quickly take a toll on you while you're sipping on it. Wine is a step up, so you'll have to try your best to keep it together for the sake of not looking sloppy in front of Toji.

Toji brings down two glasses, and pours out the deep red liquid into them. One for you, one for him. He hands the glass to you, and nods at your quiet "thank you".

Toji watches as you immediately take a sip. He sees the way your nose scrunches at what you consider to be a funny taste, but the second you put the glass down, you smile like nothing. You don't like it at all. You hate the bitterness, and the fact that it's made with fermented grapes lives in the back of your head.

"How is it?" He asks, holding back a chuckle. You're too sweet for your own good, pretending to enjoy this for him.

"I like it," you say, pressing your lips together.

"Yeah? I think it's kinda gross. Guess I was expecting more from a fancy ass bottle, but brands are gonna brand, huh?"

You giggle, almost involuntarily. You're one gulp in, and already you're starting to feel the effects.

One of your worst habits includes chugging drinks that don't taste good, just so you can get them over with. You even do this when your drink is messed up at coffee shop. You're too nice to ask the barista to remake it, so you suck it up and drink the incorrect beverage solely for the caffeine you hope it has in it. This time is no different. You hate the taste of alcohol. You don't do plain shots, you can't stand hard ciders, and wine is no exception, but you're doing this for Toji. He cracked open the bottle to share with you, so you're going to drink every ounce of the liquid in the glass, whether you like the taste or not.

You bring the glass to your lips again, taking a much larger sip. The glass is a little less than halfway now, and your eyelids are starting to feel a little heavy. Not in a sleepy manner, but you can't seem to hold your eyes open as wide anymore.

You exhale through your nose, shut your eyes, and then blink them back open to take note of your altered state.

"That was a lot. How are you feeling?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in your demeanor. You seem a little more sluggish now. You turn your attention to him, your eyes rolling when they turn to meet his.

"I'm good, how are you?" You ask, like it was the start of a conversation rather than an ongoing one. Your eyes almost shut completely when you smile at him.

"You're tipsy already, aren't you?" He asks, with a grin on his face.

"Pshh, what? No, i'm not," you say, contradicting yourself with a giggle. "Answer the question, baby. How are you?"

"Fine," he responds, lingering on the pet name. You've got loose lips, now. In any other circumstance, you would address him by his name. Most of the time Toji is the one giving you pet names, for the sake of flustering you. He loves the way you look at him when he calls you doll or sweetheart, somewhat shocked every time the words leave his mouth.

"Yeah? That's good." You pick up the glass one more time, sighing before you mutter, "'scuse me. Gotta finish this."

With that last sip, the glass was now empty. Even Toji thinks you drank that too fast, but he still has the courtesy to ask you if you want more.

"Mhm, I'll have a little bit more. Just a tiny bit." Toji pours as much as he did the first time, chuckling when you nod in approval of the quantity. "That's perfect. Absolutely, perfect. You're a genius, my love." You flash him a smile before starting on the next glass.

Toji was considering having another glass, but that was before you called him "my love" in a tone so warm that he felt like he just had a bowl of hot soup that was now settling in his stomach. That was before you smiled at him in such a free spirited manner. It was too late for him to see you in this state while completely sober, but he sure as hell wouldn't be adding anymore alcohol to his system. He can't miss something like this, so instead he leans forward on the counter, and intently watches your every move.

"I got something on my face?" You ask, dragging your sleeves all over your face. You examine your sleeves and they're clean. "You liar. You're looking at me like that for nothing." You squint at him, a slight scrunch in your nose to define your defensiveness.

Toji laughs, his focus now on the small pinch in your brows. "Don't go picking fights over nothing. It's not a crime to look at my pretty baby."

Your faux tough exterior immediately crumbles, the irked expression on your face dropping to the ground, at the sugary words he uses on you. Your face feels very warm, and now there's an indefinite blush on it. You can't stop smiling at the look on Toji's face. He's so focused that he's gone speechless, and you eventually break into a laughing fit because of it.

"Hey... i'm usually the quiet one. Why aren't you talking, pretty boy? Need me to shut up?"

The pet name has Toji glancing at your glass, noticing that it was full for less than five minutes. This was new— you being flirtatious towards him. He didn't have any complaints about it whatsoever.

Once again, the quantity of the wine in your glass was below the halfway mark. "Nah, baby. Talk to me. You must really like the wine, huh?"

"Mmm..." you lean forward towards him, with your elbow on the counter and your chin in your palm. "What makes you say that?"

He actually snickers this time, earning a sly grin from you. "You're chugging it like it's water. It's either you love it or it tastes like ass and you're dying to spit it out."

You pick up the glass again, one last time. "Let's find out if I like it," you say as if you're not on your second serving. You let the liquid hit your tongue, and you are instantly repulsed by the flavor. The glass is tilted all the way up, signaling that you've finished two cups of wine in less than fifteen minutes. Your cheeks are filled with the drink, blown up like a puffer fish, which makes Toji smile softly with anticipation for your reaction. Your tongue stays on the roof of your mouth, keeping the wine in your cheeks separate, to give you a break for a few seconds. You release the bubbles of your cheeks and your mouth is flooded with the bittersweet liquid. You swallow the burgundy mouthful and smile with your lips pressed together once it's all gone. The mouth drying effect of wine is your least favorite thing about it.

"So?" Toji prompts.

"It's-" you gag, clasping a hand over your mouth with wide, slightly teary eyes.

Toji's chest and shoulders shake as he contains his laughter, his lips pressed together tightly to stifle the smile threatening to show itself, but his eyes tell you everything.

"Wooo, sorry about that," you say, chuckling through the embarrassment. "It's good," you repeat, still muffled by your palm.

"Yeah? Want more?" Toji asks, holding up the bottle with a teasing grin on his face.

You almost gag again but manage to control yourself. "No, thank you. Any more and I'll doze off, and we both know that's not what i'm here for." There was a hint of sultriness in your tone, something Toji was not sufficiently familiar with. It was a completely welcome shift from your normally tentative way of speaking to him.

"I know why you're here, but I wanna know what you think you're here for."

You stand from your stool and lean more of your body onto the counter. Your hand reaches for his, and for the first time, you don't pull back before making contact with his skin. "To love on you, of course," you say, with those pretty rosy cheeks. Your eyes remained glossy and your nose was still red from trying not to bring the wine back up earlier, but Toji thought you looked so cute.

"Is that right?" His thumb brushes over your knuckles, feeling the softness against his rough fingertip.

"Let's go watch that movie you were talking about and you'll see what I mean."

Toji was loving this. Your confidence, your lack of holding back anything you had to say, it was truly baffling how you could be someone else entirely with just a couple glasses of wine.

You keep his hand in yours, and as if it were your house, you say, "come on," and drag him along to the living room.

This time you say "sit" and point at the couch. This time he's the obedient dog and does as you say, sitting on the exact cushion you were pointing at with a smirk on his face. He moves the couch pillow aside to make room for you, but you had another seat in mind. You take two steps towards him before slowly dropping yourself into his lap, straddling him.

"I see you're finally taking your seat on the throne, hm?" He grins, resting his hands on your waist. This is the closest Toji's been allowed to watch you giggle without you burying your face into his neck and it's a trip. He can see the details of the creases around your eyes and the lift in your cheeks as you smile. He feels fuzzy, and he didn't even finish his glass of wine, so he knows it's not that.

"Stop making me laugh and pick a movie, will you? I'm here for that, too."

He picks up the remote for the TV and turns it on. "How are you gonna watch the movie while facing me?"

"Actually,.. can I tell you a secret, baby?" You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the hair that reaches towards the nape of his neck, combing through it gently.

"What's that, princess?" Toji asks, vert eyes flitting between your eyes and that sweet smile of yours.

"I don't wanna watch a movie. I... wanna look at you... and that's it." Your nails gently scratch the back of his head, eliciting a tingly sensation that makes chills run down his spine.

"That's cool, too," Toji says, turning the TV off again, not caring that it was on for less than a minute before you changed your mind. He sighs, adjusting his position beneath you. Your thighs are secured around his hips, your knees touching the backrest of the couch.

"You're so handsome, my baby. God, look at those eyes," you whisper in awe, before giggling and bringing your hands to his face. You trace the bags under his eyes with your thumbs while admiring the haunting shade of green that scopes on you. Toji's hand comes up to loosely wrap around your wrist. He's not there to stop you, he just wants to move along with you as you observe his face.

"I know I don't say this to you enough, but I find you..." you sigh, blinking slowly, "enchanting..." You lean in and kiss the left corner of his lips—his right, and feel the smooth, tattered skin beneath your warm lips. "and I love you," you mumble into the cicatrix. "So fucking much, baby. And i'm sorry that you'll never know exactly how much because you aren't me." You're looking at him with so much adoration and touching him with a delicacy that can't be put into words. It's a deadly combination, one that has Toji in a chokehold and forces him to soften up even more for you.

He tightens the hold he has on your waist, pulling you closer until your stomach is pressed to his, as a result. You being so affectionate towards him is making him feel really good, and you have no idea because you're too focused on appreciating him. He's subconsciously leaning into your touch, his softened gaze meeting your lovestruck one.

"Fuck. I love you, too, princess," he murmurs, squeezing your wrist in his hand. He pulls your hand down to his chest. "Want you to aim for my lips, this time."

"Okay," you say, smiling before closing the distance between your lips and Toji's. He can still taste the remnants of the wine you inhaled minutes ago, but it tastes much better and a lot sweeter on you. Toji can hear your high pitched little hums as you kiss him, happiness pouring into your kisses. You're trying so hard not to laugh in his face, and trying is the best you can do, right now. You never were good at hiding your smile from Toji. He can't see it, but he can feel the way your lips widen, and he's occasionally kissing your teeth when your sluggishness keeps you from matching his pace. With little pants leaving you, you drag your lips away.

He sighs, frustrated by the loss of your softness against him. "Baby..." he groans, the sound almost whine-like to your ears. He wants more, so much more of you, and you're ignoring him. You're too busy kissing his chin, and his cheeks, and the tip of his nose.

You drag your other hand down to his chest and keep your hands splayed out on it as you let your lips trail his jaw, lightly sucking on the skin. Toji can't help but think about how this version of you will be gone in the morning. You won't be as outwardly affectionate, you'll go back to second guessing every move you make with him and shrinking every time he steals kisses from you, instead of confidently kissing him back like you did a minute ago.

You make your way down his neck, pressing kiss after kiss on him before you move towards his ear. "I love you, Toji," you whisper, kissing the shell of his ear after. "Love you, love you, love you soooo much," you barrage, before throwing him off with a bite to his earlobe. You giggle like a menace into his ear, the warmth of your breath luring goosebumps out onto his skin.

He chuckles, repeatedly squeezing the soft skin of your waist between his hands. "Yeah? Tell me again," he murmurs snaking his hands beneath the back of your shirt. Your skin is very warm, and there's nothing to blame but Toji and that shitty wine for making your body react this way.

With uninterrupted hands, you course your fingers through his hair and lean in to bite him again, this time on his neck. Toji chuckles at how you instantly rush to soothe him with your tongue and a warm kiss, even when you inflicted zero pain on him.

"I love you, Toji," you repeat into the wet indentations you left behind. "My love... my handsome man... I cherish you, you know?"

Toji is practically purring at all the affection you're showering him with. The slurring of your words is blocked out and they remain clear as day to him. He manages to hum a deep little "mhm" to your last statement.

"It's just so hard to talk to you sometimes. You... you're so intimidating, sometimes. I don't expect you to understand..." you divert your gaze to his shoulder, not able to look him in the eyes as vulnerability takes sudden control of your emotions. "It seems like I don't appreciate you sometimes—all the time, but I do, Toji. I do appreciate you, and I can't ever say I love you enough to show it. Words aren't always enough."

Toji catches the waver in your voice and his eyes dart to yours. You're tearing up, and you're trying to still your quivering lips by pressing them together.

"Shit," Toji mutters under his breath. You have the saddest expression he's ever seen and it's messing with his heart. He pulls his hands out of your shirt so that he can swiftly pull you into his warm embrace. "Hey," he coos. You're shaking against him, holding your breath to avoid sobbing. Your lungs burn, but you'd rather feel that than make a scene of your tears. "Don't be sad, mama. What's with the tears, hm?" he murmurs. He can feel your tears dampening his shoulder, but the fact that you haven't made a sound is concerning. "Breathe or you'll die," he says, only half joking. He rubs a soothing palm against your back, his other arm around your waist.

You let out what sounds like a mixture between a choked laugh and a sob, slowly but surely regulating your breathing. You don't even feel like saying anything anymore because you know your voice will give way to even more pity.

"You're more than enough for me," Toji says, his chin resting on your head. "I know how you feel, you know how I feel. We're complete." He can feel the way you scrunch his shirt up into your fists. As if he would go anywhere without you. "I get you and you're stuck with me. Got it?" You silently nod against his shoulder in response. "Sit up and let me look at you."

You really don't want him to see you this way. Your eyes feel swollen and you don't feel presentable.

"I can't..." you say, barely audible. You release his shirt and let your hands go limp behind him.

"Why not?"

"I'm not pretty right now. Don't look at me."

"I'm gonna look at you," he challenges with a teasing grin.

"Toji, don't look at me."

"Too late, it's happening. Plan's already in motion," he says, sliding his arms onto your shoulders.

"Toji, don't-" He effortlessly pushes you off his shoulder and gives you a once over. You look defeated and you're unable to look him in the eyes, but at least he can see you now.

"Don't know what you were so worried about. You look the same but more blush-y." You finally give him your slightly reddened eyes, a soft smile appearing on your face. You look like your sober self. "Yeah, you look the same."

"Are you lying?" You ask, still not regaining the full strength of your voice yet.

"I wouldn't tell you if I was, but no, i'm not lying. You're so pretty." Toji wiped away tears that were stuck beneath your eyes, and you giggled. He washed away your sadness within a couple minutes. Toji always did this for you in exchange for your love and affection. He lifted your spirits when you didn't feel deserving of him, and with time, he got much better at recognizing the signs that came with this ridiculous idea you planted in your head.

"You're done loving on me? Already?" He asks in playful disbelief.

"You're not done with me? Do you actually want more?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Don't want more, I need more," he corrects, returning his hands to their rightful place on your waist. "Get all up on me, princess."

You giggle, leaning closer towards him to peck a kiss onto his cheek.

"Mhm, like that," he says, contently, when you pick up the pace and start smothering him. "Yeah, baby, there you go." His forearms go beneath your shirt, encircling around your bare waist and pulling you close to him like before. "Who's getting spoiled like me?" He says through a grin. You're holding back laughs as he continues to praise you for your affection.

"S-Stop," you say through a wheeze, not able to contain the sound any longer when you looked at him.

"What are you laughing at, huh?" He chases you this time, pressing his nose into your cheek before planting a light kiss into your jaw.

"You're so unserious," you say, turning your head as he keeps going with the kisses.

"Mmm... I'm serious about you," he says, feeling the vibration of your laughter against his grin. "So serious."

Your cheeks feel incredibly hot from how much you've been smiling. In this little drunken haze, things are so good. You're so happy, you're so affectionate, and you talk so much. This isn't like you at all, but it's not hurting anyone, especially not Toji. There was one minor slip, but you moved past it so quickly like the words never left your head to begin with. You're just so simple... so easy to take care of.

Toji notices the way your eyes are starting to lid with tiredness, and while he would love for you to doze off in his arms right then and there, you'd probably prefer waking up in a bed.

"Let's go to bed, yeah?" He suggests.

"What? No! I just got here... We can still talk, and kiss and- I'm not even tired."

Toji grins at the way you fight him on this, and he has half a mind to indulge you when you look so adorable, but he has to stand his ground. He's right.

"But, you are. You can't even hold your eyes open, anymore."

You feel sad again because the rest of the night would be going to waste if you both go to sleep early. You're there to spend time with Toji, and yet you feel like it's your fault your time is being cut short. You're thinking you shouldn't have drank the wine so quickly, if at all.

"Listen, doll," Toji says. He doesn't like the sadness that resurfaces on your pretty face. He doesn't think you should look that way because of him. "We're just gonna go lay in bed. We don't have to go to sleep. We can stay up as long as you want. Light on or light off, whatever you wanna do, let's just move it to the room."

You sigh, still not completely convinced that the night isn't over, but Toji managed to persuade you. "Will you carry me, please? My legs feel like jelly."

"Of course. What kind of person would I be if I let you stumble into the room on your own?"

You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your face buried into the crook of his neck. "You'd still be my favorite person, but i'd be a little upset..."

Toji stands from the couch, humming in response to your quiet mumbles.

"...but not really upset. Just a little bummed. Not for too long, though, 'cause I love you, but I would expect an apology from you if I fell down," you draw out.

Toji cracks at your little ramblings. It's a ten second walk from the couch to the bedroom, and the whole time you were working through a hypothetical conflict.

"Yeah? You'd want me to say sorry?" He asks, setting you down on the bed.

"Mhm, and then I wouldn't be upset or bummed anymore," you mutter to yourself as you roll onto your back.

"That's fair. Want the light on or off?"

"Off," you blurt. "Let's tell scary stories," you trill, enthusiastically. You pull the blanket over your lower body until it reaches just below your chest.

Toji makes his way to the bed after turning off the light. He takes his shirt off, and out of habit lets it fall to the floor. "We're not telling scary stories this late at night," he says, joining you beneath the blanket.

"But, they're funny," you say, turning to face him. "I don't get scared, either."

"Depends on who's telling the story. I'm sure as hell not gonna feed you a nightmare, doll."

"Boo," you say, lowly. "Whatever, i'm over it already," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Toji watches you grow more and more tired as you throw random, nonsensical topics at him. You're taking longer to respond by the minute, and you're dozing off while humming in thought. You shake awake each time it happens and try to keep the conversation going, but Toji just shushes you and tells you to go back to sleep.

"I can see the moon through the window," you mumble, looking past him.

"I know, shh..." he hushes you, again.

"There's only like... one star," you whisper, in awe.

"Baby, come here," Toji says, like he's about to lecture you about the rules of sleep, but really he's just thinking that if his body heat doesn't put you down, he's gonna have to stay up with you until you fall asleep on your own.

You scoot closer towards Toji, tucking your arms into your chest when he reaches out to pull you into him the rest of the way. His body exudes so much warmth, you feel like you don't need the blanket at all.

There was nothing left for you to say when you couldn't see or feel anything but him. It was as if you were gone the second he enveloped you in his arms. You were small to the brink of nonexistence, no longer there to tell him what your surroundings were, or to ask him thoughtless, silly questions. You were no longer there to fight off the sleep he only seemed to bring closer towards you. Feeling his warm skin against you made you change your mind about this invisible fiend that was pulling your eyelids down. You now welcomed the calls to rest from your steady heartbeats.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, but for good measure, he poked at you with a whisper of, "Ma?" and waited a few seconds for your response. Nothing. He sighed and coiled around you tighter. Thoughts of the night ran through his head. Your soft, yet, occasionally bruising kisses and the imprints of your teeth on his skin, your unapologetic laughter, your certainty in using the pet names that claimed him as yours. He was weak for the amount of times you openly told him you loved him. It was a psychedelic dream, to say the least. One he hoped would continue once he followed you into slumber.

You woke up hours later, completely smothered by your bear of a man. All you could do was stare up at the ceiling, while you waited for Toji to wake up because he was literally breathing down your neck. His arm rested over your chest, his legs were tangled with yours, and his face was right beside your face. You weren't feeling the effects of the wine anymore, and luckily, you didn't have a headache or any signs of a hangover. You were back, which meant...

"What are you staring at?" A deep, raspy voice jolts you out of your thoughts.

You look at the handsome face next to you, and as if your heart can hear and see, it wakes up. "Nothing. Just woke up," you lie.

"Mm... you were staring hard at the roof. I thought it came to life or something," Toji chuckles. You smile, briefly, before looking at the ceiling again.

Toji releases you and flips onto his back, wanting to know what's so fascinating about the space you're looking at. "What are you thinking?" He asks, when he discovers nothing but blank space.

You take your time, not wanting to stumble over your words. Your heart skips a beat when he turns his head to look at you. In the time it takes for you to respond, you both could have gone back to sleep again.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he finally says, following the idiom with a question. "Did I even use that correctly?"

You can't help but laugh, nodding your head to answer his question. "I'm thinking about last night. Sorry if I said anything stupid."

Toji turns his body towards you again, thinking the only thing that's stupid is that he's still staring at the roof instead of staring at you. "You didn't. You were calm, from what I got to see, at least."

"So... boring."

"Not boring," he instantly catches. "You were perfect. You didn't have me running around chasing you, you weren't a brat—it couldn't have gone better, ma." He purposely missed something in his less than brief recount of the night to you. He can think back to the emotions that seeped through your little daze, and your insecurity about outwardly showing him love, all he wants, but there's no way in hell he's bringing that up to you, now. "You ramble a lot," he adds, a soft smile emerging on his face.

You can feel your cheeks warming up. "Oh god," you groan in embarrassment. "That's not- Sorry, that sounds... not so fun. Annoying of me, actually."

"Stop, it was cute," he assures, adding more fury to the blush creeping on your face. "Then you wouldn't go to sleep 'cause you kept seeing stuff outside the window."

You wanted to drown yourself in the blanket. Shame and embarrassment were winning their battle against you, as always.

"That was also cute," he says, watching the way your lips twitch as you bite back a smile. "You know my favorite part, though?" He says, grinning as he leans towards your ear.

"N-No, what?" You ask, trying so hard not to giggle.

"When you kissed me and told me you loved me," he murmurs into your ear like it's a dirty secret.

You snicker, the short sound of amusement evolving into laughter within seconds. You throw the blanket over your face and partially over Toji's face. The sight of your veiled body shaking with laughter lured out a couple chuckles of his own.

"That's funny?" He asks, pulling the blanket down, allowing you to see the sly grin he's sporting.

"A little bit," you respond, smiling— a remainder of your laughter.

"Silly girl. Come here," he says, dragging you back into his arms. "There's no reason you should be awake at six in the morning on your day off. Let's go back to sleep," he murmurs into the crown of your head. "We can go out for breakfast, later."

"Okay," you mumble, eyes shut already as you embrace the natural warmth of his body.

"One more thing," he murmurs. You don't raise your gaze, but your ears are open and you're listening closely. "Tell me you love me."

You didn't expect that, but you weren't going to deny him of such a simple thing. The words were easy to recite because you meant them with every fiber of your being. "I love you, Toji," you comply, immediately.

He sighs, contently, almost like hearing those words revitalized him. "Love you, too, mama."

That went out to every version of you.

[hyprfixate]

a genetic disposition (to loving you) :: [BC x Reader]

read on AO3

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

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.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Sex pollen

A/N: Reader is female, also a mutant with logan like powers. Logan calls the reader princess, darling, and his girl. Unprotected sex (Please don't be stupid and do this). I had a few requests for this, and i figured why not post it on Halloween! Happy Halloween to everyone who celebrates, I hope you enjoy the smut. I worked hard on it, but I'm not the best smut writer, lol. Request are open for Logan and Bucky! And I'm very close to 1,000 followers, so I might try and do some sort of special for it <3

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Logan should've listened to you when you said something was going to go wrong during the mission. "I don't know Lo, I just have this feeling that I can't seem to shake" you whined and grabbed his arm trying to get him to reconsider and have Charles send someone else for the mission, but he just disregarded you completely. He was just too stubborn, too proud for his own good, and it was really biting him in the ass now.

The mission was supposed to be normal, just a quick in and out. Get into the abandoned laboratory, do a quick scan to make sure it is abandoned, and then steal the plans for mutant mass destruction. Simple, something he's done a million times before but as he sits in the jet panting, sweating, nearly moaning in discomfort, he realizes how badly he fucked up. Fuck when is she ever wrong? Why didn't you just listen to her?! He groaned internally as he looked at the time, only a few more minutes than he'd be home in your bed, with you in his arms... with his cock deep in your pussy. He let a loud moan fall from his lips as he started to think of your body, fuck did he need you.

You were pacing waiting for Logan to come back from the mission, "Where is he? He should've been home hours ago!" You were beyond worried and frustrated over the whole situation, technically you knew that Logan would always come back home to you but that doesn't make the wait easier, it doesn't make seeing him bloody and aching easier either.

The front door finally opened and slammed shut. Logan's heavy footsteps could easily be heard echoing through the hall, "Logan!" You rushed to him to start checking for any injuries. Before you could ask him if he was okay, Logan pulled you into a deep, feverish kiss.

Logan groaned as he felt you gasp against his lips; his hands started to wander up your shirt as he walked you to your shared bedroom, trying his hardest not to break the kiss. You are the first to pull away,completely breathless and a bit confused."Logan...fuck baby what's going on?" You asked as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving rough bites in their place. "Need you, need your skin on mine, need your pussy choking my cock" he cut himself off with a broken moan as he starts to grind his throbbing cock into your thigh, making you feel how hard he was. "Princess, please." He begged completely helpless.

You were worried, Logan had never acted this way before, never whined or begged, but you'd be a liar if you said it didn't make you wet hearing his deep voice beg for you.

Logan was pawing at your clothes before he finally decided to just rip them off completely. Before you could whine to him about your clothes being ripped, he silenced you with a kiss and promised to buy a new outfit for you. "I'll buy you whatever you want princess, just need to see you, need to see my pretty pussy." He moans pitifully when he does get a glimpse at your sex. "Fucking christ darlin' look how wet you are, all this for me?"

You nodded quickly and pulled him closer, "Logan please, need you in me, fuck me please I need it, need to feel you deep in me for the rest of the week." Your begging made his knees weak, it sounded like heaven to him, and who was he to deny you of what you wanted.

"Whatever, you need princess," he assured you with a smirk as he pulled away to finally undress completely. Your eyes widen seeing how hard he was, "Fucking hell Lo..." You muttered quietly knowing he would still hear you. "Does my girl need me?" He asked crawling up the bed, kissing the skin exposed as he moved further up your body.

When he finally reached your mouth, he gave you a sweet kiss as he slowly thrust into you. Oh, oh my fucking--! He groaned internally as he felt your warm walls stretch around him. You broke the kiss to moan his name, throwing your head back.

You ended up moving your hands to his shoulder to hold on to him better as he thrusted more erratic, and without noticing, your claws slowly started to appear from your nails. Before you could notice, they ended up digging into his shoulder muscle deeply. An animalistic moan ripped from his chest as he felt your claws draw blood. His hips moved on their own, in and out, into your warmth and out for a split second before plunging back into you faster and deeper than before. It was like his hips were moving faster than his mind could keep up, and the only thing he could think about was you.

Your warmth, your softness, your smell, your taste. You were the only thing on his mind. He could feel his eyes roll back as his orgasm approaches. With his eyes closed, he could feel every inch of you. It was like he could feel each one of your atoms against his.

His eyes fluttered open when he heard you whimper louder than before. "Fuck you're so pretty darlin, sound so pretty for me...need more, need you to cum." He moaned before he could finish his sentence. "I really, really need you to cum on my cock princess, need you to milk me. Take it, take it all from me princess it's yours." He grunted and moved your legs to be over his shoulders, given him a new angle to thrust even deeper than before. You screamed his name as you came on his cock. He leaned down to have your chest press together as he prepared to cum deep in your pussy, "Gonna cum-fuck gonna cum deep in my pussy, keep you full for a while then when it's dripped out, I'll fuck you again to keep you full all over again." His pelvis rubbed against your clit, making you clench around him even tighter than before thanks to the overstimulation he was giving you. Feeling you get even tighter made Logan moan out and finally give in before cumming as deep as he possibly could.

It felt like an eternity before Logan finally stopped cumming. He collapsed on top of you, completely breathless and his limbs felt numb. "Holy...fuck darling" he nearly giggles as he basks in his afterglow, in all of his life he cannot remember a time where he ever came like that. "I don't think I'd ever fucked that good before" he said kissing the bruises that he could reach that was slowly disappearing on your skin.

You sighed happily, feeling his lips on your skin. You started to play with his hair softly as you hummed in agreement. You couldn't remember ever having sex that intensely before. "What did you get into on that mission?" You asked curiously, and he shrugged. "Not much. There was this pink powder that poofed in my face, though." He said as if it meant nothing, "Logan!" You tried to look at him to see if he was drugged in some sort of way but before you could, you could feel his cock hardening inside you all over again.

Logan moved to have you caged between his arms once again and asked with a knowing smirk, "Round two?"

Well how could you say no to that?...

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