#and it's okay if you're busy!! i'll be busy for a few days too ;-; | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smoking-pipeweed · 1 day ago

Note

Hey! Love your writing and I see requests are open so I’ll shoot my shot. I’ve been thinking about this scenario for so long but Aragorn and reader went through the quest together and survived. So now he is king and so so busy that they don’t spend nearly as much time together. Reader thinks they’re drifting since he became king and she’s sad cause they’ve built a great bond and she’s in love with him. Diplomatic relations start back up with the Harad people. Their leader immediately takes interest in the reader and starts spoiling her with gifts and attention. Aragorn is literally crying screaming sliding down a wall because he’s in love with her too and feels like he can’t give her the time and attention being so busy. And he’s like of course she found someone else. Idiots in love basically. I have also always imagined her being from our world. Aragorn yearning for something he thinks he can’t have always gets me. I hope this makes sense so sorry if this is long. If you are comfortable writing it I would also love if she was plus sized💕

Of course I'll do this I love mutual pining~ There's a few little things I didn't include in this fic but it has the same idea

The Crown and the Keeper

Aragorn x f!reader angst

[ Lord of the Rings Masterlist ] Summary: With the War of the Ring won and Aragorn taking his rightful place as High King Elessar, his absence now creates a rift between you two. But how will his majesty act when your attention is caught by another royal suitor? Word count: 11.2k Song: 'In Memoriam' by The Oh Hellos

Content warning: pot smoking (pipeweed), drinking, drunk making out, angst, VERY heavy angst, ARAGORN IS PATHETIC AND OBSESSED WITH THE READER LMAO

*2 months before the coronation*

A soft nudge on your shoulder brought you out of your well-needed rest with a sudden start. Your eyes sprang open, and your hand instinctively went to the hilt of your sword, still tucked into your belt even as you slept.

Aragorn raised his palms in defence. "It's okay... it's just me Y/N." he reassures. "It's almost time for your turn to keep guard."

You groan from his words, throwing your head back onto the comfort of your thin bedroll in defiance. "Go get Legolas to do it. I've done extra night watch shifts the last few nights. For gods sake, that elf barely even needs sleep, much less than I do."

He smiled at you as he gently rubbed your arm. "Come. I’ll keep you company awhile.”

With a slight tug on your hand from him, you're up and walking beside him where he was perched earlier on a log about 20 meters away from the camp you, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had made. The moon was shining against the rocky plains of Rohan, and the night was quiet, with only the occasional yowl of a fox or scattering of a rodent nearby.

You sat next to Aragorn on the log, and he thoughtfully placed his cloak over your shoulders after a strong gust of wind made you shiver slightly. "Thank you," you mumble, and he nods while doing up the Elven brooch for you.

The ranger had never been one to be afraid to show affection; a gentle hand on the shoulder or a quiet word when it was needed, but it felt a bit different with you. Since having you join his travels in the fellowship, he had felt a soft, growing feeling within himself each time he interacted with you. The accidental brushing of your hands when you walked together made his chest tighten, and every time you said his name, it felt like poetry in his ears. Some nights, he just couldn't help himself and slept next to you with a small distance between you, just wishing so desperately that you'd reach out and pull him to you for warmth, and perhaps for more.

He knew what the feeling was. A most certain, heavy burden of love was blossoming within him, and some days he didn't know how to deal with it, let alone express it. He wondered if it was even appropriate for him to do. And even so, would you want it? Would you take him as he is? Split between the two worlds of Isildur's heir and Strider the Ranger, which one did you see when you looked at him, he wondered, or did you just simply see him?

But little did he know of your growing affection for the particular Dúnedain man. His gentleness, devotion and tenderness were something that had charmed you from the first day you had met him in Rivendell at the council of Elrond. It was during your time with the fellowship that you had come to know him better as the kingly, humble and beautiful man that he is. How could you not have held some sort of weakness towards him?

But even so, with the closer you two grew, the further apart you felt from him. How far must this go before one of you confesses? As time dragged on, both of you felt as if nothing would ever be said. And this possibility hung above both of you like a sad, dark cloud.

But for now, you couldn't address it. You both had a job to do, a mission to complete, some hobbits to save and people to protect.

"You know... I'm sure Merry and Pippin will be just fine," you stated confidently, flicking Aragorn a glance. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow. "How can you be so sure?"

"They have the infamous Strider tracking them down. I doubt they have any fears in their hearts when they know they have you coming to save them." You said. "They always told me how safe they felt having you around, especially during your time when walking to Rivendell. They hold you in very high regard, Aragorn."

Aragorn let out a gentle laugh. The noise made your heart skip a little beat.

"I'm glad they feel safe with me," he said while looking at the floor out of bashfulness. “I only hope the rest of you feel the same.”

You thought for a second before speaking. "I certainly do," you start a bit hesitantly, "You're a good man, Aragorn, and I feel very lucky to be able to be so close to you."

A short, tense silence was brought over you two before Aragorn looked at you with a grin. “Dangerous words, coming from you. I might believe them,” he said playfully while pushing his head onto your shoulder in a moment of boldness. You lay your head on top of his, trying to subtly breathe in the scent of his hair as it tickles your cheek in the wind.

"Forgive me if I fall asleep here," you said through a yawn. "This night is pulling me towards slumber."

"If so, you can lie on my lap. I’d gather it’s softer than that, sorry excuse for a bedroll.”

You nodded at his words, trying to act nonchalant when really your heart was screaming a little.

You both sat there on watch, feeling the cold air of the night tickle your skin to no effect, as the warmth of your bodies so close to each other was enough to keep you both buzzing with strong yearning for the other.

And still, nothing was said of it.

*Minas Tirith, approximately 2 months later*

The coronation had been a success. The amazing day had been followed by weeks of celebrations, discussions and hopes for the future with Isildur's heir returning to rule over Gondor and reforge the land of Arnor.

Aragorn was conflicted no more, and with the War of the Ring against Sauron having been won, the lands could look towards a new dawn of a king who fought bravely for the lives of his people whilst remaining the humble, loving man that everyone so adored.

You, of course, having been by his side ever since the council of Elrond in Rivendell, were ecstatic for him. You'd never doubted for a second that he'd make a great leader, as much as he showed it whilst leading the fellowship and the defence of Helm's Deep. A natural-born leader with the blood of kings, you thought of him.

Due to having travelled far and wide with you, and also due to his still lingering affection for you that he still doesn't dare speak out on, Aragorn insisted that you stay in Minas Tirith and make a home of the White City. You agreed with this notion, expressing how happy you would be living under such royalty, especially one you knew so personally.

You were named Keeper of the King's Records and were in charge of ensuring that lore and political happenings were reported, collected and written correctly. This left you spending most of your days in the archives and libraries in the Citadel, working tirelessly.

But with everything seeming perfect and peaceful, you often wondered if this meant anything for you and Aragorn now. Now, with his kingly title of King Elessar and many lands to oversee, you often found yourself questioning whether the rugged, heroic man you had come to know over the past few months was craving the small moments you two had shared together. But who's to know, with all that he has going on?

*Citadel, 7:00AM*

The city stirred quietly in the early hours. You rushed up the stairs of the Tower of Ecthelion with a few opened scrolls in your arms that you had received that morning from the leader of the Harad people to the south of Gondor. With their interests in conducting peaceful diplomatic relations with the High King Elessar, you had been keeping record of their communications.

You were going to the Throne Room to warn Aragorn of their arrival within the next few days, as per the letter. The king of the Haradrim had sent his son, a young prince, along with some noblemen to discuss the possible future reunion of the lands and where their relations lie after the War of the Ring.

You approached the grand doors of the throne room and were about to push inside when one of the guards stopped you with a raised hand.

"Apologies, my lady, but his majesty is in the middle of an important meeting as of now. Would you be so kind as to wait a few moments before walking in?"

You frowned. You still weren't used to it, the whole 'his majesty, my lord, his highness' thing. But what really threw you off was the fact that you were being stopped at the door of the throne room.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh my lady! Yes! Please excuse him!" Another guard pipes up behind you with a stressed expression on his face. "Apologies on his behalf. He's only just begun being stationed in the Citadel. Please go right in. His highness is expecting you."

You smile and nod in a friendly manner. That was more like it.

Without any further discussion, you pushed the large white door open to enter the throne room, still juggling the scrolls in your arms.

Aragorn was perched on his throne whilst speaking to a familiar ginger-haired man, Faramir, who stood not far in front of him. The king glanced up at the sound of the throne doors loudly dragging along the floor as they opened.

When he saw you, his expression softened, and his shoulders relaxed. It was strange. Every time he laid eyes on you, even in the polished marbled walls of the Citadel, he was brought back to the long days and nights he spent with you in the wilderness of Middle-earth, making him feel like his old ranger self again. But of course, without the responsibilities he has now.

Faramir was dismissed, with their discussion having ended. The young Steward gave you a knowing look as he passed you, but you caught him saying something under his breath.

"He clearly has favourites."

You huff out a small laugh that only Faramir would notice, but inside, you felt a warmth crawl over your heart at the thought. Oh, how you wish you were Aragorn's favourite. But the king's lack of connection to you recently had begun making you believe very much the opposite.

With the heavy duties of kingship and many lands to rule over, Aragorn at times found it difficult to make time for the ones he treasured so deeply. You were a part of this, unfortunately, and the past few weeks, the only times you had seen each other face to face were at councils in which you were present to record the political discussions. Only it wasn't Aragorn you saw at these councils, it was King Elessar, who was someone that you haven't gotten to know so well as you haven't had the chance.

You enjoyed times like this, where you had an excuse to burst into the throne room. But little did you know, Aragorn didn't need an excuse from you to gladly accept a visit from you, as it allowed him to bask once again in his affection that filled his heart so achingly and desperately.

"Hello, my lady," he started with a welcoming grin on his face as he approached you.

You put your palm up towards him. "Don't even start with the formalities, your majesty~. They make me feel too high and mighty for my liking."

"It does feel strange coming from you, love. But don't let anyone else hear you call me Aragorn, it might just start some gossip."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." You accepted a strong embrace from him. He tucked his head onto your shoulder and held your waist against him. His royal garments carried the strong scent of warmed cotton and musk. Very different in contrast to the earthy, rich soil smell that still ever so slightly lingered in his dark curls.

"Even though I once witnessed his majesty get so drunk at a tavern that he threw up in an alley while I held his hair back."

You felt his chest vibrate has he laughed against you. "Oh how I've missed you."

You hummed at his words, leaving his embrace. You'd be lying if you didn't miss him too. His booming laughter, the glow of his deep voice, the gentleness he'd have even when sparring, and even the smell of his pipe when he'd smoke. It was memories of him that you held onto very fondly.

"So what can I do for an old friend?"

Friend.

"The King of Harad is sending his son to discuss possible peace treaties with you," you stated after being knocked out of your daze from his question. You passed him the few parchments in your hand, riddled with calligraphy. His hand brushed yours as he took them. "He is expected to arrive in the next few days."

He read over the papers with care as you waited. "His son? The prince of Harad?" he affirmed with interest.

You nod. "I believe so. He is bringing noblemen with him, perhaps around twenty or so."

"That doesn't give us much time to prepare," he half groaned out while rubbing his eyes. "I guess we can sort something out. I'll get a courier to send a letter out saying that we'll await his arrival, and I'll have the kitchen stewards prepare a banquet for when he gets here."

You nod approvingly. "I will be happy to help in welcoming the guests at the state banquet for that night."

"Great!" he exclaimed. He gives you a friendly tap on the shoulder. "Then all is well. If we're lucky, we can have this done quickly, and they'll be on their way back to Harad in no time."

He returns the scrolls to your hands. "These can be archived, if you will."

You grab them slowly from him, your hands brushing once more, but neither of you pulling away.

An all too familiar silence hung over you two, one that had made itself more known every time you two were alone. Aragorn searched for something to say while aching with the dread of having to part once again. If only he could say something to have you remain a little longer.

But he didn't.

"I have other matters to attend to this morning," he bluntly informed while turning from you.

You clutched the scrolls to your chest while looking down sheepishly. His gaze had made you flustered, and you gave out a relieved breath from being broken from that tension. "Yes... of course. I'll get these archived right away."

You turned to walk through the large doors of the throne room once again. In the back of your mind, you wished desperately for him to call out.

"Oh! Hey Y/N?"

You quickly turned just as your hand had lifted to push the door.

"I received a gift from Rohan. An old piece of lore that is written in a tongue that I haven't read in years. Perhaps tonight you can lend me your knowledge and eyes?"

You felt yourself hesitate at his request. It had been weeks since you'd been alone with him, not in the context of reporting necessities. What if it was awkward?

"I will make sure there's wine too, if that's of interest," he offered a faint smile.

You nod. Well, at least a few glasses of wine would ease the air a bit.

"I'll be there after the council tonight, in the west wing of the library."

"Of course, Ara- my Lord. I look forward to it." You gave him a knowing smile as you pushed open the large white door.

*The Council Room, 6:57PM*

Aragorn had finished his kingly duties for the day.

The Council Room hung quiet as he packed away the few parchments used for discussing strategy in how this diplomatic meeting would go with the noble people of Harad.

With a light skip in his heart, feeling like his old young self again with this excitement growing, he grabbed the bottle of vintage wine that he had placed to the side long before the council, having collected it from the royal cellars beforehand in preparation to meet you.

The thought of you waiting for him in the library made him slightly anxious. Will it be like before he was king? Before he was all high and mighty and saw himself as just a lonely Ranger of the North? Oh, how he missed the soothing comfort you brought to his hardy personality and robust but gentle soul. He only wished the spark between you two could last.

A rushed man bursting through the door ripped him from his thoughts as he stopped in his tracks.

"My Lord!" the man cried. "Riders have crossed into our lands in the east, from Mordor. They hold a flag that we do not recognise. Your Steward, Sir Faramir, advises you to come see for yourself, quickly."

Aragorn's face hardened. 'Perfect timing'. He sarcastically thought to himself.

"Tell Faramir I will be there at once," he responded while shifting the bottle of wine behind his back to conceal it.

The messenger nodded and bowed to him before rushing out the door through which he came.

He knew he didn't have time to come and confide with you about the situation, but everything in his heart so wished to. Of course something had to come between the two of you.

He placed down the wine bottle on a table towards the corner of the room before adjusting his sword attached to the belt. A familiar dread filled his heart as he walked away from the direction of the library to the Citadel stairs.

Damned kingly duties.

*West Wing of the Citadel Library, 10:49pm*

You stood suddenly from the small table. Your legs felt numb, and your eyes were beginning to droop.

"Who am I fucking kidding. Look at me, waiting here for a king that's never going to come," you huffed out to no one in particular. You hastily gathered all of the scrolls in front of you, all branded with the familiar crest of Rohan. You'd even gone to the effort to place them all out and begin to decipher the foreign language for him, just so you had some achievement to offer your friend when he eventually arrived.

But he never did. And as the minutes turned into hours and each of the candles around you spilled more wax onto the table, you'd had enough of waiting.

You packed up your things quickly and rushed out of the silent and huge library, feeling smaller than ever.

*Citadel, 11:59PM*

Aragorn rushed up the stairs towards the Citadel. The moon was bright and the streets were quiet. Most of Minas Tirith had retired, retreating to its desolate emptiness that it held so strongly at night.

But the king of this great city was not yet done. He slowed in his steps as he approached the door of the west wing entrance of the grand library. With a gentle push, he stepped inside.

"Y/N?"

He called out in a gentle voice, but to no answer. As he traversed the great shelves of books and records he was so familiar with, he finally came across the large study area that he had noticed you tended to favour.

The table was empty. Only the dim light of dying candles and a neatly stacked pile of the Rohan lore he had promised to join you to go over remained. But you had left.

He thought of himself as an idiot. Of course, you weren't going to wait around for him, at least not into the hours of the night that he was only just arriving at now. Was he stupid to still have had a little hope of you being here?

He licked his forefinger and thumb before extinguishing the candles on the table. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of your handwriting, which he so easily recognised from all the records you had handwritten for him. He saw your translation of the strange tongue that the lore was written in.

He felt guilt fill his chest. You'd even started without him and had gotten quite a way through by the looks of it. You must have been here for hours... just waiting... just for him.

"Forgive me, Y/N," he said with a tone full of regret to no one. "I've let you down again."

No wonder you'd be growing apart. He can't even spare one night for you, how could he ever expect something to grow again between the two of you with this schedule and duty?

There were times when he regretted the choice of chasing the throne of Gondor, times when he believed he had made the wrong decision and longed to return to the wilds, to the lowly tavern inns, to the carefree feeling of waking up and having no responsibility but the clothes on his back. But most of you, he longed to return to you.

With a melancholy sigh, the king turned and slumped out of the library.

*The Courtyard of the White Tree, a few days later*

You stood on the grand balcony of the library on the very upper floor that looked over the courtyard of the Citadel. With anticipation, you waited for the prince of Harad to make himself known, having just arrived as announced by the gate guards. They were climbing the many levels of Minas Tirith, leaving you anxiously waiting.

A glint of sun reflecting off of Aragorn's crown brought your attention to him as he emerged from the grand archway of the Tower of Ecthelion. He stood at the edge of the courtyard to ready himself for the arrival of the foreign prince.

You took in his appearance. He wore royal, leather slacks, a charcoal long robe embroidered with the white tree of Gondor in the centre of his torso and a green mantle that seemed to glisten in the sun. It draped across his broad shoulders and was clasped on by a silver, star-shaped brooch. The Crown of Elessar sat upon his midnight hair, and Andúril was sheathed in his sword belt, as always.

'He's far from Strider the Ranger now,' you thought to yourself as you examined him from afar. You frowned in thought as you leant on the carved stone railing, resting your chin on your hand. 'I wonder if he ever misses it when he's all prettied up like this.'

A quick glance from the king in your direction snapped you out of your thoughts. He held his strong gaze at you for what felt like forever, before he looked away.

It had been awkward the last few days, ever since he missed your planned meeting in the library. After that night, you had grown a little resentful, not liking to be messed around with. But in reality, you were embarrassed by your actions to wait so late for him, especially since he had done this a few times before with you, ever since he had gained his title as King Elessar.

You had avoided him, kind of accidentally and kind of on purpose. The demand for your services had increased threefold with the imminent arrival of the noblemen of Harad. You had been reviewing historical treaties and conflicts, summarising the basic culture of the peoples of Harad and producing briefing documents for his highness. By sending a messenger to Aragorn, he was able to receive these documents while you worked, but you weren't aware of the disappointment the king felt when yet another courier delivered his council briefings, and not you.

Aragorn was aware of his mistake. He had kept himself awake about it, wondering what could have been if he hadn't gotten ripped from his opportunity to see his old friend again. He had imagined the night over and over, discussing with you, laughs becoming louder and looser as the wine bottle emptied, and him shifting from King Elessar to Aragorn once again with you. He'd even thought, just maybe, it could have felt like before, with lingering touches that held much more meaning behind them that neither of you was aware of.

The entrance of the prince of Harad could not be missed.

He and his people emerged from the stairs of the Citadel, leading into the courtyard with the shining of golden deserts and shimmering jewels. Their robes flickered a dazzling array of deep reds, blinding golds, and emerald greens and a few bannermen carried impressive flags that bore a large, green serpent spread across a yellow sun with a crimson background. Drums tore through the ground as they approached the King and his people surrounding him.

The Prince himself, Qadiran al-Ruhan, as you had learned his name was, was an absolutely striking individual. He had a tall, heroic and muscular stature, and his dark olive skin shone in the sunlight. His well-combed obsidian hair hung just above his shoulders, which matched the stubble coating his lower face, and he wore the colours of his people in silk robes. But the sage green crown jewel that lay in the middle of his forehead on a golden band indicated his status among the noblemen around him.

Aragorn stepped forward as their march halted in front of him, and the drums were silenced. They gave each other a respectful bow and initiated conversation between them. You were too far away to hear what they were saying.

They seemed like an interesting bunch, much different from the quite bland culture that coated Minas Tirith. It was like the life of the party had just arrived.

But you'd have to admit, the prince had a face that could allow him to escape even the most devilish of deeds. His strong, masculine features caught your attention, and you thought to yourself, what a popular prince he must be back at home in Harad with that gorgeous face.

"Gentlemen," you heard Aragorn pipe up after his quiet, welcoming conversation with the young prince. "Make our guests feel at home. We will begin our state banquet at sundown."

You pushed off the rails of the library and wandered back inside, hoping to finish some work before the banquet.

You looked forward to getting to know the handsome prince and his noblemen. However, it still dawned on your mind that you now had to face King Elessar once again, and there was no escaping his lingering gaze now.

*The Great Hall of the King, 5:30PM*

The banquet was beginning to bustle with excitement. Noblemen of both Gondor and Harad had begun to mingle and intertwine. Colours of blacks and reds and goldens all mixed together into one pool, all hoping to once again build friendly relations. It was a sight to see, especially for you, due to your mastery of lore.

You had arrived wearing your best gown with a thin, expensive coat, wanting to give a good impression for the foreign guests of the Keeper of the King's Records. Your hair was tied back into a simple but neat style with slim, silver chains tucked into it, and your finest jewellery littered your wrists and neck. You were a sight enough to turn the head of any man or woman.

You were placed at one of the long tables in the great hall, which was filled to the nine with delicious food that was fit to feed many kings. The people around you were friendly, rowdy and included you in their conversations, asking many questions about your role in the Citadel. You happen to be a great conversation holder, because everyone loved to talk politics there, which you knew a lot about.

Only, you weren't so interested in talking about your job much when you had the sight of the great Prince Qadiran to adore your gaze. He sat at the King's table, with King Elessar and his guards surrounding them. Only Aragorn and Qadiran's highest men in the Citadel sat there among them.

You swore you had caught his eye a few times, making you turn your head in embarrassment and pretend to be focused on the people around you. At some point, you had turned back to see if he had looked away, only to find that he hadn't. His dark eyes watched you, curious and interested, and he cocked his head to the side in thought.

You glanced away once again, feeling small under the great prince's searing gaze. Was he watching you? Or had he noticed you staring?

'Of course he did, idiot,' you thought to yourself. 'You've been gaping like a fish at him all night.' It was true, though. He would have to be blind to not have noticed you gawking at him.

But while this silent exchange was occurring, a certain someone else was also watching.

Aragorn sat on his large chair, having barely touched the divine food in front of him due to the slight sickness he felt in his stomach. His red wine glass was completely empty as he had stressed-drunk, draining it quicker than he had intended. His servants behind him kept topping it up.

Not only was he not used to having these kinds of banquets yet, due to not having conducted many peace treaties or diplomatic meetings since he had become king, but he also had his most royal guest eyeing you up. The pressure was too much for his gentle soul, and he could feel himself starting to become a little overwhelmed with everything going on.

"So, your majesty,' Qadiran spoke up as he turned to him. Aragorn's stare snapped off of you and faced him. "I must say, I am very impressed with the city and community that you have built for yourself here. I praise you for your efforts. You are so new to royalty, being raised by those elvish folk and all, but you embrace it so naturally."

Aragorn chuckled at the prince's praises. "It is without doubt that I would not have been able to accomplish all that I have without the support of my people."

Qadiran gave him a strange look. "Hm. So humble," he almost muttered as he took a sip from his goblet. "So... who is she?"

Aragorn saw the prince motion his goblet towards you. "The young lady down there, with the silver chains tangled in her hair. What is she to you?"

The King swallowed thickly. What were you to him? How he could put that simply, he did not know. But he answered in the most appropriate response he could without sounding like a lovesick idiot.

"The Keeper of my Records, or my Royal Archivist, as you may call her."

"Ah~ I see," he sighed out. "She has quite a staring problem, I will say."

Aragorn glanced at the prince's face, but his expression seemed far from annoyed about your little interest in him. His tongue crawled against his bottom lip, and his fingers caressed his chalice as he watched you laughing with your table friends.

When Aragorn accepted his title as King Elessar, he did not think of this situation as one he would have to keep his composure. Watching a foreign prince, as handsome as Qadarin was, basically drool and undress you with his stare made him slightly sweaty in the hands.

"I apologise for her curiosity. She means no harm. She is a lore keeper and does it for a job for me, that is why she is staring. Watching two royals of different realms converse would mean a lot for her work." Aragorn did not mean for it to come out as dismissive, but the slight annoyance and flat tone in his voice gave away his discomfort.

He almost said it in a way to convince himself as well. He did not want to even think about you fawning over this prince. Especially when you had him to look at as an option, but chose the latter.

"Hm, is that so?" Qadiran mumbled out while seeming to barely listen to the King, as he was so focused on you and the way you smiled as you spoke, and the shining look in your eyes. "So she is quite intelligent, then? Do you know her very personally?" His eyes did not leave you.

Aragorn's jealous heart vibrated inside his chest. "Yes. She is my bookkeeper," he said, words dripping with sass. "I know her very personally."

The emphasis on the 'very' made him feel slightly guilty, as he thought the prince might get the wrong idea and maybe think that you two had an intimate relationship. But he thought to himself that that wouldn't be the worst thing.

But unfortunately, the young prince and his naivety did not catch the protectiveness that laced Aragorn's words. In fact, for the remaining banquet, he did not pay much mind towards the King beside him at all. He was plotting, planning and scheming. How and when would it be a good time to ask for your hand?

You had allowed yourself to step outside for a short moment. You exited the Great Hall of the King through a small side door so you could leave quietly without anyone being too curious about your escape.

It was proving to be an amazing night. All the noblemen of Harad were incredibly charming, with many having already attempted to sweep you off your feet. You were flattered by the attention, but did not entertain much of it, even with the four glasses of drink that sat in your stomach, which poisoned your body with a careless, warm embrace.

You took a seat on a stone bench that was laden with soft, embroidered pillows. With swiftness, you removed the small pipe that was tucked in the inner pockets of your coat, Longbottom Leaf having already been pressed into the funnel.

Even with your now elevated position, the smell of the pipeweed brought you back to your times with the Fellowship. Back then, when you'd all gather around the fire telling stories of each other's adventures in life, smoke cascaded through the air and filled your heart and lungs with a warm, relaxing feeling. You, more than often, shared Aragorn's pipe with him as he lay his head on your lap, pressed against your thigh. As the redness in both your eyes would grow, you would braid his hair and run your fingers along the stubble of his beard. Merry and Pippin, the devilish hobbit cousins, would tease you two endlessly.

"Excuse me, young lady?"

Your eyes snapped open from your nostalgic daydream at the sound of a strong, low voice. It was him. The prince of Harad, Qadiran al-Ruhan, himself.

"Oh-! My lord! Please forgive me!" You dropped your pipe out of shock, and it clinked on the stone tiles. You stood and bowed low towards him to show your respect, feeling quite embarrassed.

"Oh, please, my lady," he laughed at your shock. "I am not bothered at all."

The handsome young man leant down to pick up your pipe and you panicked slightly at his kindness. "Please, sire, I can grab that. Do not waste your brea-"

"Allow me."

He picks up your pipe and walks towards you to hand it back. You took it and noticed his hands slightly brush yours, much like the other day in the Throne Room with Aragorn.

"Thank you, my Lord," you breathed out and bowed your head in gratefulness. He laughed at your formalness.

"Oh, the formalities~. Please don't be so strained to treat me with such respect, you might pop a blood vessel."

You awkwardly smiled at his request, feeling taken aback. Why is the foreign prince acting so kind to you?

"Um..." you choked out as a silence grew between you. "I think I must re-"

"You're King Elessar's record keeper, are you not? He was telling me about you earlier."

The sudden question threw you off. Aragorn was talking about you? To a prince? Surely, there were more dire things to discuss than his quiet, unimportant bookkeeper.

"Is that so?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. You felt so small under his gaze, especially with a man as handsome as this. You had prayed to the Valar that he hadn't remembered you gawking at him earlier in the Great Hall.

"Yes, he talks highly of you, I must say. You must be an impressive archivist to earn the respect the great High King."

You let out a huffed laugh and dropped your gaze out of abashment. "I would not say so. His majesty speaks too kindly of me."

"I don't believe so. But I must also say, forgive me, you are a beautiful woman. No wonder he keeps you around."

Your eyes flicked to his out of shock of his words. Was he... flirting?

"If you would have me, my lady, would you mind if I spend time with you for a bit? I have many questions."

You didn't know what to say. You felt as if you'd completely sobered up from this shocking scene. The prince had just walked out to you smoking pipeweed, and then acting like an idiot when finally noticing him. But of course, how could anyone refuse a charming prince from a foreign land?

"Of course, my Lord. I'd be honoured to be blessed by your presence."

With his request accepted, the prince offered his hand, and you took it carefully.

You two walked the halls of the Citadel, and you gave him a tour of the grand rooms that occupy it. As the night shuffled along and the moon grew higher, the two of you grew closer. And soon enough, your nerves had subsided, and this prince was treating you more casually without all the formalities. You, however, kept them, not wanting to be disrespectful to a foreign prince here for diplomatic and peace treaty reasons.

You presented the Grand Citadel Library to him and your workspace, and he took great interest in your knowledge of Middle-Earth, primarily the land of Gondor lore. He listened carefully, patiently and asked many questions. He was amazed by your knowledge and intelligence. But something he just couldn't get out of you, no matter how hard he tried, was your relationship with the King Elessar himself.

You were very dismissive of any questions of your bond, not wanting to expose Aragorn of his past life as a Ranger. It was hard enough having to constantly refer to him as 'His Highness', or 'His Majesty', and not allowing an 'Aragorn' to slip when in the presence of the prince. Eventually, the prince seemed to wear off his curiosity, allowing you to take a breath.

The night came to an end when you both had wandered back towards the Great Hall of the King. With a gentle kiss on your hands from the prince, you said your goodbyes.

"Thank you, Y/N, for your time. I hope to see you once again before I depart for home."

"I'm sure you will, my Lord. It is my job to keep a note of all diplomatic events. We will be seeing a lot more of each other in the next few coming days."

Qadiran offered a smile. "Perfect. I look forward to it."

He lifted his hand slowly to your face, making you freeze slightly. He tucked a piece of loose hair behind your ear delicately, his fingers lingering on the skin of your soft face. After a second of him admiring you and you staring at him, not knowing how to react to his advances, he pulled away and walked off, making his way to his room, most likely.

When he was out of sight, you nearly doubled over. When did it suddenly become your job to entertain the most royal guest for the night? And a very pretty one at that.

You began to slowly wander back in the direction of your quarters.

Little did you know about the stress that your King was under.

Aragorn, having departed the feast a few moments prior, was searching endlessly for you. He had received any questioning looks, many 'Can I do something for you, my majesty?', all answered with a shake of his head as he continued walking.

He had noticed you disappear from the banquet hours ago, but what was worse was that Qadiran was gone too. He only thought of the worst, especially with the way that prince had been eyeing you up earlier; tongue flicking, eyes looking you up and down and mind wandering, god knows where. Aragorn didn't even want to think of it. You wouldn't possibly be interested in a young prince like him, would you? Even so, Aragorn barely knew you these days, much to his dislike, so you could let the prince court you, perhaps even into his bed for the night, and he would never have known. But the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Why did he care so much? You had never wanted him anyway, so would it be so impossible for you to accept the advances of a different suitor, especially one as charming and rich as Prince Qadiran?

He missed you. Oh, how this sad, sappy king missed you. Like a dog to its master, like a soldier to his home, like a moth to the last light of a dying lantern. He was something within him that craved everything that you offered; your mind, body and soul. How could he ever watch idly by as someone else had all of that?

He continued searching the halls for you, even as the moon reached its peak in the sky.

*Your chambers, 7:00AM*

A loud banging on the wooden door to your chambers woke you up with a start. "Yes?!" you angrily yelled, being annoyed to be ripped from your sleep-in.

"I hate to disturb you, my lady, but King Elessar requests your presence at some point today." You heard a voice ring out.

You let out a loud yawn, still waking up. "Did he give a reason? The diplomatic meeting is not scheduled until tomorrow at noon."

"I'm afraid not. He simply requested that you make your way to the Throne Room when you got the chance."

You nearly rolled your eyes. What did Aragorn need so desperately from his Archivist? Surely if it was about the meeting briefings for tomorrow, it could wait until the city was more awake.

"I will be right there," you tell the messenger. Silence followed, indicating he had left to return the message to the King.

*Throne Room, 7:30AM*

"It was nothing short of a beautiful feast last night, my Lord," Prince Qadiran expressed with gratitude as he stood before Aragorn. "I greatly appreciate the effort you have put in place for my arrival."

"It was my pleasure," Aragorn said in a flat tone from his throne.

Everything the prince was doing was putting him on edge. Why did he seem so happy this morning? Was it because of you? Did you two meet up last night?

"If it would interest you, I can have an escort give you a tour of the city today. Diplomatic meetings are not scheduled until tomorrow, so I am happy to organise some activities for you and your men today."

"No need for a tour, your majesty. I already received a grand tour last night from one of your beautiful maidens."

Aragorn frowned. "Maidens?"

Qadiran placed his palm on his face. "Ah! My mistake, she was not a mere maiden. Y/N... one of your bookkeepers, I believe."

Aragorn's heart dropped at the sound of your name pouring from his lips. You had spent the night with him, perhaps not in his bed, thank god, but taking him on a private little tour of your own around the Citadel, which would have been romantic in itself.

"She is not a bookkeeper." Aragorn began coldly. "She is the Keeper of the King's Records, the Royal Archivist. There is a difference. Do not downgrade her position in front of me."

Qadiran was stunned by the sudden harshness from the usually so humble, friendly king. "I do apologise, your grace." he bowed low.

Aragorn nodded at his apology in recognition.

"In fact, my Lord, if you will allow me, I was hoping to discuss your Keeper of King's Records."

Aragorn swallowed thickly. "Yes?"

"I understand this would be a great inconvenience to you and your people, but your Royal Archivist has immensely caught my eye," he began slowly, with a drip behind his words to slightly antagonise the way Aragorn spoke of you. The King felt his heart in his throat as he anticipated where this was going. "I spent a lovely time with her last night during the banquet, and I had hoped, with your permission, I could ask for her hand in marriage? And for her to travel back to Harad with me as my fiancée?"

Silence filled the chamber, making the air thick and hard to breathe. The King was unable to speak, not knowing at first how to react to this news, out of shock.

"I understand that this may have come as a shock to you, but I believe we really connected last night, and I would be honoured to have her as my wife, my princes-"

"Forgive me for my bluntness, your majesty, but you couldn't even remember the proper name of her role in my Citadel."

There was a strong tension building between the two royals. Aragorn held his hard gaze, one elbow resting on his throne's armrest to try and appear serious and yet unscathed by the prince's request.

"My lord-"

"I do not give you permission, I'm afraid. She is my Archivist, and I am very much in need of her services."

It was proven very difficult to hide the possessiveness behind his words whilst trying to remain calm and collected, but Qadiran was not stupid.

The prince gave a slight smirk.

"I see, my Lord. You had only had to mention your affections for her, then I would have realised my mistake earlier."

Aragorn was taken aback at being read like a book.

"Don't act so shocked, my majesty. I just find it interesting to have someone of such status be so dismissive of his feelings towards someone who works under him. You could have anything you want, including her, so why don't you take it? Before someone else does?"

"She is not something to take. She comes to me on her own accord."

"Which will be when?"

Heavy stares were shared between them as each of them waited for the other to speak. Aragorn felt like his whole world was getting turned upside down. Is it that obvious?

But in a way, the young prince was right. Aragorn had waited and waited and WAITED for you to come to him, which had never happened. Why did he still believe that there was something between you two? It was a pathetic, desperate and downright embarrassing behaviour that he just couldn't shake off. It seemed no matter what, he would always desire you in some way.

"She'll find someone else, Elessar. She will not wait around for a man who can't admit to his own feelings."

The large stone doors of the Throne Room suddenly shifted, making the two men turn to see who was disturbing them.

It was you. 'Oh, of course,' Aragorn thought to himself. His luck could not have been better if he'd tried.

You closed the door and turned, freezing in your path when you felt the tension in the room.

"Excuse me... my lords. Am I interrupting something?"

Qadiran gave out a charming laugh as he approached you with his arms outstretched. "No, my petal. We were just finishing up."

You awkwardly accepted his embrace, not really being used to being hugged by royals, other than Aragorn, of course.

"I was just telling your wonderful king about our adventures last night," he started as he removed himself from you, taking your face gently in his palms.

"I had the time of my life, my love. I just hope we can continue our endeavours to this day. You are, after all, an incredibly fascinating woman that I would love to spoil."

You blushed at his words, not knowing what to make out of them, plus the brushing of his thumbs against your cheek was not helping with the fluttering in your stomach.

Aragorn, watching this whole ordeal from his throne, was absolutely fuming. His hand had curled into a fist at the sight of the prince touching your face, something he hadn't done in months. He wasn't only just jealous, he was almost dripping out of his ears with pure envy.

He held his gaze on you two.

"What do you say? Want to meet in the courtyard later today? You can show me some of the other levels of your beautiful Minas Tirith, only if you'd have me."

Only if you'd have me. Those words drove Aragorn up the wall with the strong romantic connotations behind them.

You nodded shyly at the prince's request, and he smiled happily. "Amazing! Will see you at noon, my lady."

A quick kiss on the cheek made your eyes widen as he walked around you to the door. He left without another word and without saying goodbye or thank you to Aragorn.

You chuckled to yourself on the spot. "Hm, friendly prince," you say out loud, so dumbfounded by being courted by a gorgeous, Haradrim prince.

"Yes," Aragorn stood from his throne to release some of the tension he was feeling.

"So, Aragorn, you summoned me?"

The King took a moment to think. Why had he summoned you? He wasn't exactly thinking when he sent the messenger. He was so bothered by the idea that you had been given all the extra attention by this newcomer that he didn't even think of what he'd say to you when you arrived.

But still, anger still boiled in his blood, and he remained cold.

"I have these parchments that need deciphering," he eventually spat out as he collected some papers from the small table next to his throne. "They are in Sindarin, and I need you to translate them."

You frowned and took the parchments as he handed them to you. This was the urgent matter?

You shuffled through the papers, thinking maybe he had made some kind of mistake.

"My Lord... you can speak Sindarin."

Aragorn ran a palm over his face before grabbing the papers back from you. "Right. Sorry about that."

"...Aragorn. What's going on? You're acting weird."

He started to panic a little. His palms start to sweat, and his heart started to skip beats.

"I'm just tired, Y/N, that is all. I did not sleep well."

"Are you sure? I mean I'm happy to talk if you nee-"

"I said I'm fine! Give it a rest!"

You were taken aback by the snap of his words. Aragorn was too, not knowing where it came from. You felt yourself grow upset as his anger, wanting to escape the thick, breathless air of the throne room.

"Okay, sorry, Aragorn. I'll leave you be."

And with that, you left the room quickly, leaving the High King Elessar to bask in the silence with his own confusing feelings.

Aragorn watched from his balcony as you took the hand of Prince Qadiran softly. You laughed at something he said, and Aragorn's heart fluttered at the sound of it. The prince allowed you to guide him, beginning down the stairs of the Citadel, and eventually you two disappeared out of sight, starting your romantic afternoon together.

Aragorn felt like he was being eaten alive. The dread, the regret, the jealousy, the possessiveness, it was all coming to take him out one by one. He was literally the king; he's got everything he's ever wanted, but no, he wanted you.

He wanted you so damn bad it hurt. It ached and battered and mauled and aggrieved him how badly he hungered for you. He wanted you in his arms, on his lips, in his dreams, in his heart, in his bed. He lived and breathed with the desire for you, and there was nothing in this world that would ever shake it from him, and it drove him insane.

He was not going to let this happen. He was not going to let another royal suitor sweep you off your feet so suddenly, so effortlessly, when he had been trying too long to win your affections.

Tonight, he would tell you. And whether you accepted or denied his confession was completely up to you, but at least he would know if his desires were worth the ache in his chest that hurt and bled like a stab wound that never truly healed.

*The West Wing of the Great Library, 11:35PM*

The night crept away so delicately as you shuffled through your last few bits of paperwork for the evening. You had begun gathering the massive books that you had removed from the shelves to study once again, to place them back in their rightful places on the giant shelves.

After the afternoon with Prince Qadiran, the daring prince had asked for your hand in marriage. You had been so stunned by his question that you choked on the words in your throat when you went to answer, making the prince laugh and call you cute.

You'd have accepted. This seemed to be the best option. There was not much left for you in Minas Tirith anyway, with Aragorn being so busy with kingly duties and your close friends from the Fellowship now all having either returned home or left for other reasons. You were the only one to have stayed with King Elessar to serve him, and you can't help but feel a little bit of regret for your decision.

You feel upset, knowing you will leave him. And breaking the news to him will be hard, but you looked forward to your new life as a princess in Harad, and eventually, a Queen of the Haradrim.

A Queen. You could not even imagine yourself as such.

The sound of feet shuffling echoing throughout the library chamber made you stop your running thoughts and listen. It was incredibly late and the library shut hours ago, making you suspicious.

"Hello?" You called out, not hearing a response. "The library is closed for the night! How did you get in?"

You rounded a corner and were met with none other than King Elessar Telcontar himself. He wore a loose, comfortable robe, black with some dark pants and leather boots. He had no cloak and no emblem of Gondor's white tree anywhere on himself. His head did not adorn the crown, and he held something behind his back, it seemed.

For a split second, in your head, he was Strider again.

"Oh, sorry, my Lord. I did not realise it was you," you said, slightly shocked to see him. "Were you looking for something in particular? I was just about to leave for the night, but I'm happy to quickly help you find a book."

Aragorn's heart stung at the use of the formal title for him. "Um, no Y/N. But thank you. I... was actually just looking for you." He was awkward, not meeting your gaze and feeling heat wash over him in uneasiness.

You raised your eyebrows. "Me? Okay, what can I do for you, your majesty?"

"Y/N. Stop that."

You blinked. "Stop what?"

"My name is Aragorn."

"You're the king. I'll address you as such."

"I'm more than just the king to you and you know that."

That silenced you for playing dumb. You didn't mean to purposely make him mad, but it felt wrong to call him by his first name when things had taken such a turn over the past day. It now felt... too affectionate, as much as you hated to say it.

"What can I do for you?"

"I brought wine," he revealed what he was holding behind his back. A large bottle of red, unopened and new. "I grabbed it from the cellars just now."

"Aragorn, I'm tired-"

"Please, Y/N. Just stay for a bit longer, for me."

The silence was tense before you sighed and grabbed the bottle off of him. "Come on."

You walked over to your large main desk that still had papers stacked across it that you had not gotten the chance to put away yet. You pulled up a chair for yourself and offered Aragorn your larger, comfier one. He insisted he'd use the smaller one.

"I'll get that lore from Rohan," you stated blandly as you disappeared between the shelves, leaving Aragorn at the table.

He felt so tense. Was this a mistake? You clearly did not seem in the mood for him.

He examined your desk, pushing some things to the side so you had room to place the new lore when you got back. He looked over your work, but also noticed a page that a page was open on a particular book.

'Haradrim Marriage Customs'

His heart leapt to his throat. There's no way. Not only would that prince have gone against Aragorn's word and blessing, but you would've also said yes. Was this happening? Were you leaving him?

The questions flew around his head, hitting each other and causing a small headache. Maybe it was a mistake to come. You had clearly already moved on.

He shook his thoughts when he saw you round the corner and return.

"What's the holdup? Poor that wine won't you?"

Aragorn tried to act natural despite him freaking out on the inside. He grabbed two wooden mugs that sat on the table and opened the bottle to pour into them. He made sure to add a little extra in his.

You placed the lore that Rohan had gifted the king onto the table, shuffling through the pieces that you had already interpreted. Aragorn recognised them from the night he showed up late to find you gone, but your work remained.

"Okay! Should we go from the top and see what I figured out? Or do you want to just continue trying to translate together?"

He wanted to drag out this time with you as much as possible if he wanted to try and grow the courage to say anything, especially after suspecting that you'd been asked for your hand today. "Let's go over what you discovered first."

You nod, sit down in your chair and pull yourself close to the desk. You lift the parchment with your handwriting and give it to Aragorn. By leaning forward and using your finger to point to the paper and explain your work, Aragorn could feel your closeness to him. He felt the light warmth of your breath against his face, your knees brushing against his a few times, and his eyes caught the shining glow that your skin gave off in the subtle flickering candlelight. He felt dirty thinking it, but he wanted so bad to press his lips tight against your skin and taste it.

As the night moved on and the bottle emptied, just like Aragorn had imagined the night a few days ago would've gone, you both grew drunker. You both became barrels of laughter, trying to stay serious about the lore, but eventually it became forgotten, some parchments even hitting the floor without you guys noticing while you were deep in conversation.

You reminisced, talking about the days with the Fellowship, Aragorn's days as Strider and your life before being sent on the quest with him. You brought back funny moments and laughs you spent together, the lightheartedness and friendship you felt during that time.

All was going well, and you felt happy. You had Aragorn back, even if it was just for that night.

When Aragorn ran to another room of the library and brought back another bottle of wine, you cackled.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Mr King of Gondor?" you chuckled as he almost tripped over his own feet when running back to you. His face was flushed with a wine blush, and you felt warmth overcome your body with your drunkenness.

You watched as he stumbled back. His hair was loose and had it's natural curls. His robe was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his chest and his shoes were now off, him having removed them before.

He looked so... domestic. Not being clad up in shiny garments with a crown... it was comforting to you. You felt more at home with this kind of man.

"I'm sure we're fine~," he slurred his words as he held the bottle up proudly. "This one is good! I promise you~".

You giggled at him. "Okay, but not too much."

That didn't last long. When only a mouthful was left in the bottle, you two had crashed onto the lounge area in the corner of the room. It was a comfy reading nook that adorned pillows and blankets of all colours and embroideries, basically like a big bed.

You watched as Aragorn smoked his pipe while leaning against the wall with his back. You sat in front of him, cross-legged, and basically seeing double.

'Oh~ Two Striders? Doesn't sound too bad.' you thought to yourself drunkenly, making you chuckle out loud.

"Haha. Maybe then one can be king and one could be with me~." This time, you had said it out loud while rubbing your eyes.

Aragorn chuckled with his pipe still between his lips. "What are you on about?"

"I don't know."

He handed you his pipe, and you accepted, taking in a deep breath of it and feeling the immediate relaxation hit you.

"What happened today? With that prince?" Aragorn asked curiously. In a moment of boldness (or drunkenness, he could not tell), Aragorn crawled closer to you and turned around, placing himself so your chest was against his back and he looked up at you.

You almost couldn't answer him with those big, grey eyes staring up at you.

"He's asked me to marry him."

Aragorn felt time freeze. He continued to stare up at you as you took another hit from his pipe. You said it, like it was nothing.

He sat up and turned to face you. "He what?"

"I know, right!? Can you believe it?! It happened so fast," you exclaimed as smoke poured from your mouth.

Aragorn had such a stricken look on his face, like a kicked puppy. "What did you say?"

"I said yes. Harad seems like a beautiful place with a culture so rich, and the people so nice. I reckon I could be really happy there."

Oh.

You said yes.

This is something you wanted. You have chosen this.

You had chosen to leave him. Not only to leave him as his Royal Archivist, but also as his friend, his companion.

His longing desire.

You'd had enough. And that was that.

"Aragorn?" you asked with concern.

You wanted to marry another man. You had moved on, found someone actually willing to give himself to you so easily, and to ask for you back. And you said yes.

"Aragorn? Love?"

He escaped his thoughts and looked at you. You were blurry.

"Aragorn, why are you crying?"

The king blinked and felt hot tears fall down his flushed cheeks. "Um," he choked out, quickly wiping his eyes with his robe sleeves. "Sorry, Y/N."

"Hey," you softly spoke out. You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you. His face felt so delicate in your hands, like he was trembling, desperate, hungry.

"What's going on? Is there something you should tell me?"

How could he? Oh, how ever could he? Does he just do it?

"I think I'm in love with you, Y/N," he blurted out.

Tears continued piling down his cheeks, only he saw your face through them, and saw some cascading down your soft skin as well.

"What?"

"I'm... in love with you. Holy fuck Y/N, I am so fucking in love with you."

"Aragorn, stop it. You're drunk."

"No! I'm not! I know what I'm saying! Please believe me." He had a grasp of your shoulders in his strong hands. You felt his grip tighten on you, like he was terrified you were going to run away.

"Please, for the love of the Valar Y/N, please believe me. I have been so in love with you for so long, and I desire every part of you with every inch of my being. It scares me how much I want you."

Aragorn pushed himself towards you, hands going to your waist and face forcing itself into your neck. He sobbed, and you felt the wetness of his tears coat your skin.

He smelled so strongly of wine, pipeweed and the overwhelming desire to hold you close so you'd never leave, like you were forged just for none but him to claim.

He was in love with you. Aragorn loved you. And he always had. This stupid idiot of a king had always loved you and never said anything. That dumb bastard.

You returned his tender and fragile embrace, nuzzling your face as close as you could into his ebony hair and your hands clasping desperately at his broad back. Your legs were a tangled mess on the carpeted floor.

"You're so stupid," you sobbed out. "You should've told me, you dumb idiot."

Aragorn laughed through tears into your neck.

You pulled back from his embrace, and so did he. He put a hand to your cheek to wipe away the wetness with his thumb.

Your face was flushed with tears. Your lips were red, swollen, and panting. Your eyes glistened and were bordered by wet eyelashes.

You had never looked more perfect in his eyes.

He leant forward, waiting for you to do the same.

And when you did, you crashed your lips onto each other's. A mix of tears, saliva and a hunger sharpened so strongly by restraint, dragging claws on the inside of your hearts.

Nothing in that moment mattered except for each other. You had gotten your Aragorn, the one you so desperately wanted all these years. And nothing could have made you happier in that moment.

You both remained in the library until the sun started peaking out from its grave behind the mountains. You didn't sleep at all. You became tangled in each other's limbs, sharing longing, desired kisses and running your hands along each other, like you had so desperately begged for between each other for so long.

Tomorrow would come, and some discussions would need to be had. He would return as King Elessar and you as the Royal Archivist, but between you, the silence would be comfortable and steeped in the echo of a long awaited confession.

AN: Was on like 4 white claws while ending the last bit plz forgive if any mistakes lmao Taglist: @cinnamon-girl-writes @mybrainsamess @pumpkin-soup333 let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list~

21 notes · View notes

mieisunki · 1 month ago

Text

wanna attention

alt: when enhypen wants attention from you

ot7 x female!reader warnings: fluff i feel like jay's is soo much shorter than the rests, but his is my favorite...

masterlist

heeseung:

heeseung was a wild card. sometimes, he was completely okay if you weren't able to show him attention. he understood completely that sometimes you were busy. other times, he was similar to jake in a way that he wouldn't let you do anything without him.

today was the later of those. as soon as he stepped through your door, he was attached to your side like a magnet. normally you didn't mind, but today was the day you were supposed to go out with some friends for lunch. he was devastated when you told him this.

you told him you wouldn't be more than a couple of hours, and he was more than welcome to stay at yours until you got back. and while he didn't say anything, you could tell he wanted you to stay with him. the whole time you were getting ready he was at your side, arms draped over your shoulders and his head nestled in your neck.

you made him sit on the bed while you got dressed, and as soon as you stepped out of your closet, his hand grabbed your wrist. with one soft pull, you landed in his lap. his arms tightened around you, preventing you from moving.

"you're so pretty." he complimented you, kissing your exposed shoulder. "my pretty girl who's trying to leave me."

you laugh at his words. "it's just for a few hours."

"that's practically a lifetime." he whined, looking at you with his big eyes. "please stay with me."

you let out a sigh, never being able to say no to him. especially when he begged you. you moved your hands, pinching his cheeks and making him pout before kissing him. you felt him melt into your kiss, chasing your lips when you pulled away. "i'll tell them something came up. but you owe me food."

"deal, pretty girl." he beamed at your decision even though he knew what you were going to agree before pulling you into another kiss. "i love you."

"i love you too, you big baby."

rest under the cut

jongseong:

jay is one of the members that, while loving your attention, can function completely fine if it's not on him. he understands that you have your life and he has his, and you're not going to be able to give him attention 24/7.

but the one time that goes out of the window is in the morning. it's the one time that neither one of you have to worry about your lives, and can just be in each other's embraces without worrying about anything.

so when he woke up, and you weren't in bed, he lost his mind.

"baby?"

"yeah." you peak your head out from the bathroom. you see him pouting at you- hair in all directions. his eyes heavy with sleep. he pats the bed next to him.

"why aren't you in bed?"

"i just had to use the bathroom. i'll be out in just a second." your answer apparently wasn't good enough because you heard shuffling before jay joined you in the bathroom. "really jay?"

"your seconds up." your legs wrap around his waist as he pick you up and carries you back to bed. he puts you back in bed before joining you, immediately wrapping his arms around you tightly, so you couldn't go anywhere. you couldn't help but smile at his actions as you relax in his embrace. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before falling back asleep- you following right after him.

jaeyun:

clingy boy #1. jake is the most affectionate member, so he demands your attention almost around the clock. if you are at the same place, he is going to be near you the whole time- no exceptions.

he had just got done with promotions and was spending some much needed time resting at your place. you had spent the whole day in his arms, but for some reason, he was being extra clingy. you had to practically pry his hands off of you so you could go the the bathroom by yourself.

even though you were happy jake was with you, you still had chores to do around the house. so when he fell asleep while you were watching a movie, you took your chance to do some laundry. big mistake.

"yn!" you jump, dropping the basket of clothes when you hear jake yell at the top of his lungs for you. once you recover from the scare, you laugh to yourself, deciding to stay quiet to see what he does. you can hear him stomping around while looking for you. "where's my girl?"

you had just pulled the lid to the washer down when you heard the door creak open. you weren't even able to turn around before you were tackled in a hug. jake pressed a overly obnoxious kiss on your cheek. "there you are. why didn't you answer me?"

"i was busy." you answer, freeing your arm so you could turn on the washer. once the washer started going, you turned around to your pouting boyfriend. "there, i'm all yours."

he beamed down at you, pressing kisses all over your face until you were laughing and pushing him away. not like you could go far with the grip he had on you. "good. because i hear the couch calling our names."

"oh do you now?" he nodded his head at your question.

"you don't hear it? yn. jake. come cuddle. i miss you." you roll your eyes at his behavior, though you secretly loved it. you motioned to the door, giving in to what he wanted.

"lead the way."

sunghoon:

sunghoon is another one of the members that wouldn't seek out your attention very often. don't get him wrong, he does love when your attention is on him, but he's not craving it as much as others (ahm... jake).

on the rare chance that you're not giving him attention and he wants it, you know instantly that he does. he doesn't say anything. he'll just stare at you. you can be doing something in the kitchen when you feel his eyes on you from where he's sitting in the living room.

most of the time, you stop whatever you're doing and go over and join him. but there are some times that you like to tease him. you'll pretend like you don't feel him staring at you while you keep doing whatever your doing.

once he realizes that you aren't going to come to him, he'll go to you. you'll smile to yourself when you get up from his seat out of the corner of your eye. when your back is turned to him, his long arms wrap around your body. his head rests on your shoulder as he clings to you.

"hi, hoonie." you greet him before going back to your task. you don't get very far before his hands are tugging your waist, pulling you away from whatever you were doing. you turn back to look at him. "what do you need?"

"you." and how can you resist that? you lean up, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss before holding out your hand. he immediately accepts, wrapping his fingers around yours before pulling you back to the couch where he will keep you in his arms for the next few hours.

seonwoo:

sunoo is a mixture between jay and jake. while he does understand that you can't always show him affection, he still finds himself pouting when he wants attention and you're not giving it to him. today was one of those days when all he wanted was your attention.

you had exams coming up, so all of your free time went to studying. sunoo knew this when he came over. he promised he would leave you to study- he just wanted to be near you. but just being near you wasn't good enough anymore.

you honestly didn't expect him to last as long as he did, so you weren't surprised when you felt his arms wrap around your shoulder after a few hours of him being there. "hi, my sun."

"hi, my baby." he mumbled, face smushed in the crease of your neck. "i miss you."

you let out a small laugh. "i've been here the whole time."

"it's not the same." he flushed.

"if you wanted some attention, you should've just asked." you tell him. "i don't mind taking some breaks for you."

his head popped up from your shoulder so fast- eyes bright in excitement. "really?"

and that's how you ended up spending the rest of the afternoon binge watching your guys favorite show. it wasn't fully sunoo's fault. as soon as you laid your head on his chest, you knew you weren't moving anytime soon.

jungwon:

clingy boy #2. this boy loves your attention. he craves it. still not as bad as jake though. most of the time though, you give him all the attention he wants. on the off chance you're not and he wants it, be prepared because he will not let you go.

you were getting ready to go the the grocery store when jungwon entered your apartment. once he realized you were getting ready, he stood in the doorway with a pout on his face. "where are you going?"

"i need groceries." you answer, giving him a kiss before moving to finish getting ready.

"can i come with you?"

"of course, wonnie."

so here you were, shopping for food with your boyfriend glued to your side- literally. he was holding the basket with one hand, and the other one was wrapped around your shoulder- preventing you from going more than 2 inches away from him. the only time he let go of your shoulder was when you needed something from a higher shelf.

once you told him you had everything, he had you in line faster than you could blink. you look up at him with a teasing smile. "is there a reason why you want to go home so bad?"

he rested his head on your shoulder, so he could whisper in your hear. "i want cuddles."

"what was that?" you hummed. "i couldn't hear you."

"yn..." he whined your name, no liking your teasing. you turn around, kissing his pouting lips before smiling.

"i'm just messing with you. we'll cuddle as soon as we get home. but you have to put up the groceries."

he smiled, giving you another kiss. "deal."

riki:

riki was similar to sunghoon. most of the time, your attention was already on him, so he never had to ask for it. but today, you had just gotten a new book, and had refused to put it down since you got it.

riki watched you read, hoping you would catch on that he wanted your attention. but you didn't. you just kept on reading- forgetting he even existed (his thoughts not yours).

he then tried a new technique. he sat next to you with a huge sigh. "what does that book have that i don't?"

"what do you mean?" you chuckle, knowing exactly what he means. you stop reading, but you don't look up at him- loving when he acts like this.

"you haven't even looked at me since you got it." you finally looked over at him. his eyes brightened as he met your gaze.

"are you starving for my attention?"

"well, i wouldn't say starving..." he scratching the back of his neck- face flushing pink. you closed your book before leaning over and pinching his cheek. he swatted your hand away. "stop that."

"stop what, ki? i'm giving you attention." you laughed as he glared at you. you leaned back in your seat, opening your arms for him. he smiled before laying on top of you. you ran your hands through his hair when he laid his head on your chest. "better?"

"much."

2K notes · View notes

hyprfixate · 7 months ago

Text

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.

#skz chan #stray kids #hyprfics #skz chan x reader #skz fanfic #skz x reader #chan smut #skz chan smut #bang chan #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic

2K notes · View notes

cashmoneyyysstuff · 1 year ago

Text

dinner prep engagement ♡

a/n : aaaand its finally here, the final part of the ring pop proposal miniseries after decades !!!! im sorry it took me so long to write this final part yall, i just finally felt enough inspo to write it and im super happy w how it came out ! i hope yall do too ! lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist ! much luv xx

fem reader, literally pure fluff between mama n son, katsuki gets emotional very quickly bc i believe he does and you cannot make me think otherwise, a lil emotional but pure sweetness, mentions of making dinner, lmk if i missed sum else !!

this time, mitsuki has no idea what her son is planning. sure she’s had her hopes for years now, and her suspicions, but nothing truly concrete.

that is, until she gets a call in the middle of the night.

"katsuki..hello ?" she answers groggily, heaving a sigh and rubbing at her eyes. she checks next to her to make sure she hasn't woken her husband up, her eyes dart over to her digital clock " 'ts one in the morning."

"uh..hey." her son's gruff voice sounds over the phone, she raises a brow at his hesitant tone of voice, but she let's him continue "yeah, i know. sorry.." he mumbles out.

the older woman shakes her head affectionately "it's fine..is there something you wanted to talk about ?"

it's silent on the other end for a while until katsuki mumbles something. "katsuki, you know i can't hear you if you don't speak up." she scolds lightly, causing him to growl under his breath.

"not..not right now, no--just..can i come over tomorrow ?"

taking in her silence for hesitance he continues " it's nothin' bad..i just--feel like it's something i needa say face to face, i guess.."

"okay..yeah, of course. you know you can come over whenever you want." she urges "is yn comin' along ?"

"no, she isn't." she can practically hear his eye roll and it makes her smirk "she'll be busy tomorrow anyway so, not this time. i'll tell her you said hello though, since you're always tellin' me to."

she's about to retort when katsuki speaks again, only not to her. she hears what she knows is your voice quietly chatting with him as he reassures you that he'll be right there with you and for you to go back to bed. the soft tone in his voice makes her eyes soften.

never could she ever have imagined her katsuki ever speaking so softly to anyone, because her katsuki is, despite having calmed down over the years, still quite the brat. (she's pretty sure she knows where he gets it from now..) he's still temperamental when interviewers and journalists get on his nerves. he's still awfully moody , but he's different now. he's just a little bit gentler with the way he handles kids or older women who's cats have gotten stuck in trees. complaining that this isn't his damn job but still doing it anyway with utmost care as the kitties sink their sharp claws into his skin or cling to him for warmth.

he's a still a little rough around the edges but it's the thought that counts. he's different than when he was younger, but he still is the most different with you. his rough and gruff voice that he uses to bark out orders and complain, complain, complain, he uses so softly around you, keeping you as calm and sleepy as possible. it's not perfect, but he manages to usher you back to your room to sleep, and that makes the thought count so much more.

"m'gonna go now." he warns, his mother hums in agreement, telling him she'll see him tomorrow and he reciprocates the goodbye.

"night, ma."

"night, kiddo." she grins, a happy sigh leaving her when she hangs up the call and lays back down. cozying herself up next to her husband.

she's had her suspicions and her hopes for a while now, but she can't be too sure what her son could possibly want from her tomorrow.

katsuki comes back home like he's never left.

the day goes like any other day would've went a few years ago when he was still living in the family home. mitsuki almost expects her son to run off upstairs to do his homework.

he greets his dad with a half hug, and is forced into a tight embrace by his mother, which he grumbles about. grumbles turning into a growl when she grips his cheek, scolding him for not greeting his mother properly.

it's a lot of catching up from the few months he's been busy with hero work. talking about his latests achievements and his quick climbing of the hero ranks, accompanied with barely suppressed smiles and softened eyes when you're brought up. mitsuki remembers how nervous he'd been when he'd told her he was planning on asking you to move in with him, so she's happy to hear from the both of you, since she has your number and you like to catch up every now and then, that everything was going well. though she already knew it would.

katsuki volunteered to help with dinner, his mother happily agreeing saying she could use some help. it makes her a little bit nostalgic and she wills herself not to get teary eyed at how much her son has grown.

but she sees that the opportunity has presented itself to bring up the topic that's been on the tip of her tongue the entire day now.

"so.." she sings "you wanted to talk about something, right ?"

katsuki stiffens like he'd forgotten, although his expression stays the same besides the slight squint of his eyes. the rhythmic cutting of vegetables has stopped and it takes him a moment before he speaks quietly like he's revealing a secret.

"i wanna ask yn to marry me."

oh.

so that was it.

"oh." she breathes immediately. a broad smile slowly grows onto her face and she beams "took you long enough, ya brat !" she exclaims, slapping her sons muscular arm. he growls lowly at her, leaning away from her though she remains undeterred. poking at his sides while he tries to smack her hands away.

finally, she relents "when are you gonna ask ?" she asks excitedly. katsuki huffs, eyebrows still heavily furrowed from her earlier attack. he turns back to the cutting board "soon. i arranged my schedule and we'll both be free, so in two weeks from now."

"you already have a ring ?"

he grunts in agreement. and mitsuki besides being proud of the fact her hunch was right, feels her heart warms at the burst of nostalgia of her little boy. her katsuki, kicking his feet in the backseat of her car. tightly gripping his bag of ring pop candies he'd give to you the next day. her little katsuki, who'd proudly claimed he was going to marry you when he grew up in that very same car, exclaiming that he'd proposed to you with those very same candies he'd almost had a tantrum over her not getting.

her little boy, who'd gotten oh so big, and so, so much more enamoured with you.

"good." she utters sweetly, voice just a bit wobbly "good. that's great, katsuki."

he nods to himself " i've thought about it for a while now..long while." he scoffs to himself, eyes focused on the cutting board in front of him. "got the whole day planned out too."

"yeah ?" he nods. her eyes soften as he speaks mostly to himself, he's had this little self hype up habit ever since he was a boy. trying to calm himself down and reassure himself. it's a smart move, but as strong and mature as he is, katsuki is nothing more than human. and anxieties can creep up on the best of us.

she's seen it before, and she sees it again when he bites his bottom lip in thought, and she smiles softly.

and again, she coaxes him into it " that sounds nice, looks like you got it all planned out, huh?"

and he nods again. but it doesn't take him, long before he breaks.

"..what if she says no ?"

and mitsuki wants to laugh. she really does, because the thought of you ever saying no to him sounds absolutely ridiculous to her. she snorts. shaking her head while her son looks at her incredulously.

"katsuki.." she tuts, chuckling to herself before she looks up at him. "you've got absolutely nothing to worry about. you've got it."

his eyes widen, then her son's expression drops as he raises a brow "how do you know that ?" his words make her smile widen this much more and she really wants to laugh.

how does she know. she scoffs

she knows because she knows him. she knows her katsuki better than anyone else, he's her son. she knows he's rude, rowdy, quipy, temperamental and everything else. he's all of that and so much more.

and yet you still love him. you're still so incredibly patient with him, you still offer him all of your kindness despite him once confessing to her he doesn't understand how you do. despite all of the times he's messed up, the times he's fallen down, you stay by his side you care for him, you care about him.

she knows her katsuki is absolutely infatuated with you, he always has been. from tantrums about being separated in class and knowing your favourite ice cream flavour to him being overly protective over you when you were paired up with your lab partner that ended up not being him and to him wearing the stupid stuffy tux mitsuki tailor made for him to take you to prom.

you've always been his number one best friend, but he's always been yours as well : he loves you, but you love him just as much.

and so mitsuki smiles "call it mother's intuition. and, not to brag, but i think most of my hunches have been right by now" and it widens when katsuki scoffs and rolls his eyes at her boasting, another bratty little habit he has that he's practically mastered over the years. she sighs, spreading her arms out towards him "well come over here. you've gone and gotten so damn tall, i can't reach you myself !" her son rolls his eyes again, but he scoffs softly to himself and with a shake of his head, he closes the distance and hunches over to hug his mother. she wraps her arms around him tightly and he grumbles when she squeezes but he doesn't try to get away.

"there's nothing for you to worry about, katsuki. absolutely nothing." she repeats, rubbing his back. "you love each other, and that's more than enough. just be yourself, it's been working out for you this far..somehow." she jests. katsuki scoffs indignantly but they both end up chuckling about it. after a few more seconds they pull away and mitsuki pats her son's chest with a sniffle. right on top of his heart that she knows, she's seen, has gone through oh so much.

but still remained entirely yours throughout all the years and still so so so enamoured with you.

gripping onto his shoulders, she whispers "you got this." the glossiness in his eyes is impossible to miss, he's always cried very easily. but she guesses she mirrors his expression exactly. her son is the spitting image of her after all. she places a hand on his cheek and he leans into it.

"thanks, ma" he whispers sincerely. and mitsuki feels her heart soar.

"any time."

during dinner, katsuki announces the news to his father. who after getting over his shock immediately wraps his son into a hug. congratulating him and encouraging him with teary eyes, she knows where katsuki gets that from, before they all settle down to have dinner before katsuki leaves a few hours later. waving off his mother's insistence to pass you a greeting with a grumbled acknowledgement.

she shakes her head as her and her husband watch him drive off but her heart is full of pride.

"we raised a killer son didn't we ?" she giggles looking back at masaru, who agrees with a smile as they share a laugh.

and the next time you both come over, you're giddy. unable to keep your excitement in check as you keep excitedly looking back at katsuki, who finally relents with an affectionate sigh and you happily show off you're ringed finger with a squeal.

mitsuki squeals right back, wrapping you up in the tightest bear hug she could. masaru takes his turn hugging you, sweetly congratulating you both. of course, they'll tell you they both new in advance, but that was all for later.

sure, she didn't know what her son was planning in advance, but she had her hunches and her funny feeling from all those years ago that you'd be sticking around. she guesses it's good enough that she was the first to be told.

she sends her son a proud and teasing smile when they make eye contact. he rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face doesn't fade as he watches you talk with his father. she doesn't have to say a single word for him to know what she's saying.

i told you so.

taglist *if your name is pink i unfortunately couldn’t tag you :(( : @73isthebestnumber @gold24fish @m-inluv @katsuisbaby @teddiiursulas-ink @moonbabysstuff @brandydel @queenpiranhadon @chuugarettes @starieq @aishio14 @andysdrafts @hyunorue @touyasprettydoll @itsfiive @annoying-bitxh @h0nestly-though @atinytiredpanromantic @mikalame @itzjustj-1000 @deepressed @evam23 @erenstitanweave @m-0ona @chaoticgay13 @lotusstarr @koreluvsspring @giannitaa @waterstarz @nayeonsdoormat @the-crazy-star-12 @kovu-bunnbunn @kvk6433gkcigv @coolgirl458 @beekeepingageissome

3K notes · View notes

tbaluver · 7 months ago

Text

Baby's First Vaccine- The Love And DeepSpace Men

order: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus genre: fluff, silly a/n: hihi lovelies! i'm almost finished with my semester so i'll be busy-ish (っ- ‸ - ς) here's a small scenario/headcanon that was in my drafts ! (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i'll try to finish any small req or unfinished drafts this week maybe ! anyways enjoy reading! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier eyes the doctor’s every movement the entire appointment while he gently holds your hand and your baby in his other arm. Constantly leaning in to ask you questions and clarification on what the doctor was doing.

“what is that?”

“it’s a stethoscope sir.”

When you two are alone in the room with your baby, he'll distract your baby boy with his evol, doing a small light show. When the nurses come in and prep the needle, he’ll have his baby boy face away from the scene. He doesn't want to increase his baby’s anxiety and his own

The moment any stray tears fall from your baby, his gaze would sharpen on the nurse as if they were completely at fault. You’d step in to reassure both of them that everything is okay.

He would also take the entire lollipop jar after his baby gets one.

Zayne:

Zayne would be the one to arrange the day and time for the doctor’s appointment, knowing that there will be a vaccine involved. He knows exactly which nurse will provide the gentlest care for his baby girl and who can handle the situation with ease. And of course, he knows which one has the sweetest lollipops to offer after.

As the nurses prepare everything, he’ll hold your daughter gently in his lap, letting her play with his large hands or his tie to keep her distracted.

If any stray tears were to escape, he’d be quick to wipe them away while whispering soft words of encouragement and praises for being so brave and well-behaved.

“can i please have two more lollipops ma’am?” your daughter asks sweetly.

“how could i say no to a cute face like that of course you can!” the nurse can’t help but smile as she hands over two extra lollipops.

zayne watches the exchange, a soft smile spreading across his face. you both watch your daughter run up to you both, handing you one lollipop each.

“that’s my girl.” zayne murmurs, as he gently lifts her up into his arms effortlessly.

Rafayel:

Rafayel is more terrified than his own baby. He hated that humans have to do this and how humans are so weak and fragile that they needed to get vaccinated.

Your baby remains calm, unaware of the needle’s sting until the soreness hits making a few stray tears and a soft whimper escape your baby’s lips. He tightens his hold on his baby, carefully avoiding the arm that was just pricked.

He’ll cradle his baby boy while pressing multiple kisses on his head while whispering promises that he’s never ever going to make him go through this again.

“here’s your lollipop for being so brave!” the nurse exclaims, handing over the treat. but before the nurse could even finish her sentence, rafayel snatches it out of her hand.

“geez, i didn’t know these shots could be this scary!” he says, wiping the sweat from his brow. but he narrows his eyes at the nurse, crossing his arms. “ummmm aren’t you going to give my baby a treat too?”

Sylus:

Sylus remains calm. It's easy when you're right beside him the entire time. His baby girl is settled gently on his lap, distracting and trying to ease her from any anxiety by lifting her up and down before the nurses come back in the room.

He doesn’t stop distracting her as he gently tickles her sides and adds reassurance the moment the needle touches her skin. He doesn’t complain when she squeezes his finger with her small hands as she winces from the pain.

He rubs her back gently, whispering gentle praises in between kisses on the top of her head. “you did so well sweetheart.”

“good job my little dove,” he smiles curling on the corner of his lips as he lifts her onto his broad shoulders, treating her like the little champion she is. “brave just like your mommy, yes?”

1K notes · View notes

softbabybelle · 7 months ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 c!w. crybaby!reader, a little blood, swear words, soft!rafe, suggestive

it wasn't often that rafe cameron finished dealing with business early. his feet passed through the doorframe of tannyhill where he expected to find you rumaging around the house, up to no good as you always were, despite such pure intentions.

however, the sound of little sobs and whimpers left him trailing upstairs.

"sweetheart? wh's wrong?" he slowly creaked the bedroom door open. he spotted you sitting in the bed decorated with frilly pink bedsheets, your choice of course, fat globs of tears rolling down your cheeks and swollen lips, burying your face into a pillow. "hey, hey, wh's the tears for, huh?"

"'s my leg." rafe watched as you sat up on the bed, showing the little gash on your left knee, a little blood trailing down your leg. "w-was on the ladder 'n then―"

but rafe cut you off, his brows raised. "on the ladder? what were you on the ladder for, huh? you were already told about climbing stuff when 'm not home." there was a mean etch to his tone.

you could only blubber. "'m sorry, r-rafe. 'm really sorry, j-jus wanted my lights up."

rafe sighed, agitated as he leaned over to the bedside locker where a little first aid kit was hidden. it was safe to say that you were prone to accidents. "shouldn't have been climbing a fuckin' ladder when i wasn't home." he grasped your leg, despite his harsh tone, his touch was gentle. "stop cryin', sweetheart, you're fine."

you felt him wiping an antiseptic wipe across your knee, collecting the trailing blood too. "rafe that h-hurts." another few fat tears rolled down your cheeks, stuttering over your words.

"you're fine, pincess." rafe couldn't help the low guilt swimming in his stomach. he knew you were dramatic, it was in your nature and by no means did it hurt enough for you to be sat in the bed crying your pretty eyes out. but nonetheless, he rolled his eyes and helped you up into your lap.

he was still learning with you, gauging your every response to his touches and his words.

a little comfort went a long way, apparently.

you eventually did stop crying, albiet in his lap and clinging around his neck. you were still sniffling quietly and rafe couldn't help but give in.

"relax, sweetheart, you're fine now." you nodded gently against the crook of his neck. "'s over, okay? 'want no more tears from you, alright?"

you could only nod again, saying nothing.

rafe only rolled his eyes. though they instantly fell on the little lights that were sitting up on the desk. they were in the shapes of pink stars and quite frankly, they were a little ugly. but you'd been talking about these damn lights with weeks, every day you's show him your phone, glittery nails shooting out to show him the tracking of your delivery.

"i'll put up your lights." he grumbled, watching as your head rose.

"you will?" you sounded all stuffed up and snotty from crying, eyes all red and face a little blotchy.

rafe sighed, knowing he was mean but he wasn't downright evil. "mm." he grumbled again in response, seating you off his lap and onto the bed. "but you stay away from this fuckin' ladder, y'hear?"

you nod happily into the pink pillows and watch him grab the pretty lights into his hands. "thank you rafey."

he didn't respond, only turning with the lights in his hands. "turnin' my room into a damn pink zoo." he glanced sideways when you didn't respond, you were too busy staring at your knee with your eyes filled with tears all over again.

rafe wanted to roll his eyes but he opted not to.

a little soft tone went a long way, too, apparently. "your leg hurtin', baby?"

you nod, sniffling as your fingers trace the cut. it's not bleeding anymore but rafe knew you'd end up putting some strange plaster on it later anyway, designed with something pink, probably.

you watched him lean down, with your leg in his hands as he pressed a gentle kiss to your knee, eyes looking up at you. "poor girl, jus' wanted her pretty lights up, huh?"

"mhm." when rafe pitied you, you started to pity yourself too.

"my poor girl." he reached up for you, pulling you down into a soft embrace as his breath fanned your neck. "'s okay, baby, rafe'll make it all better, won't he?"

your mind went all fuzzy and your body went all warm. "uh huh." you could feel his hand trailing up past your wounded knee, beneath your skirt.

"you jus' relax, yeah?" fingers attaching to your pretty panties. "let rafe take care of you.

1K notes · View notes

sprenthecreator · 1 month ago

Text

P.S.T INTERLUDES. 2 | Deep in the Willow

Male reader x Seulgi, Wendy

10.2k words

tags: sorrow( :( ), whipped cream, threesome, anal, fucktoy wendy

━•✦•━•✦•━

"So? How's Europe?"

Rina was on the other side of the screen on FaceTime with you. She was in London, the second stop on the European leg of Aespa's tour. The cute angel looked tired, her hair loose and somewhat disheveled, already dressed in the blue pajamas she loved as she spoke to you at length about her recent experiences.

"And god, Minjeong has been clingier than usual!" Rina said in an exasperated tone. "Not having you around makes it a damn group task to keep her from going crazy."

"Speaking of not having any of us around…" You took a moment to consider the words, aware of how sensitive the subject was for everyone. "How's the new manager? I imagine the change hasn't been easy."

Rina's expression darkened as she looked down. It pained her to remember that Jihye was no longer her manager as much as it pained you to not have her by your side.

"Well… he's not Jihye, but he takes good care of us," Rina looked up. "At least he doesn't ask me to give him head. That's good."

You both burst out laughing at the memory.

"You can't complain, though," you pointed out. "That little favor led to those nights in Miami. I wouldn't trade anything for it."

"That's true," Rina smiled, and you heard her bedroom door open. "We have to do that again. You know, when the tide goes out a little."

"Jimin-ah!" you heard Minjeong say. "It's supposed to be girls' night and you're here. You said we'd watch Little Women!"

"Coming, coming!" Rina said. She squealed when one of the girls tickled her as a threat. "We were just catching up! We're leaving now."

Minjeong pulled Rina away from her own phone to say hello. Ning and then Aeri joined her on either side to do the same.

"How have you been, darling?" Ning asked.

Damn, what a question. How were you? Being in the eye of the storm day after day hadn't let you stop and think about it. It seemed crazy, but it wasn't. You didn't really know how you were. That's what happened when you were busy all the time: your mental health took a backseat, like going on autopilot through life. Honestly, you didn't know if that was good or bad.

"I've been fine, dear," you opted to say. "At least I'd like to think so."

Minjeong took the whole frame to herself.

"Any news about Jihye?" she asked, hoping for good news.

Another difficult question. Only you were expecting that one, and you were dreading it. You couldn't blame Minjeong for asking it; after all, she must still be feeling guilty about the whole thing.

Three months had passed since the events at the airport, and aside from rumors that were just rumors and the occasional leaked message from Gunwook, Jihye's existence had come to feel like a mere dream. Something that was once too good and beautiful to be true. Something that had been taken away from you.

Because yes, she was taken away from you. From you and the girls.

You took a deep breath and searched your phone for the last message Gunwook had given you about her.

"And I quote: Jihye and Irene are fine," you said. "She misses the girls and is constantly watching fancams and supporting them from Seoul. She also wanted me to tell you all that technically she was still your boss, just a few steps above you. So you better not disappoint her."

When you exited the messaging app and zoomed in on FaceTime again, you were met with faces full of mixed emotions.

"Oh… okay," Minjeong said. "Well, it's good to know we still have her support."

"I really miss her…" Ning added softly.

And a silence fell between you.

"I'll keep you updated, I promise," you said after a few seconds. "But right now you have a movie to watch and I have work to do."

The girls said their goodbyes one by one, Rina being the last. And so, your video call with the girls ended.

Bringing you back to the harsh and exhausting reality.

Shortly after the pool party, work had you by the throat with a grip that wouldn't loosen. Just as Gunwook and Jihye had anticipated some time ago, the level of paranoia among the upper management after the incident with the reporter had skyrocketed. Now they had you hunting down college boys and forcing them to cut off all contact with idols or trainees from their companies.

Interestingly, JYP was the complete opposite, considerably more flexible and permissive. They were somewhat strict, as you'd expect, but they were everything the other agencies weren't: humane. That confirmed to you that all this time, Gunwook had indeed been on the right side of history and was truly putting his effort into his fight to give idols decent lives. Thank god he was winning it.

That was a relief, because over the past three months, the two of you had become more than just coworkers; you could now call each other a friend. It would have been a shame to throw that away if he had turned out to be another heartless maniac.

And speaking of JYP, ITZY started preparing for their world tour not long after the pool party.

The stress was making them all miserable, but it was Lia who, sadly, finally gave in to the pressure and requested a hiatus so she could take care of her mental health after so many years of working day and night nonstop. She would be close to her family, right where she needed to be to heal, so you remained calm about it, knowing everything would be okay for her.

But that didn't mean you didn't miss her like crazy. Lia was one of those rays of sunshine who always helped you move forward, and now it was the ray of sunshine who needed help to move forward. It broke your heart, and you couldn't do anything but pray for her return as soon as possible.

Other than that, the only thing you could do while the girls were all on tour was throw yourself into your new job. Nayeon and Chaeyeon had been trying to distract you from that from time to time, and while they had usually succeeded, the most common thing was for you to joke about them having to make an appointment with your receptionist first.

The same receptionist who, at that time of the afternoon, was helping you with your notes. Being on the dirty side of the industry, Gunwook had suggested you keep a file as a burn book, and one of the day's tasks had basically been to update the records to stay current.

Of course, you weren't stupid. The file contained a long list of many things the agencies wanted kept secret that only a few of you knew, so the most sensible thing was to give code names to each of the idols involved in each case. Western names, mostly. And the password for that file was saved in a notebook in your personal safe.

You were just doing that last thing. But as you were entering the safe combination to store the notebook, your phone vibrated on your desk. Gunwook was the one calling.

It wasn't uncommon for him to call at that time of the afternoon, so you quickly assumed he'd either invite you over for drinks and karaoke, or invite you over to his house to show off his collection of fine liquors. So you took the call without fear.

"Hello?" you answered, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you continued doing what you were doing.

"Hey man," Gunwook said. "Look, I hate to make this call, but it's best to give you a heads-up."

Well, and there went all your hope for a peaceful, normal call.

"You're going to get a call soon, from my namesake at HYBE. I'm sure you remember him from the airport."

"Uh… yeah, I remember him. Unfortunately," you said, closing the safe and signaling for your receptionist to leave.

"Well, what he's going to ask you to do tomorrow is probably the most messed up thing you've done so far."

"Gunwook, you're scaring me," You sat up straighter in your seat and leaned back.

"Tomorrow you'll have to go to the HYBE building, using the same underground parking garage as always so as not to attract attention. And listen to me carefully," his tone became more imperative, but also lower. "You can't, and you won't, talk to the girl you're picking up. She'll be wearing a mask, cap and sunglasses, so you won't know who she is."

Suddenly, a chill ran through you. The words stuck in your mouth, and already feeling anxious, you stood up to pace slowly around your office.

"Look, this shit sounds wrong, Gunwook. What the fuck am I getting myself into?"

"You're going to take her to a clinic, and before you get her out, you're going to make sure there's only the necessary personnel inside for her… operation."

"So much secrecy for a simple cosmetic surgery?" you asked. "I've already taken idols to appointments like that. What's the difference here?"

"This isn't plastic surgery we're talking about, kid," Gunwook said, his voice shaking throughout the sentence.

That alone was enough to make reality hit you like a speeding truck. The chills returned, and with them the unpleasant feeling of your stomach crumpling like a cardboard bag.

"You don't have to say anything else, Gun," you said. "The topic is difficult for me to broach, let alone for you with your religious beliefs."

"You have no idea," Gunwook sighed. "The decision wasn't mine, but my priest will definitely find out about this at my next confession."

There was a much-needed silence between you.

"I know this is heavy, kid," Gunwook began again, his voice calmer now. "But we need you to be a professional tomorrow. With something this delicate, you're going to be under scrutiny all day, and yes, they're going to be on your trail too. I also recommend you don't write this down in your notes; it'll be like it never happened."

Just as he finished speaking, you received a second call. An unknown number. It had to be him.

"It's happening, dude," you said. "I'll call you back later."

"Sure. Good luck, bro. And God bless."

With that, you hung up on Gunwook and answered the other one.

As you expected, the HYBE representative told you everything Gunwook had already told you you would do, but lacked the tact with which your friend spoke about it. He even mentioned that the root of the problem had been this girl and her stupid boyfriend not using protection. To the surprise of no one.

The son of a bitch sounded like a robot: not a hint of emotion as he talked about the matter. He didn't sound worried, or disturbed, or anything. He didn't care at all. It was fucking sickening to hear him talk, especially since he talked about the girl—whom you decided to call Rosemary—as if she were a damn animal.

All you could hope for was that one day karma would knock on that bastard's door and force him to testify.

The weight of what was going to happen tomorrow fell heavily and oppressively on your shoulders on the ride home. You were one of those who believed that women could do whatever they wanted with their bodies, and that the decision was solely theirs. But in this case, you felt like the decision was everyone's but hers.

For the love of God, poor girl.

Much to your chagrin, you had to swallow all your worries and go with the flow. You were in the middle of a war, and as low and mean as that seemed to you, there were battles better lost. So tomorrow you'd be a good soldier and do whatever was asked of you.

But fuck. Poor girl. All because she was an imperfect human, like you and everyone else. The only difference was that, in Rosemary's case, she'd chosen the wrong industry in which to make mistakes.

The next morning, you arrived punctually at the meeting point designated by the HYBE representative: the underground entrance to the main building, which was accessible only with prior authorization. You parked right in front of the exit, as instructed.

Anxiety was eating away at you from the inside. Over time, you'd trained your stomach to cope with the pressure of dealing with these kinds of situations. But this absolutely surpassed all extremes. There was nothing about it that felt right or normal.

The demons didn't keep you waiting long. A couple of minutes after your arrival, a security guard came out, escorting a girl who perfectly matched the description Gunwook had given you. Rosemary hurried to follow the path the security guard indicated, head down and arms crossed as she was ushered into the backseat of the sedan you had rented for the day.

When the girl settled into the seat, the guard closed the door and approached your window, which you had to roll down. He bent down and rested a forearm on the edge of the window.

"Look, kid, I don't think I need to remind you how crucial it is that everything goes smoothly today," his tone of voice was subtle and kind, but you could see in his eyes that he was trying to intimidate you. "You can't, and you won't screw this up. There will be zero tolerance."

He then took a folded piece of paper out of his front jacket pocket and handed it to you.

"That's the address you'll be going," he pointed as you opened the paper. "Don't even think about using the GPS. Just follow the street signs."

"Understood," you nodded. "There'll be no problem."

"Good. Get out of here."

The guard stepped back and signaled for you to get going.

According to the address they'd given you, and according to your calculations, it would take you around 15 minutes to get there. 15 minutes in which you'd have to deal with the awkward silence inside the car, because you couldn't talk to her, and you also couldn't play music because it would be too out of place.

It was going to be a fucking horrible ride.

There was a huge chasm between you and Rosemary. No connection at all. When you got a taxi, the driver would at least try to make conversation once in a while, or play the radio at a considerable volume to keep the atmosphere pleasant. But at that moment, all you were forced to hear was the sound of the engine running and the air conditioning. Nothing else. It was unbearable. And it must have been even worse for her.

The worst part wasn't that, but the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't transporting a sentient person. The mask, the cap, the sunglasses, and the fact that she remained silent the entire trip certainly didn't help either. Rosemary was being treated like a disposable object, and that was exactly the feeling all of this gave you. Fuck, you just wanted it to end soon.

Your calculations were correct, and you arrived at the clinic about 15 minutes later. It wasn't exactly a seedy place, but it wasn't the kind of clinic a famous person would go to for medical problems.

"Stay here for a moment, please," you said to Rosemary, breaking the silence after all that time. "I'll pick you up right away."

Rosemary didn't say anything, just nodded distractedly.

Getting out of the car, you went straight into the clinic and followed the protocol they'd given you to the letter. You'd been told the staff was already aware of everything, so your job was to make sure everyone remembered the importance of everything running smoothly that day. Part of the job also involved questioning the nurses specifically, to prevent any potential leaks. You weren't going to be in charge of the doctors; coercing them would be the job of your superiors.

After making sure the staff was trustworthy, you left the clinic and opened the car door for Rosemary to get out. Then you escorted her inside, looking in every possible direction for onlookers. But even four eyes in your back couldn't have saved you from the car that was parking behind yours at that very moment. Instantly, a man you didn't recognize got out.

Then you remembered what Gunwook had told you: 'They're going to be on your trail too.'

Fuck, they were good. More than once, you'd looked in the car's rearview mirror to see if anyone was following you, and not once had you seen that car. Terrifying.

You simply motioned for Rosemary to walk inside. You followed her.

The nurses quickly took care of her, directing you to sit and wait on some benches near the reception desk. Anxious for everything to go well and your heart pounding, you nodded and sat down for a wait that seemed like an eternity. You weren't one to overthink things, but hundreds of ways this could somehow go wrong ran through your mind.

Fortunately, the doctor came out of the operating room half an hour later to tell you that everything had gone perfectly, and that she would be discharged in about an hour. Only then did you allow yourself to relax.

"So…" the doctor folded his hands behind his back. "About the payment?"

"Uhm…" you frowned. You had assumed HYBE had already taken care of that.

The doctor and you turned your heads toward the clinic entrance when the man who'd parked behind you walked in, a duffle bag in his hand, presumably full of money.

"Every won is in here, doc," the man said, placing the duffle bag on the ground. "With a little something extra as a thank you for your professionalism."

"Thank you," the doctor bowed and took the bag without hesitation.

"Now you know the drill: I need every tool you used to dispose of them. Including what was already discarded."

"Sure," the doctor nodded.

He turned to signal one of the nurses, who shortly returned with everything packed in vacuum-sealed ziplock bags, which were then handed to the HYBE man.

"Excellent. Pleasure doing business," the HYBE man now turned to you. "You're almost there, kid. Keep going and don't do anything stupid. I have plans tonight, and I wouldn't want to cancel because I have to clean up your messes."

"Whatever you say, man," you replied, already mentally exhausted, perhaps in a less than friendly tone. "I know what I'm doing."

"You better."

The man then turned around and left the way he'd come in. A few seconds later, you heard his car start and speed off down the street.

An hour passed until Rosemary finally emerged from the operating room, flanked by two nurses who had been guiding her.

The sight of the poor girl broke your heart.

Rosemary walked with her head down, slightly hunched over, hugging herself, her steps somewhat unsteady. As she got closer, you could notice her hands were shaking. In another context, you would have assumed she had some kind of severe concussion, but on second thought, the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

For the love of god, what the hell was wrong with the world? That was exactly what a girl whose decision about her body had been ignored, trampled on, and spat on looked like. You would have said she looked fragile, but no.

That girl was already broken.

"All set to go, ma’am?" you asked one of the nurses.

"Yes, sir," a nurse nodded. "Make sure she doesn't get too agitated."

"It'll be no problem, thank you very much," you motioned for Rosemary to walk ahead of you. "Good afternoon."

And so, in a matter of minutes, you were back at the HYBE building, a journey that was uneventful but had left you feeling unpleasantly sick.

When you parked in front of the same underground entrance, you heard a girl talking. You thought it was someone outside the car, but when you listened closely, you realized it was Rosemary talking. Some medication must have loosened her tongue.

"This is bullshit," Rosemary said to herself with a chuckle. "I didn't do anything the other girls didn't do. Nothing. I just had bad luck. It's fucking bullshit…"

Your orders were not to speak to the girl, and you did your best to hold your tongue.

"I probably would have made that decision myself," Rosemary continued. "But it all happened so fast I didn't even have time to think about it."

There was another long pause. The HYBE employee was taking his considerable time appearing.

"So much work… so much effort put into all of this," Rosemary's voice cracked, and even you could feel the lump in her throat. "It was my dream. Fuck… it was my dream…" she sobbed. "All wasted for 20 minutes under the covers. I'm an idiot."

Your stomach lurched. You looked out the window, biting your nails, your face dismayed. It was so painful to hear her blame herself, so heartbreaking, that you couldn't help but glance at her in the rearview mirror.

"Hey, you can still debut," you said. "You'll be able to handle all of this, I'm sure. Lean on your other trainees…"

Rosemary started laughing through her tears.

"I can tell you're new on this side of the pond," she mocked. "A little naive and too sweet. I appreciate your concern, but my fate is already sealed. The company agreed to settle my debt in exchange for signing an NDA, and then they'll fabricate a bullying scandal in my name to get me out of the group. Simple as that."

Then finally, the same HYBE employee from a few hours ago came out to pick up Rosemary.

"Wait a second here," he said as Rosemary got out of the car.

The man motioned for Rosemary to come inside the building with him. And that was the last time you saw her.

He returned a few minutes later, carrying a duffle bag similar to the one given to the doctor, but not much smaller. He placed it on the passenger seat.

"Good job today, kid," he said, and without further ado, he walked back inside.

When the man disappeared from your sight, you opened the bag a little to confirm what it was: money, and quite a bit of it. As always, it was going to be a pain to declare it to the tax authorities, but thanks to Gunwook, you had made some contacts that would make things easier.

However, money was the least of your problems at that moment.

Despite having already finished the job, the bad feeling wouldn't go away. Not even when on the way home you'd put on some music in the car to try to wash your brain of the memories of that day. It was useless; you were on autopilot, unable to feel good even knowing that none of it was your fault and that there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

It was a call from Gunwook that brought you back to reality at a stoplight.

"Hi," you answered halfheartedly.

"Hey bro, how are you holding up?" Gunwook asked.

You sighed, staring blankly at the red light. A light drizzle had begun to fall at that time of the afternoon, even though it was almost October and the rainy season had already passed.

"How do you think?"

"Sure, it was a stupid question, sorry."

"Nah, you good."

"I don't feel much better than you, if that helps, but hey, did you eat already?"

"I plan on doing it when I get home. I don't feel like stopping to eat anywhere right now."

"You can come over tonight if you want," Gunwook said. "You know, we'll grill some steaks and have a drink, and my wife can make us a salad."

"Honestly, I think what I need is time at home. I…"

"That'll work!" Gunwook interrupted. "I can take the steaks and beer over there."

"Gun, I appreciate it, but no. I just want to unwind."

"Well… okay," Gunwook finally relented, hesitantly. "Anyway, I'm just a phone call away, buddy."

"I know, thanks. Have a nice afternoon."

You hung up and waited a few more seconds until the light turned green again.

Once you got home, you went straight to the couch and sat down, surrounded by a cold and profound silence, wondering how much longer you could endure all that fucking torment. After all, the person you were willing to do all this for in the first place didn't show even the slightest hint of caring. So what was the point?

Your sense of time vanished as you sat there, sunk in the middle of a moral dilemma that was starting to give you a headache. Your stomach growled, but you didn't have the strength to get up and cook anything. You didn't even change your position during the thirty minutes you were dissociating.

But a soft, unusual knock on your door awakened all your senses, completely certain that you were now a loose end that they, the demons, needed to burn. It was probably just your paranoia, but you had reason to believe such a thing. At that point, you saw them as capable of anything.

The heaviest object within reach was an acoustic guitar Chaery had given you a while back. You picked it up by the neck and walked toward the door as cautiously as possible. Two more knocks, and you were already preparing to smash the guitar over someone's head.

"Hey, we know you're there," you heard… Seulgi? say from the other side of the door. "Don't play hard to get."

Of all the voices you expected to hear that night, Seulgi's certainly wasn't one of them. After leaning the guitar against the wall next to the door, you opened it to find two beauties standing in the doorway.

"Hey tiger, long time no see, huh?" Wendy greeted, as Seulgi threw her arms around your neck and hugged you.

The thoughts of wanting to be alone in your bubble of misery and dismay disappeared when you saw Wendy smile and when you wrapped your arms around Seulgi's body.

But the fact that the two of them were there, at that time of day and after everything that had happened, seemed suspicious. Something didn't fit.

"Wait a minute," you pulled away from Seulgi, somewhat distracted by the fact that they were both wearing outfits that left their midriffs exposed. "How did you know my day was a total mess?"

Seulgi placed her hand on your chest and led you inside. Wendy, being the last to enter, closed the door behind her.

"We don't know all the details," Seulgi began as you hugged Wendy. "And maybe this isn't what you want to hear right now, but Gunwook called Jihye and told her he was worried about you."

Wendy went to sit on your couch when you gestured for her to sit. Seulgi walked beside you, following the same path.

"He told her that today you'd have to do something you'd never had to do before and that he knew it would affect you," Seulgi sat down next to Wendy, and you sat down next to her. "After talking to Gunwook, Jihye shared her concern with Irene, and as soon as Irene got some time alone she called us and asked us to come check on you."

Knowing that Jihye still cared about you made you feel like an idiot. How could you even dare doubt the most wonderful woman you'd ever met? It was even insulting to the memory you had of her. Never again.

But Irene?

Was she showing signs of being a real, sentient person? Or was this just another one of her tricks? It's not like you held a furious grudge against her, but anything she did was enough to make you doubt her. It wasn't your fault, though; she'd earned that reputation the hard way.

"What, are you surprised it was Irene who sent us here?" Seulgi asked, curious by your silence. "I told you she wasn't all evil."

"She also forbade us from telling Jihye we were coming to see you," Wendy added. "She didn't want you to think it was a way to curry favor with you. She really does care about you."

Irene legitimately worried about you? Wow, that sounded idyllic. It was something to behold.

"And I thought nothing could surprise me anymore," you said, slumped in your seat with your arms crossed. "But it seems you all have tricks up your sleeves."

Then you began to share your day with them, perhaps skipping details and not explaining yourself very well on some things, but in a way that helped you vent and process everything with a cool head and out of the fire. Wendy and Seulgi listened attentively to every word, careful not to interrupt you more than necessary. When you finished letting out everything you were feeling, Wendy kissed your cheek and stood up to go to the kitchen, rummage through your pantry, and start making dinner for the three of you.

Seulgi snuggled up against you, her head resting on your collarbone on the left side, wrapped in your arm.

"I'm so sorry you're having to go through all this, darling," Seulgi said after a while, wrapping an arm around your abdomen to hug you. "And believe me, I'm just as devastated as you are for that poor girl." She turned her head to look at you closely. "But beating ourselves up about it won't get us anywhere."

"You knew this wasn't going to be an easy road and that you were going to need some serious balls to get through it. I have faith in you and your desire to help all these people, and I love your nobility. But it won't happen overnight, sweetheart. Don't be so hard on yourself."

You remained silent, not quite sure what to say to such kind words. Seulgi understood, and being the care bear she was, she only hugged you tighter. You hugged her back and closed your eyes.

"Thank you, little bear," you sighed. "In case I haven't thanked you enough for everything."

"I don't need you to. You deserve everything for always being so sweet to us."

"Guys, dinner's ready!" Wendy said from the kitchen behind you. "Come on."

You and Seulgi stood up and went to sit at the dining table. Wendy had prepared chicken wraps with orange juice, something quick and delicious that she knew you'd love.

Wendy carried the plates to the table and sat across from you, Seulgi to your left. Then, you proceeded to eat while catching up. You hadn't seen Wendy in a while, so it was only natural that she did most of the talking throughout dinner.

The levity of the conversation managed to wash away all the bad feelings you had after the events of that day. It was strange, but lately, there were very frequent moments when you stopped to appreciate the wonderful friendships you'd made and all the good things that had happened to you thanks to the questionable career decisions you'd made so far. You were extremely lucky for that.

But at that moment, all your gratitude was directed toward those two women who were eating with you that night. Who knows where your thoughts would have gone if they hadn't shown up? The range of stupid decisions was wide, and every one of them ended with you either at a severe disadvantage or potentially in a black bag in the Han River.

Blessed were Jihye and Irene, after all.

"Hey, aren't you hungrier by any chance?" Wendy asked half an hour later, when you'd finished eating and talking.

"Hungrier?" you asked. "Why?"

"I don't know…" you heard Wendy take off her sneakers, and a moment later, you felt one of her feet on your inner right thigh. "I'm kind of hungry for more than just food."

Seulgi placed her hand on your other thigh, and you turned to face her. Where had her black jacket gone?

"I think me too, you know?" Seulgi said. Her fingers tightened on your thigh, and her hand moved up to grope your bulge. "I guess it's because I didn't have lunch today."

"You guys are big eaters then, aren't you?" you asked, as Wendy rubbed one of your thighs with her foot and Seulgi worked you up with her hand.

"Only on very specific days," Seulgi replied, and when you wrapped your left arm around her back to hold her waist, she kissed you.

Seulgi immediately unbuttoned your pants, unzipped your zipper, and pulled your hard cock out of your boxers, wrapping her fingers around it and slowly moving her wrist. Wendy added to the equation by lifting her foot slightly and rubbing the back of your shaft and your balls with her toes.

Since you found it impossible to stay still with Kang Seulgi by your side, you brought your right hand to her perfect tummy and caressed it with your fingertips before undoing her belt, unbuttoning her pants, and reaching in to rub her pussy over her panties.

Seulgi let out a soft moan against your lips and cupped the side of your face with her left hand, while the other moved off your cock to unzip her pants, pull down the top of her pink crop top and pull up the bottom so it was bunched up just below her breasts, which were currently covered by a black bra.

Wendy took advantage of Seulgi's release of your cock and leaned back in the chair to lift her other leg, take your shaft between her feet, and move them up and down.

Seconds later, Seulgi's panties became slightly wet from you rubbing circles on her clit. You then took your hand out of her pants, and before moving it to her breasts, you used your left hand to unclasp her bra, revealing those pretty mounds. Seulgi bit your lip and sighed when you pinched one of her nipples, returning her hand to your cock.

"Do you have any whipped cream?" you heard Wendy ask with a moan.

Frowning, you broke away from Seulgi's lips to turn to look at her; the question seemed odd to you. Wendy had already removed her black crop top and bra. Only her necklace remained, the cross perfectly positioned between her small, bare breasts.

Wendy just looked you in the eye and bit her lower lip. You didn't need any further explanation; you got it immediately.

"In the fridge," you replied. "I just bought it yesterday."

Wendy smirked, slid her legs off your lap, and stood up to go to the kitchen. Meanwhile, you and Seulgi stood up and walked over to the couch to kiss again. Seulgi grabbed the hem of your pants and boxers and pulled them both down. Returning the gesture, you took care of her pants and panties, and also took off your sweater so that both of you were naked.

Seulgi pushed you down onto the couch, then straddled you to cradle your face and deepen the kiss. Her pussy ground against your cock, and she ground her hips slowly to rub it between her wet folds. Your hands immediately went to grope her firm ass.

"Dessert is served!" Wendy said, standing behind you. "Come here, unnie."

Seulgi pulled away from your lips and looked up. You both looked at Wendy, who was holding the tub of whipped cream. Seulgi smiled and straightened her back, sticking out her chest so Wendy could cover her tits with whipped cream.

Wendy tapped you on the back of the neck with her middle finger.

"Come on, you know what to do," she urged.

Maybe your memory was failing at the moment, but you couldn't remember a single time you'd done that. Seulgi's tits looked stupidly hot, tho, and you loved whipped cream, reason enough to lean your head forward and start licking and sucking as slowly as you could.

Seulgi seemed to like it as much as you did, letting out small, muffled moans as she held the back of your neck, her fingers tugging at strands of your hair. Wendy joined you on the couch, sitting on your left side, completely naked except for her necklace. She knelt up and poured whipped cream on her small tits, so when you were finished with Seulgi, you could move on to hers.

Wendy moaned and wrapped her arms around your neck as you licked the whipped cream off her perky little nipples. Seulgi climbed off you and sat on your right side, grabbing the can of whipped cream and pouring just a little on the tip of your cock. Then, she bent down, licked it, and wrapped her lips around it to suck a few inches of your shaft.

"Hmm, I want to do that too," Wendy gasped. "Stand up."

You obeyed and stood in front of the couch. Seulgi and Wendy sat back on their heels, side by side, and both leaned toward your cock to lick and kiss it from different sides. It was Wendy who grabbed the can of whipped cream to pour it in a straight line from your base to your tip, and without a second's hesitation, she opened her mouth and took a sizable portion of your shaft inside until her lips closed and moved up. There was a bit of cream left near your base, but Seulgi was quick to lick it off.

Wendy sucked your cock with sensual pumps of her head, savoring the whipped cream she had collected as Seulgi poured more cream onto the few inches of your shaft that Wendy couldn't reach, using her tongue to lick it clean and suck on it.

When Wendy pulled out of her mouth, Seulgi took her place, sucking on almost the same number of inches of your cock as Wendy, who moved down to cup your balls, fill them with whipped cream, and bring them to her mouth. You moaned, one hand on both heads. You watched them have fun with your cock for a few minutes, letting them slurp and lick as much whipped cream as they wanted from it. Soon your cock was slick and saliva-soaked.

"Would you let me have a little fun too?" you asked, taking the can of whipped cream from Seulgi's hand.

"Oh sure, baby," Seulgi smiled, turning her back on you to lean forward and rest her hands on the back of the couch, her beautiful ass now at your mercy.

Wendy imitated her, and in a few seconds, both beauties were on all fours on your couch. The temptation to fuck them right away was there, but the desire to taste those asses and pussies was even bigger. So, you started by swirling whipped cream twice over each of Seulgi's buttocks, then bent your knees, grabbed her thighs, and licked the cream off, adding kisses and bites.

Moving to Wendy, you spanked her buttocks a couple of times and made her squeal, knowing she loved spanks. Then, on the red marks your hands had left, you poured cream the same way you did with Seulgi and repeated the process.

"Fuck, you must be in heaven, right?" Seulgi asked with a chuckle.

"You have no idea," you smiled, delighting in licking and kissing Wendy's cute, tight asshole. "And I haven't even eaten your pussies yet."

"Then what are you waiting for, hunk?" Wendy asked, looking over her shoulder at you. "Can't you see how wet you've got me?"

"What, needy already?" you asked back. "I can tell we haven't seen each other in months."

"Oh god, shut your mouth and… oh fuck yes," Wendy moaned when you grabbed her ass cheeks and brought your mouth to her pussy. "That's it, that's exactly it."

You gave Wendy a quick taste, licking and kissing between her folds. You also allowed yourself to move up a bit and pay attention to her butthole, making her moan louder since that was one of her sensitive spots.

"Hey, cutie," Seulgi called. "Over here."

Turning around, you found Seulgi spread-eagled, her head resting on the armrest at the end of the couch. Her pussy was covered in a line of whipped cream. Unable to resist, you moved away from Wendy and knelt on the floor in front of Seulgi, grabbing her thighs and wiping the cream off her pussy with a single upward lick.

Wendy lay between Seulgi and the back of the couch and hugged her, attacking her neck with kisses. Seulgi moaned, one hand in your hair as you savored the cream and ate her pussy, and the other cupping Wendy's face as she kissed her.

Seconds later, Wendy and Seulgi's lips met. The two women shared a passionate and sensual kiss, groping each other. Wendy rubbed Seulgi's clit, and Seulgi played with Wendy's small tits. The scene made your cock throb, especially seeing that pair of perfect tummies side by side.

Something occurred to you.

You left Seulgi's pussy and knelt in front of them, grabbing the can of whipped cream and pouring three lines on Seulgi's belly. You leaned down, grabbed her waist, and licked the sweet cream directly from her firm flesh. You did the same with Wendy, savoring the cream while you covered her toned abdomen with wet kisses and licks.

After indulging in that little treat, you went a little higher and, leaving the whipped cream aside, brought both pairs of tits to your mouth again. Seulgi reached down and grabbed your cock to rub it. Wendy, for her part, had you by the side of your neck while you were focused on her. A minute later, you rose up towards their faces, and the three of you merged into a dirty, saliva-filled triple kiss.

"Mmm, I'm assuming you're going to want to get fucked first, right?" you asked Wendy seconds later. "Seulgi can't protest; she already paid me a visit a few days ago."

Seulgi frowned.

"I don't know how that has to do with…"

"You're assuming right, sweetie," Wendy nodded, ignoring Seulgi. "You must be missing one of your favorite tight pussies, aren't you?"

"You can't imagine," you gave her a small kiss. "Wanna ride me?"

"No, right now I want you to pound my pussy like you've been saving that energy for all the days we haven't seen each other," Wendy replied, looking into your eyes with every word.

Wendy knelt up so you could wrap your arm around her small body and carry her to the opposite side of the couch, laying her on her back and spreading her legs. You spit on your cock to lubricate it, and without wasting much more time, you placed the tip inside Wendy's pussy and slowly pushed forward.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck," Wendy gasped, watching as you buried every inch inside her tight pussy until it bulged her abdomen. "Oh my god, wait," she writhed with a hand on your abdomen. "You're the biggest thing I've ever had inside me, and it's been too long."

Seulgi moved to the other end of the couch, which had a wider space, and got on her hands and knees, facing you, her face directly above Wendy's. She stroked her beautiful short brown hair and grabbed Wendy's face to force her to look at you.

"Ask him to fuck you really hard, go on," Seulgi said in a low, silky voice. "I know you're ready. You just like feeling him stretch you from the inside out."

Wendy looked you straight in the eyes as you held her left thigh against hers and left the other loose. Her face was flushed, making her pale skin look even prettier.

"Fuck me really, really hard, sweetie," Wendy moaned, caressing your abdomen with her fingertips. "My pussy needs it. I need it."

Fuck, you'd almost forgotten how submissive Wendy had always been.

"Don't beg anymore, gorgeous," you said with the same gentleness Seulgi had used, starting to slowly move your hips. "You know I always spoil you."

With that, you spent only a few seconds fucking her pussy slowly until you drastically increased your speed, making Wendy smother moans against Seulgi's lips. Her tiny waist was your initial point of grip, digging your fingers hard into her flesh as you shook her petite body with hard, fast thrusts.

Seulgi quickly grew aroused just watching you fuck Wendy and let out little moans as well. She leaned forward over Wendy's body, lowering her head to suck and lick her tits. Her ass looked really inviting from there, with that beautiful back arched above Wendy's face.

Wendy started moaning louder when Seulgi reached out a hand and began rubbing circles on her clit, in perfect sync with your strong pumping. Seulgi then looked at Wendy's abdomen, which bulged every time your cock went all the way into her pussy, and leaned forward a little further to kiss that constantly rising portion of flesh.

As the seconds passed, Wendy had her first orgasm, arching her back loudly and hugging Seulgi's body on top of her. You heard her muffle her moans against something, but it was Seulgi's face twisting that made you realize it was her pussy.

"Oh girl, you shouldn't have done that," Seulgi gasped, and turned around to straddle Wendy's face, pinning her arms with her knees. She leaned forward, arching her back again so you could see in detail how Wendy ate her pussy. "You keep at it, champ. She's loving every second of this."

You went from holding Wendy's waist to her thighs, pressing both of them against her torso as you gradually resumed your rhythm. Soon you were pounding her pussy again, so hard that it made her breathing ragged and her nails digging into Seulgi's ass.

Wendy had another orgasm not long after. Her whimpers, muffled against Seulgi's tender, wet flesh, were like music to your ears as you gently fucked her and she squirmed her hips. She instinctively moved one of her feet to your mouth, and of course you accepted it with kisses and sucks on her big toe.

"Don't you think it's my turn now, baby?" Seulgi asked, knowing her ass looked irresistible from that spot.

You pulled out of Wendy's pussy and crawled over her until you were kneeling above her chest, just behind Seulgi's ass. Wendy's first instinct was to capture your balls with her mouth, giving them light suction and licking. But then she grabbed your cock herself and guided it into Seulgi's pussy.

"Fuck, what a view," Wendy said, watching your cock force its way between Seulgi's walls from below. "I fucking love being bisexual."

Wendy continued licking your balls and the underside of your cock until you buried every inch inside Seulgi. Then her focus shifted to her unnie's pussy. Seulgi moaned, both from feeling your cock stretching her and from Wendy's licking. You were just as overwhelmed with pleasure as she was.

"Thank god she's such a good girl," Seulgi moaned, propped up on her elbows. She was looking forward as she ran her hand through her hair.

With Seulgi, you prolonged the slow pumps a little longer, just wanting to feel a little more of the wonders Wendy was doing beneath you. As the seconds passed, you couldn't help going faster, but that didn't stop Wendy from eating Seulgi's pussy like it was a divine command.

"Oh my god, yes!" Seulgi moaned as you pounded her pussy from behind, hands on her waist. "Please don't stop, don't stop!"

One of your hands moved from her waist to her hair, firmly grabbing a handful of it and speeding up as you were close to your climax. Seulgi came first, trembling on Wendy's face, and the way her pussy suffocated your cock and throbbed around it made you explode with moans as loud as Seulgi's.

"God!" you groaned, leaving only your tip inside Seulgi's pussy as you came, so that when you pulled out, your entire load spilled from Seulgi's folds into Wendy's mouth. "Yeah, that's a good girl."

Wendy took every drop that fell from Seulgi's pussy, savored it, and swallowed it without hesitation, then stuck out her tongue and cleaned the rest herself. As a reward, you took your cock and guided it into her mouth. She took it with a moan and sucked it until it was glistening.

"Don't even think I'm done with you," Seulgi told you between gasps, looking back into your eyes. "You know exactly what I want, and I know you want to give it to me."

"I've never refused it," you replied.

You got off Wendy and went to Seulgi, taking up the space on that side she wasn't occupying. As soon as you lay down and rested your head on the small of the couch, Seulgi straddled you. And without even letting your cock soften, she took you back into her pussy and began moving her hips on you.

It was a little painful at first, but nothing you weren't used to with her, especially since she hated breaks. Seulgi bent over you and kissed you while moving her hips on your cock. Your hands went to her waist and quickly went down to her ass as she began to bounce, almost twerking on your shaft.

"Does it feel good for you now, baby?" Seulgi asked in your ear, knowing it had been a bit painful for you. She made you smile at her ability to be so sweet despite the lewd moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine now," you nodded with a giggle, wrapping your arms around her back to hug her. "You're free to go wild."

Maybe you shouldn't have said that, as Seulgi took it quite seriously. She bounced faster and faster on your cock, showing off the excellent control she had over her hips. Then you heard a spank, one you hadn't given her. Glancing to your right, you saw Wendy kneeling beside you, playing with herself with one hand and holding Seulgi's lower back with the other.

"Pay no attention to me," Wendy said. She hadn't noticed that she still had a few drops of cum on her chin. "I'm just watching."

Despite being ‘just watching’, Wendy gave Seulgi another spank that made her squeal. But your amused smile turned into a grimace of pleasure when Seulgi planted her feet on the couch and began bouncing like an unstoppable force of nature on your cock, her hands on your chest and her eyes fixed on yours. Her body had picked up a light layer of sweat, giving it a soft sheen thanks to the living room lights.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!" Seulgi moaned, reaching up for you to suck on her fingers. You did so without hesitation, playing with her tits until she came again with a grunt.

Seulgi lowered her knees back onto the couch and ground herself against it, your cock buried deep inside her pussy. She throbbed deliciously inside, her silky, suffocating walls making you moan. Her body fell towards you, and with her tits pressed against your chest, she moved her hips up and down as she rode out her orgasm.

Your cock accidentally popped out of Seulgi's pussy, and Wendy was quick to grab it with one hand and suck it with desperate, sloppy slurps.

"Do you want more, you submissive little whore?" you asked, reaching out to grab her ass.

"You ask that like you don't know me," Wendy replied with kisses to your cock, then released it to stand in front of the couch. "Come on, come."

"I love that you guys think I have unlimited energy," you sighed, looking at Seulgi, still panting and with her hair disheveled. "Get off me, big ass."

Seulgi got off you and let you stand.

Wendy was pretty predictable when she wanted something, and that something was you grabbing her behind the knees and lifting her up into the air so she could wrap her legs around your torso. Once that was done, she grabbed your neck and kissed you, letting you grab your cock and guide it inside her.

That woman was small and petite, so it was effortless for you to hold her in the air. This made it easy to manipulate her at will, bouncing her hard and fast on your cock while you held her ass. Wendy squealed against your lips. Her hand was behind your head, tugging at your hair when her arms weren't wrapped around your neck.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Seulgi get off the couch and kneel in front of you, right behind Wendy's ass. Her intentions were clear to you, so you spread Wendy's legs from around your torso, held them in the air with a grip behind her knees, and began pounding her pussy while Seulgi ate her butthole.

Wendy filled the entire apartment with screams worthy of the main vocalist she was, visibly overwhelmed by both simultaneous inputs of pleasure. Her eyes glazed over as her head fell back and her nails dug into the back of your neck. She wasn't much of a talker during sex, and this time was no exception. All her enjoyment was expressed in the way her face twisted and her moans modulated according to how close she was to orgasm.

In that case, her orgasm was very close, and a couple of minutes later, she exploded in spasms and intense screams that rattled your eardrums. Seulgi, her work done, stood up and buried her face in Wendy's neck, peppering it with kisses. Then she looked up at you.

"Do you have lube here?" Seulgi asked, while Wendy still wasn't fully recovered from her orgasm, which was still making her thighs tremble.

"Let's go to the bedroom," you said.

Not wanting to put Wendy down because you knew she wouldn't be able to walk, you picked her up and carried her on your shoulder, your arm wrapped around her thighs.

Seulgi led the way to your bedroom, followed closely by you. Upon entering, the first thing she did was go straight to your nightstand in search of the lube while you placed Wendy on the bed. She quickly found it and crawled into your bed to lie on her side and quickly pour the clear liquid on her ass and part of her thighs.

"Fuck, you really need it, don't you?" you asked, watching as she spread the lube until her ass was shiny and slippery.

"I lost count of the last time you fucked my ass, so yeah," Seulgi looked down at Wendy, who was face down with one knee raised higher than the other. Her ass looked too cute, and Seulgi knew it. "Do you want me to do the same to her?"

"She wants you to, but right now she can't string two sentences together without fainting," you replied.

While Seulgi prepped Wendy's ass, you got into bed, positioned yourself in front of her, grabbed your cock, and pressed it against her butthole, slowly inching it in.

"Oh, fuck, wait," Seulgi moaned, still holding Wendy's ass. "I'm not done yet… mmmgh!"

"You said you needed it, and now I'm a busy man. I can't wait forever," you joked with a half-smile.

Your cock slid easily into Seulgi's perfect, amazing, wonderful ass, every inch surrounded by suffocatingly tight flesh. Seulgi did her best to focus on finishing work on Wendy's ass, and when she did, she tossed the bottle of lube away to grab onto your wrist.

"Fuck me hard then, busy man," Seulgi hissed. You were already moving slowly. "Make up for all these months of not treating me."

It was no secret to either of you, but Seulgi's ass always managed to make your head spin, and you couldn't really put your finger on why. It was simply the ass you loved being inside the most besides Aeri's, Chaery's, and Wendy's. Your moans and the way you clung to her waist proved it.

"That's it, that's it," Seulgi moaned, her body increasingly rocked by your thrusts. "Just like that, baby. Didn't you miss your favorite ass?"

Fuck, of course you did, but at that moment, you couldn't respond; you were focused on fucking her faster and harder. The bedroom soon began to reverberate with the sounds of your pelvis colliding with her sticky ass, coupled with Seulgi's moans. You pressed her thigh back and against her torso with both hands, trying to hit her at that angle you knew she'd love. You knew you'd succeeded when Seulgi brought a hand to her mouth and arched her back, squealing.

"Oh god, yesss!!" Seulgi screamed. "I knew you wouldn't forget. Fuck, fuck!!"

Seulgi slammed her hand on the bed when, a minute later, she came in that way you so vividly remembered from your first sessions with them. Like she was possessed, basically. Her face looked damn sexy while she did it, tho. And her ass was squeezing your cock like hell.

Wendy was already watching, eager for her turn, so with a swift movement, you pulled out of Seulgi's ass and straddled Wendy's thighs to guide your cock between her slick buttocks, find her butthole, and slowly enter it.

The big difference between Seulgi and Wendy was that the latter felt everything there, but multiplied by ten. That meant that for every inch of cock you buried inside her ass, the more she lost her mind, to the point where she couldn't even move from the immense pleasure she felt. Within a few seconds, you reached that point, with your cock disappeared between her firm buttocks.

"You love this, don't you, Seungwanie?" you asked Wendy, one hand on her lower back and the other on the back of her neck.

Wendy just nodded weakly, unable to do anything else. Even her face was in a state of partial paralysis; only her mouth moved occasionally to emit muffled sounds and gasps. Then you started fucking her as hard as you were fucking Seulgi a moment ago.

That ass was on par with Seulgi's: just as tight and just as warm. Every inch of your cock slid in and out of her, fast and hard, up and down. Wendy was happy to be pinned to the bed like that; her fingers, both her hands and her toes, wrinkled in approval. Her blank eyes also urged you to keep going.

Within seconds, Wendy had a silent orgasm, but physically you knew it was considerably the most intense, aggressive, and mind-melting of all. The way she writhed, pulling the sheets off the top corner of the bed, made every drop of sweat worth it. But you needed to cum urgently.

Seulgi got on her hands and knees for you, and you returned to her ass to pound it hard from behind, pulling her hair and delivering spank after spank. A while later, when you'd given Wendy enough time to recover, you returned to her and flipped her over onto her back to spread her legs and also fuck her ass like a madman.

You spent a considerable amount of time switching between both asses, and after making them both cum once more, you reached your climax while fucking Wendy.

"Oh fuck!!" You groaned, your fingers digging into Wendy's tiny waist until, with a sudden thrust, you exploded inside her. "Fuckkk!!"

It didn't surprise you that, as you emptied your balls inside her, Wendy came again, and this time she whimpered until tears streamed down her cheeks. You slumped forward and kissed her, filled with nothing but gratitude and affection. Wendy cupped your face with trembling hands and kissed you back, until, out of nowhere, she fainted. It was also normal for her, so you weren't alarmed.

You pulled yourself out of her, and your cum spilled from her butthole onto the white sheets.

"Do you want us to spend the night with you, sweetheart?" Seulgi asked from beside you, lying on her own arm.

"Yes, please," you nodded between heavy gasps.

"And you want me to comb your hair right now?"

"Fuck, yes please," you sighed.

"First let me help you clean Seungwanie and the sheets."

Seulgi stood up, and on shaky legs, went to the bathroom to grab some toilet paper and come back to clean up the cum-soaked mess you'd made. Then, she settled onto a pillow on the right side of the bed and held out her arms for you to curl up between them.

Mentally exhausted from all the day's shit and now physically exhausted from being drained by those two, you hugged Seulgi like a helpless koala and let her cuddle you until you fell asleep.

#kpop smut #smut fanfic #smut #red velvet smut #seulgi smut #wendy smut #male reader smut #male reader insert #x male smut

762 notes · View notes

amatariki · 1 month ago

Text

ME OR THE PS5 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ tell me which of us is more your type

(CATALOGUE) — heeseung has been spending the whole day cooped up on his ps5 and you've reached your limit. god forbid a girl wants some attention from her boyfriend.

the muse: idol bf!lee heeseung x fem!reader wc: 735 warnings: cuddling, kissing, pet names, fluff, lmk if anything else ig

whispers: small smth bcs my hand is itching to write. was listening to ps5 by salem ilese and txt. i thought it was super riki coded at first but then i decided to write this for heeseung bcs ive seen a bunch of similar fics for riki.

reblog and i'll kiss you <3

You eye Heeseung disdainfully, face scrunched up.

Of course, your boyfriend's way too invested in his umpteenth round of whatever game he's playing to notice you scrutinizing him.

"Heeseung," you call out exasperatedly. "Can we go watch that movie now, please?"

"Yeah, princess," he mumbles out the reply, only half-focusing on what you're saying. "Just one more round."

That's what he'd been saying for the past few hours and you were sick and tired of it. It wasn't everyday you get your boyfriend all to yourself with his busy schedule due to being an idol and here he was, stuck up on his PS5 playing whatever game he was so invested in.

Not that you had a problem with him gaming. But you wished he would spend some time with you. Half the day had passed and he still hasn't spent any time with you.

Scoffing, you storm out of the room with your arms folded even though Heeseung is too absorbed in his game to notice that you're gone.

A few minutes later, Heeseung frowns in confusion at his screen, not understanding why his game suddenly cut off. However, the confusion quickly clears up when he figures out that the Wi-Fi has magically stopped working.

He gets up to go investigate the router so he can get back to his game, only to be stopped by you.

"Hey, princess," he says, his hands finding their way to your waist. "Do you know what happened to the Wi-Fi? It suddenly cut off."

"Yeah, I do," you reply smoothly. "I turned it off."

"Why?" he asks, pouting. "What happened?"

Now it's your turn to pout.

"Because you've been stuck up on your PS5 the whole day since morning. It's evening, Hee. I haven't seen your face since breakfast. You haven't had lunch today because you're stuck with one more round and you won't spend any—"

You don't get to finish your sentence as Heeseung silences you with his lips against yours. His pillowy lips feel good against yours and you feel all your anger melt away against your will.

You, however, still manage to glower up at Heeseung as he pulls away in an attempt to get him to abandon his games and come cuddle with you and watch a movie.

Heeseung's willpower is no match for your adorable scowl. You always looked cute despite how serious your expressions were.

He chuckles, rubbing the small of your back as he kisses your forehead like you were a fragile doll in his hands.

"Y'know what, princess," he starts. "Why don't you go turn the Wi-Fi back on and I'll shut down my PS5 and order some takeout so we can cuddle with some food and blankets and watch that movie together, hm?"

Heeseung can't help but melt when he sees your face brighten up at his words.

"Okay," you chirp, nodding. You pull out of his hold, his hands lingering on your waist as if he was afraid to let you go. "I'll go do that. But you better not be playing when I get back or I'll throw your PS5 in the trash."

He chuckles at that. "Now, now. There's no need for such cruel measures. But hurry up, princess."

A movie and a few boxes of takeout later, Heeseung finds himself on the couch, a sleeping you wrapped in his arms.

He smiles, unable to tamp down his wild and powerful feelings for you fluttering inside his heart as he looks down at your peaceful face with a pout on your lips as if you were mad because you couldn't pet a cat you met in your dream.

He leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair.

He then adjusts himself so that the two of you were now lying down on the couch, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around your body to keep you secure in his embrace.

After pulling the blanket over both of your bodies, he turns off the television using the remote before setting it down on the sofa table and nuzzling into you in the darkness.

"Good night, princess," he whispers as the apartment drowns in silence interrupted by both of your breathing and the faint whirr of appliances. "Dream of me, won't you?"

taglist: @chrrific @lezleeferguson-120 @koiiqqqq @ikeu05 @maewphoria

709 notes · View notes

hgfictionwriter · 1 month ago

Text

Fitness, Flirting & Confessions

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: When you cave and join Jessie for a Pilates class, you expect sore muscles - not a jealous and flustered Jessie. Maybe a Pilates class is all it takes to turn your situationship into something more.

Warnings: G!P smut. Situationship. Jealousy kink. Possessiveness. Semi-public sex. Teasing. Power dynamics. Hand job. Penetrative sex. Language.

A/N: Response to this comment. Somehow Pilates served as a backdrop for emotional avoidant Jessie and romantic confessions.

"Okay, everyone, get on your machines and lie down - head on the headrest, shoulders against the blocks and feet on the footbar," the instructor said above the din of the room.

Your pulse picked up as you quietly observed students settling themselves on their reformers, going through the motions and seeming to know exactly what to do. You swallowed.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," you muttered out of the corner of mouth with a passing glance Jessie's way.

"You're going to do great," she said with a reassuring smile as she went to her machine.

"You got this," Sam said with a wink as she and Hina retreated to their own. All you could do was offer a weak smile.

They'd both already made a fuss about you joining. Praising you for giving it a shot, reassuring you you'd be okay and so on. Everyone knew this kind of class was really not your thing and despite their intentions it only made you more apprehensive.

"Don't worry, Y/N." The instructor's now-gentle voice filled your ears and you turned in surprise as her hand came to your arm to give a light squeeze. "These Thorns are some of my favourite people, so I'll make sure to take good care of you," she said with a smile.

She stood by while you climbed onto your machine next to Jessie. The instructor watched you, adjusting a couple of things to help you get settled and you felt an inadvertent blush of embarrassment forming as your face heated up under the attention and scrutiny.

"There, looking great already," she said with a charming smile as she stepped away.

You quietly exhaled, trying to relieve the tension from your body. You glanced over at Jessie only to catch her watching you with steady eyes. She didn't give you her usual warm grin or shy smile though. Instead, her gaze flicked over to the instructor briefly before falling back on you. You could see the thoughts clicking into place in her mind.

She was jealous. A confused, but admittedly pleased sensation rose within you at the realization. You bit the inside of your cheek.

You and Jessie had been seeing each other casually for a few months now. It was a wonderful, but confusing and at times frustrating situation though.

She didn't want to be official. She didn't want to be public. She claimed she was too busy and away too often to commit to anything. Yet, she messaged you at all hours of the day. Introduced you to all her friends, wanted you to hang out - to come to freakin' pilates with her - and it was your bed she lingered in despite her claims that she had to go.

She wanted you to herself, but wouldn't admit it or commit. Who knew you'd be getting the run around from Jessie Fleming, of all people.

As the instructor walked the class through some initial movements, she came back over to you to check on you - her hand coming to your body to offer light corrections here and there. You could feel Jessie's piercing gaze on you two.

Maybe this wouldn't be all bad.

As the sequences evolved and grew more difficult, the instructor's attention on you increased as well. You'd feel self-conscious about the guidance you needed if you weren't so distracted by Jessie's gaze boring into you, a subtle huff of irritation even coming from her now and then.

Her eyes remained on you as you went through pelvic exercises and eventually moved into strap work. Jessie's cheeks were flaring up and she wore a look of concentration, but her looks over at you were growing more and more fleeting. You frowned as you saw her clench her fists.

You watched her curiously and she nearly shot you a glare. You frowned before you caught her bunching up her shorts that she wore over her leggings.

Realization washed over you as you realized Jessie was not only jealous, but she was getting flustered as well from watching you. You bit your lip, beyond pleased by this turn of events.

You played it up. You locked eyes with her - for the moments her resolve failed - as you went through more exercises, doing your best to be slow and deliberate in your moves. You even asked the instructor to check your form, purposefully looking Jessie's way as the instructor guided your limbs through gentle corrections.

Jessie adjusted her shorts further and angled her body awkwardly from time to time as she continued to try to hide the bulge that was starting to show through her clothes. A particularly sharp movement accompanied with a frustrated huff caught the instructor's attention.

"You alright, Jess?"

"Oh, yeah," Jessie nearly stammered, face growing redder under the attention as she sat up in a particular way to conceal her growing erection and took a swing of water. "Just need some water," she said, waving off the scrutiny and shooting you a thinly concealed look of warning.

Not missing a beat, you gave her your best smile and continued your stretch. You stifled a laugh at how she immediately diverted her gaze and shifted away.

The class ended, and though your body was aching you were still on a high. Jessie, on the other hand, look flustered and irritated. She feigned going through additional stretches, still diligently working to hide her arousal.

"Come on, Jess. If we leave now we can still grab a table next door," Sam said as she gathered her things and worked to round the four of you up for lunch.

"Yeah, you guys head over. Just stretching out my calf a bit. I'll catch up shortly," she said as she waved them off, struggling to meet Sam's eyes.

"Oh, should I be doing more stretches? I can stay and do them with you," you inquired innocently as you cocked your head at her.

"No," she said, unable to entirely hide the curtness in her voice. She cleared her throat and offered you a pointed look, eyes shifting to peer over your shoulder at Sam and Hina who still stood nearby. "I-I'll catch up."

Coffees had arrived at the table by the time Jessie strode in. She didn't even make eye contact with you as she sat down heavily in her chair with a sigh, immediately picking up the menu and determinedly reading it.

"Feeling better?" Hina asked.

"Oh. Yeah. All good now," Jessie said, now offering a brief smile before returning her attention to the menu.

"Hey, I was looking at this," you said, lowering your voice slightly to speak with Jessie and not draw the others' attention as you leaned in to point at her menu, ensuring that your body pressed up against her and your breath was on her cheek. You turned your head to face her, again, looking as innocent as could be. "Have you had it before?"

She shuffled restlessly in her chair, exhaling audibly and giving you a cursory glance.

"Yeah, it's fine," she said flatly.

Jessie's grumpy attitude continued into ordering and you probably should've felt bad for her, but you couldn't resist how the tables had turned in your dynamic.

You texted her.

"How do you do those classes without getting turned on? I don't know about you, but I just kept thinking of spreading my legs for you."

You quietly sipped your water, watching Jessie out of the corner of your eye as she checked her phone. You steeled yourself to stop from smirking as she practically slapped her phone down onto her thigh with a momentarily bewildered expression before picking it up again to reply.

"What?" Sam asked with a frown, obviously catching the reaction.

"Huh?" Jessie asked distractedly, eyebrows high as she stopped texting and looked around. She clued in. "Oh. Someone's just being an asshole."

You nearly laughed.

"Who?" Sam asked, even more confused.

"Nobody."

You really were in a state, because her flippant response insulted you. You doubled down and texted her before she could finish replying.

"Nobody? Really? Good to know "nobody" was sucking you off last night on the couch."

You saw the message come through on her phone and she subtly eyed Hina and Sam to ensure they were distracted before she shot you a withering stare.

She finished typing.

"Yeah? Well, you're mean. You knew what effect you were having on me in there and you just played it up. And "nobody"? I must be nobody since you seemed to be all over [the instructor]."

"I think I like Jealous Jessie."

"I'm not jealous."

"Course not. I mean, I'm not yours, after all. Well, too bad. Cause it was turning me on."

Jessie huffed silently, her eyes absently scanning the restaurant as she contemplated what to do. You pre-empted her.

"I really, really just want to stroke you through your shorts right now. Knowing I made you hot enough that you were showing through your leggings and shorts? That's so fucking hot."

Jessie fidgeted further as she read your message. From the way she was shifting and adjusting her shorts again, you knew you were having the effect you wanted on her.

"Jess," Sam had to laugh. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing." She shook her head and ran her hand through her hair a little roughly. She scooted back her chair. "I just gotta go to the washroom."

She got up quickly, hands strategically placed and hips angled in a way to conceal her tent forming through her clothes.

Hina and Sam's eyes followed her with concern. "Should we check on her?" Hina asked and you waved them off.

"No, no. I'll check on her. I'm sure it's fine," you relayed easily as you made your way to the bathrooms. They were individual rooms lining one hall and only one was closed.

"Jess?" You called gently as gave a light rap on the door. "It's just me."

"Go away," she said flatly.

"Come on," you urged with a soft laugh. "Would it help if I apologized?"

The door unlatched and swung open to reveal Jessie still in her full clothes, a slight and adorable pout on her face.

"You do owe me an apology," she said, stepping aside to let you in.

"I'm really sorry, baby," you whispered as you locked the door behind you and wrapped your arms around the back of her neck, her hands instinctively settling on your hips.

You weren't even really thinking, you just gently pushed her against the wall, your lips brushing against hers as you dropped one hand to start caressing her through her clothes. You could feel the firmness of her cock straining through the fabric already. Her eyes rolled up towards the ceiling and she exhaled through her nose.

"That's not nice," she said through near-gritted teeth.

"I'm trying to apologize," you offered with a lilt in your voice as you began to lay slow kisses down the side of her neck.

"Mm, shit," she whispered through a clipped grunt, her hips moving against your hand whether she intended it or not. She blinked up at the ceiling.

"You know, that instructor wasn't actually flirting with me," you said as you continued to stroke the outline of her cock.

"She was flirting with you," she retorted firmly, eyes now locking on you. "Fully."

You dropped your gaze with a faint shrug as you caressed her more firmly. "Well, I mean, I am single...," you said, lifting your gaze back up to her at the end.

She stared at you for several seconds, her mouth agape as her breathing deepened, her face freckled and red, hips grinding against your hand. You could see her internal struggle.

"I hate that," she eventually said, not breaking eye contact.

"Hate what," you asked innocently as you continued to massage her.

"That you're single," she said, voice curt as she struggled to remained composed under your ministrations.

"Oh," you said. "Like - I should ask for [the instructor's] number?"

She exhaled heavily, gaze flicking back up to the ceiling in frustration.

"No," she said a bit sharply.

"Really?" You asked as you coaxed her to meet your gaze once more. You licked your hand and snuck it under her waistband and grasped her cock, tugging slowly on it. Her knees buckled slightly and her eyes closed before she recovered. You went on. "I'm confused, then."

She huffed in frustration, her hands tightening their grip on your waist as she pulled you closer and gave you an imploring look.

"Y/N...you know how I feel about you," she offered lamely, and frankly, you were a bit tired of it.

"Not really," you said as you stroked her and ran your other hand up through her hair. "You say you like me. You want to fuck me. But you don't want to be more than 'friends' and you don't like me being single. I'm confused."

"I told you...," she trailed off in a faint whine, her hips rocking into your waiting hand.

"Jessie," you said with a smirk. "I'm well aware that you're busy and that you're away all the time. I'm not trying to change that." You snickered slightly , but gave her an appeasing kiss. "I'm not trying to tie you down."

"No, you're just trying to make me cum in my pants," she quipped, finally cracking a relaxed smile. You kissed her slowly.

"That would be pretty fucking hot. I have to say," you affirmed with a quiet grin.

She didn't say anything and when you pulled back you saw the intense stare she was giving you. You cracked a smirk and leaned in, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear, your breath hot against her.

"I know where you want to cum," you whispered.

She inhaled sharply, her hands pushing up under your shirt and fingers digging into your skin.

"Fuck I want you," she whispered heavily into your neck as she turned you both around so your back was against the stall. She pushed her pants down, her cock springing up with need and began to hurriedly, even clumsily, push your pants down your legs.

She ran two fingers along your slit and let out a heady breath. You could practically hear the smile in her voice as she talked. "God, I love how wet you get for me."

She gripped your thigh and lifted it, encouraging you to wrap your leg around her waist. She grabbed her cock, pumping it a few times before lining it up with your entrance. You couldn't help but tease one more time.

"Easy," you warned. "[The instructor] worked me pretty good this morning. A girl hasn't made me this sore in a while."

Jessie's hurried movements stilled and she slowly lifted her gaze to set her eyes on you. A rush went through as she stared hard at you, pupils blown with lust.

"I don't want to hear her name on your lips," she said in a low tone, her fingers digging into your thigh. "Is she who you're wet for," she asked as she pulled her hips back, the head of her cock spreading your lips and rubbing across your clit before she pushed back towards your entrance.

"You know better than that," you said breathlessly as your core pulsed in need.

"I'm not so sure," she said as she drew her hips back to tease you again. You were frustrated in several ways now.

"I'm not going to tell you I'm yours," you held firm. Her shoulders tensed up under your arms and you argued further, "Because that's not what you actually want." She exhaled low.

"And what if it is?" She said, forehead resting against your shoulder as she kneaded your thigh with one hand, your ass with her other and continued to slowly tease you both with slow, firm strokes that nudged at your entrance.

You scoffed. "Well that's new, then. Miss Avoidant."

"I'm not avoidant. I'm serious. If I'm committed to you. I'm committed." She lifted her head to meet your watchful gaze. "I'm not fucking around."

"Kinda feels like we're fucking around," you couldn't help but quip. Her eyes flashed and you bit your lip in apology.

"I don't want to just fuck around anymore," she said as she drew her hips back and this time angled to slip inside of you. You gasped, your breath turning into a moan and you had to look away, albeit, with affection as she gave you a smug open-mouth smirk.

"What does-" you gasped in pleasure again as she moved once more mid-sentence, "-that mean?"

"It means," she said as she pushed her hips forward to sink fully inside you once more, "I want you to be mine. Officially."

Your laugh was interrupted with another soft moan you couldn't hold back as your body lifted off the ground slightly each time she bottomed out in you, her powerful hips pushing you up the wall with slow, deliberate strokes.

"Are you seriously asking me out while you're fucking me in a restaurant bathroom?" You asked, your laugh returning.

"Doesn't sound as romantic when you put it that way," she chuckled as she pulled out to the tip and rolled her hips back into you. "I just - I just really want you."

"Well, if you're finally making it official, Fleming, then I guess you can say this pussy's yours," you said flirtatiously.

"Mm," she voiced in a low growl as she gave a particularly strong thrust. "That sounds fucking amazing," she affirmed as her fingers dug into you.

"For someone who's been so commitment-avoidant, you're awfully possessive," you teased.

"Mm, you have no idea," she said as her hips ground into you with sharp, powerful thrusts that continued to jostle you up and down the wall. "Fuck. Just the thought of you being mine has me ready to bust," she panted.

"You're welcome, by the way," you teased. "For being so generous and not making you cum in your pants. I could've if I wanted to."

She pulled back to give you a lopsided grin. She shook her head in affection. "No wonder I love you."

Your jaw fell and she shook her head at you with a pleased smile.

"Nuh uh. Don't give me that look," she warned teasingly. She kissed you as she continued to pump into you, drawing a needy whine out of you. You smiled into the kiss and she bit your lip. "Don't make me fuck that smug smile off of you," she said. You gripped her hair and whimpered into the kiss further.

She readjusted her grip on you and began to pump into you mercilessly, the sound of her skin against yours clapping off of the tiling in the small room.

"Fuck, you're amazing," she praised as she thrust into you. She let her head fall back, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as she panted, a lazy smile on her face. "I can feel your cum dripping down my cock and thighs. Jesus, fuck, baby. I should tell you I love you more often."

You wanted to give a witty retort, but all you could do was hold onto her, your nails digging into her shirt as she fucked you like a rag doll against the wall.

"Breathe, baby," she coached softly as she brought you back to the moment and you forced yourself to take a breath as the coiling sensation between your legs grew tighter and tighter.

"Fuck," she grit out as she held you tightly. "You're gripping me so tight." She lifted one hand to gently grip you under your chin with her thumb, her fingers on the side of your face. "Eyes on me, baby." You didn't react immediately and she stroked your cheek encouragingly. She smirked when you finally opened your eyes to look at her.

"There's my beautiful girl," she told you. "I want to see you when you cum for me."

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, your head falling back against the stall. Any semblance of control and power you had earlier was fully relinquished to her and you both basked in it.

"Fuck, Jessie, I'm going to cum," you panted, your head rolling from side to side as the pressure mounted deep inside of you with every thrust.

"I know, princess," she said gently as she caressed you. "I want you to."

You let out a wanton moan and pulled her closer to you. She kissed your neck with a soft chuckle.

"I want you to cum inside me," you told her as you clawed up her back, drawing up her shirt into bundles in your fist as you did so.

"Mm," she groaned in approval. "The only place I want to." She grunted into your neck, breath hot on your skin. "Fuck. You deserve all my cum."

You moaned again, white knuckling her shirt. "Jesus Christ, Jess."

You began to spasm around her cock and your entire body tensed up in her embrace. Your jaw fell and your breath caught in your lungs as you clung onto her while she pounded into you relentlessly, her jagged breaths in your ear.

A high whimper worked its way up her throat and her hips began to stutter against you. She dug her feet into the floor beneath her and she ground up into you as deeply as she could, grunts of effort falling from her lips as she spilled herself inside of you.

"Oh God," you nearly whined as your spasms slowed around her still-hard cock. She rut into you a couple more time, ensuring to push her cum as deep inside of you as she could.

"Holy fuck," she panted as she let her body grow slightly slack, though still holding you securely.

You absently ran your hand through her hair and she gave you soft, fluttery kisses along your shoulder.

"Did you mean what you said?" You eventually asked. "Any and all of it?"

She squeezed you tightly in her arms and planted a long kiss at the edge of your shoulder.

"I did. Are you okay with that?" She asked as she looked up at you with big, brown eyes. "And, thanks, for being so patient with me."

You smiled, kissing her sweetly. She stared up at you adoringly as the kiss ended and your smile shifted into a smirk.

"What can I say," you teased, "you're worth the wait. And good that you meant it, because I'm pretty sure the whole restaurant knows we're an item now."

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso smut

487 notes · View notes

hard-core-super-star · 2 months ago

Text

i love you, it’s ruining my life [W.Maximoff]

pairing: sugarmommy!wanda x reader

summary: you share a passionate moment with wanda in her office but it only leaves you more scattered and confused about her feelings.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> legal age gap; power dynamics; fingering [R receiving]; praise; making out; petnames; teasing; light dom/sub dynamic; slightly public sex [aka office sex]; allusions to subdrop; mentions of insecurity; porn with SO many feelings, it's crazy

wordcount: 2.3k

a/n: hihi! believe it or not, i did NOT forget about this mini-series. i, once again, got carried away and i'm not super in love with the smut but i felt like adding it just for fun. expect some hurt and then some comfort in the next part. hope you enjoy <3

part one | part two |

* * * * * * *

Things between you and Wanda had shifted in the past few weeks.

You weren't sure what had caused the sudden shift in the energy between you. Maybe it had been the night you'd spent in her penthouse, on that expensive couch, with your face buried between her legs. It wasn't like there was anything different about what you'd done together that night and yet, something was different now.

Something neither of you wanted to put into words.

It didn't change how your days went, though. She still went to work every morning and you stayed at home, waiting for her, ready to ease the stress of the day and bring her back to herself. That was what you were used to. The routine you almost craved.

But like everything else, it had started shifting.

It was small at first. Requests for you to bring her lunch even though you knew she took the bag you'd packed the night before, constant texts when she was supposed to be in meetings. And now, the newest addition, asking you to come with her into the office.

A part of you told you it was a bad idea. Hell, she'd said it herself every time you'd asked.

And now you're here.

You're curled up on the leather couch in the corner of her office, your eyes drawn to Wanda and the way she flips through stacks and stacks of boring, legal papers. It's hard to tell why you're here, especially since she never lets you stay.

Not like this.

Not like you belong here with her.

She must sense your unease, you're sure she does, because she looks up, her eyebrow raised elegantly. "You okay over there, baby?"

You nod despite the far-away look in your eyes. "Just bored."

A beat passes before she scoots her chair back, her fingers beckoning you forward. "Well, we can't have that, can we? Come here, sweet girl."

Despite the lingering confusion, you make your way over to her without waiting another second. Her hands grip your waist once you're close enough and gently pull you in until you're settling onto her lap.

You wrap your arms around her shoulders as you get comfortable, straddling her legs and feeling her against you. "And I thought I was the clingy one."

She snorts at that. "You are. I'm just doing you a favor."

Even though you know it's a bad idea, you roll your eyes and earn yourself a quick swat to the ass. No words are exchanged, not because you don't have something to say, but because you're not too eager to earn a punishment. At least not yet.

"How long until lunch?" You ask as you busy yourself with placing kisses on her jaw, both to distract her and keep yourself occupied.

"A few hours," she replies, humming as she tilts her head back for you. "I still have a pile of paperwork, though. If you're hungry, you can go on your own."

While the idea sounds nice, you're not too eager to be on your own. Especially when you could be cozy on her lap.

"It's okay," you reply, devoting your attention to the warm skin of her jaw. "I'll wait for you."

The weight of your words must go past her head because she simply pulls her chair closer to her desk and goes back to her paperwork. It's not like you can hold it against her but you thought you'd made your feelings for her obvious after that night she came home from getting drinks. Maybe you hadn't said it outloud, and maybe that was your fault, but you thought your actions had made things more than clear.

You weren't interested in temporary. Not anymore.

You wanted Wanda. All of her. All the strings that came with her affection.

And yet, you still had to play it cool. Act like you didn't mind the lack of explanations.

Maybe you truly didn't mind. If you did, you wouldn't be here, right? There was a reason you were sticking around, despite what everyone said. The judgmental looks and snide comments. As hard as it was to admit it, it was worth it.

"You're doing it again," she says, her words more of a murmur than anything else. "I can feel your brain overheating."

"Sorry," you mumble in response. "I didn't mean to distract you."

"Oh, honey, you're always a distraction. But my favorite one."

The words help ease your worries a little, at least she doesn't see you as an annoyance. So then, what does she see you as? Because she told you she was yours that night but nothing has changed. At least not in a noticeable way.

One of her hand tangles in your hair and pulls you away from her skin so your eyes can meet. She opens her mouth to say something but you lean in and crash your lips against her before she can get a word out.

It's not the best way to deal with your spiraling emotions but it's the only thing you can think to do. Kiss her until you're breathless or winded or incapable of forming another thought. Or maybe all at once.

If Wanda can taste the insecurity in your kiss, she doesn't say anything. Instead, she allows herself to get carried away as if nothing's wrong. And maybe she's right, maybe you're simply thinking too much and demanding things she'll never be able to give.

Or maybe you're wrong. Maybe what you thought were real feelings, was simply desire under wraps. Maybe all you'll ever be is her pretty pet.

The problem is, when you're like this, wrapped up in her arms, drowning in her kisses, you can't see the issue with that. All you can feel is how much you want her, how much you need her, and how fucking good she is with her hands.

When you finally part for air, lungs burning, her hands grip your hips and she lifts you up. The show of strength turns you on far more than it should and you're desperately spreading your legs for her by the time she sets you down on top of her desk.

"Thought you had work to do," you say.

"You distracted me," she replies as if that explains everything.

It doesn't but you're distracted too and feeling her stand up to press up against you takes your remaining breath away. Deep down, you know you shouldn't get carried away. That it'll only create more problems and it's not worth it.

But how can you say touching her isn't worth it?

You wrap your arms around her neck and pull her in down toward you, your lips crashing together once again. It's like if you move fast enough, you won't have to think.

Wanda seems to be on the same wavelength as you, her hands gripping your hips and dragging you forward. It suddenly dawns on you why she was so adamant this morning that you should wear a skirt.

"You're so needy, princess," she mumbles when she pulls you away. "Can't go more than five minutes without me touching you."

"You're the one who told me to sit on your lap," you point out, tilting your head back as her mouth moves to your neck. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it?"

She chuckles against your skin. "Smart girl. You caught me red-handed."

"I usually do, you're predictable."

Her response comes in the form of her sucking on your neck, no doubt leaving behind marks you won't be able to hide. Then again, it's not like anyone will ask. Mainly because Kate doesn't have to ask, she already knows who has you wrapped around their finger.

One of her hands grips you close while the other one slips between your legs, soft fingers trailing up your sensitive inner thigh. You buck into the touch involuntarily and the movement makes the redhead chuckle again.

It has no damn right being as hot as it is.

"Is this what you meant when you said you were bored?" She asks as she presses her fingers against the wet spot on your panties. "You just wanted Mommy to touch you?"

It's impossible to stop yourself from moaning despite the slightly public setting. "I always want Mommy to touch me."

"Mmm, good girl."

Your words earn you the reward of her fingers slipping under your panties. "Fuck, please."

"Begging already? You're more predictable than I am, baby."

Even though her words cause your face to heat up, it doesn't stop you from moving against her, wordlessly asking for more. It's not her touch that you're asking for, you know that, but for now, it's good enough. You hope it'll be enough to replace the thoughts swirling in your head even though you know better.

She keeps her teasing to a minimum, her eyes sweeping back and forth between you and the door to her office. "Come on, sweet girl, let me hear you. Show me how much you need me."

Her thumb grazes your clit a few times and she revels in the way you shake against her. It's fast and sloppy but when two of her fingers slide in, your head falls back in pleasure. The stretch burns in that familiar way that has your legs clenching so hard she's practically stuck against you.

The pace she sets is far faster than what you truly need, your hands gripping onto her shoulders just to keep yourself steady. Only Wanda can turn your whole world upside down from a few thrusts.

You wish you could hate her but you can't.

Not when she's muttering praises into your ear and coaxing you closer and closer to that blissful edge you know so well. The one that makes you tune everything out except her. No stupid secretaries, or long nights at the office. Just you and the woman you've fallen in love with.

Nothing else matters.

"Mommy," you whisper, tears painting you vision as all you emotions morph and bleed into each other. "Please, can't-"

"Shh, don't worry about it, sweetheart. Just come for me, just let go."

And you do.

Hard and fast and messy.

Like falling in love with her.

You're still buzzing from your orgasm when Wanda pulls you off her desk. The movement winds you but not as much as the painful contact of your knees against the floor. You barely have time to process what's going on when the door swings open and the sound of heels fills your ears.

"Afternoon, Wanda."

Agnes.

It's a struggle but you stop yourself from making any noise or revealing yourself. Thankfully, the older woman manages to fully hide you by scooting her chair in and acting like nothing's going on. Not like she just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm or anything.

"How have you still not learned how to knock?" Wanda asks, masking her annoyance with a chuckle.

"Because you don't need me to, you always know when I'm about to come in."

This time, you roll your eyes, hearing all the hidden meanings that seem to go over the green-eyed woman's head. The problem itself isn't technically Agnes but she's the best representation of all of them. Of your insecurity, Wanda's never-ending charm, her lack of awareness because she's too focused on something else.

Her work. Her lifestyle. Her money. Everything's always about her.

You ignore their conversation and simply lay your head on the older woman's lap, your lips pressing into her leg. The fabric of her stupid trousers doesn't let you touch her the way you want to, so you're forced to simply sit there, listening to their unbearable conversation.

One of Wanda's hands drifts down, her fingers tangling in your hair once more. She's doing what she can to keep you grounded, to stop the thoughts that will no doubt come rushing in due to the lack of full aftercare. It's not her fault, but the more time that passes, the more resentful you feel yourself become.

It doesn't help that you tune back into the conversation right when Agnes talks about you. Or well, she mentions who you assume to be you.

"No drinks tonight, then?" The brunette asks. "You need to get home early to babysit?"

To make the storm of insecurities in your mind worse, Wanda laughs. She doesn't wave her off, doesn't tell her to get lost. She laughs.

Deep down, you know it's nothing but a reaction. A rehearsed dance she does every time to avoid questions. To avoid the reality of her attachment to you.

It shouldn't hurt as much as it does but you're vulnerable and in need of reassurance and the last thing you need is hear her act like you can't hear her. Like there's no weight to what she's doing. How she's acting.

"What I do at home isn't your business, Agnes," Wanda replies, voice steady and borderline uninterested.

The other woman apologizes but you can hear the smirk in her voice. "Oh, I know, you're far too secretive about what you do with your little plaything. Let me know if you ever need someone who can actually keep up with you."

If their conversation continues, you don't hear it. You don't hear anything besides the pounding in your ears and the shallowness of your breaths.

When the coast is clear and Wanda is able to scoot back again, you almost fall over before her hands cup your face, tilting your head back so she can look at you. What she finds must worry her before her eyebrows furrow instantly. "Are you okay?"

You nod even though you know better. "Yeah, just…scattered."

"What do you need?"

Even though you know the answer, you push yourself off your knees. The last thing you need is to be by yourself and yet…it's the only thing you're thinking about.

"I'm gonna go get lunch," you mutter, nervously shifting away from the older woman.

You except her to stop you. To tell you to sit down and let her help you feel better.

And when she doesn't, and she lets you walk to the door of her office…you realize you're better off leaving. Not realizing how much it hurts her too.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics @rosekjsses @milflovers4 @sevikasoneandonlywife @dextur @tobeawriter98

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff fanfiction #sugarmommy!wanda #elizabeth olsen #avengers fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu imagine #wlw fic #writing

841 notes · View notes

applejusue · 29 days ago

Text

ellie williams ─── sewn together

Between long shifts at the hospital and trying to keep your girlfriend afloat, things are tough. Ellie's grieving, you're overworked. You get a familiar call that she's gotten into another fight.

◟`# cw: fighting, grief, comfort, blood, fluff.

the last of us masterlist . . .

You'd just finished a night shift, calves aching and brain foggy as you slumped into your car. You let your head move back against the headrest, mentally warming yourself up for the drive home. You wondered if Ellie cooked you dinner or maybe she was asleep, you hoped she was at least sleeping. You were worried about her lately. Joel's passing hit Ellie like a truck, her once loud and squawked laugh was now just a soft huff or an amused smile that didn't hit her eyes as much as she thought it did.

At the funeral, Ellie just stared, her glossed-over sunken eyes fixated on him as he was lowered into the ground. She wore a wrinkled grey suit two sizes too short and didn't utter a single word to you that night.

As you started up the engine to your barely functioning hunk of metal, your phone lit up brightly with a familiar number and a pretty face. Your lips tightened in soft affection, before pressing the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could take off. Your voice was tentatively hushed, a flicker of anxiousness in your gut. She knew you finished at 9.

"Hey baby, everything okay?"

You could hear her breathing on the other end, it only made your heart beat quicker.

"Yeah I just-.. I need you to pick me up yeah? Got into some trouble.."

Ellie's voice was a wobbled whisper, one you knew came out when she was trying to swallow back her tears. You could faintly hear a busy area around her, beeps, people and papers. The hospital. You exhaled silently through your nose, taking a U-turn to the clinic down the road. It wasn't the first time Ellie had gotten into some "trouble", but it seemed to be getting more frequent lately. She'd come home drunk and teary-eyed, a little scruffed up, or on the worst nights like this, you'd collect her from the hospital when her brawls got out of hand.

"Yeah.. I'll be there soon sweetpea.."

You didn't have it in your heart to be mad, not when she cried so quietly in the mornings or couldn't leave your bed for a few days because her legs wouldn't move. Not when her hands would shake even as you held them in your warm palm, or you'd see her sleeping with his shirt. Ellie felt so deeply, and you knew she'd lost something that would take a long time to come to terms with. You'd drive to the damn hospital.

The waiting room was a clusterfuck of sick babies, the elderly and sleep-deprived nurses. You approached the reception desk, your keys still jingling between your fingers. There were a few open doorways by the area, and you could just about make out some tattered jeans and boots dangling from a bed. That was your girl.

"Can I help you miss?"

The receptionist caught your attention, her smile tight against the lines on her forehead.

"Oh, I'm here to pick up Ellie, Ellie Williams.."

Your gaze was still fondly drifting toward the room, that familiar worry still swam around your gut as you listened to the receptionist clacking against her keyboard. After signing some papers, she stood, leading you over. You followed politely, even if you knew where Ellie was.

"She's pretty.. fragile, won't let any of the nurses near her so we didn't get to check her vitals or anything, but she seems to be alright other than some cuts and bruises. She had a nasty gash on her forehead when she arrived, but she sat still long enough for us to patch it up.."

You didn't like the look on her face as she spoke about Ellie. It wasn't exactly pity, more like the look you'd give a bad dog that never learnt how to be obedient. It made your jaw tighten slightly, but you nodded. It was a look people had given Ellie before when she caused fights or stormed off. A bad dog.

And yet when you entered the hospital room all you could see was your girl, your broken girl with glossy eyes and a big bandage over her forehead. The nurse came in with you to check over her file and clean up the space for the next patient. Ellie looked up at you as soon as you came in, her speckled face bruised with little scrapes from whoever she got too irritated by tonight. Her soft pupils were swimming in tears that started to drip down her face the minute you arrived, the minute she could let her guard down.

"Oh baby.."

You whispered softly, your arms coming around her shoulders almost immediately as she sunk into your chest. Ellie's bruised and trembling fingers gripped at your hoodie tightly, a flood of hushed apologies leaving her bloody lips.

"I'm sorry.. I wasn't trying to start shit this time I swear.."

Her muffled voice came from the soft fabric on your body as your fingers ran through her scruffy brown hair. You leaned down closer, cradling her as you kissed the top of her head. The nurse who still stood nearby disinfecting some of the equipment was almost surprised that the girl who had shown up barking and bleeding seemed so docile in your arms.

Once you'd gotten Ellie calmer you picked up her backpack, slinging it over your shoulder before tugging her gently off of the bed, her large cold hand laced into yours. Ellie hovered closely to you while you moved through the waiting room, her heavy eyes focused on the floor. She climbed into your passenger seat, still avoiding your eyes like a kid who's afraid of being grounded. It made you smile, even if you had a pain in your gut from worrying so much about her.

You laced your hand into hers as you drove home, a silent reassurance.

'I'm not mad at you.'

The journey home was quiet, and you were already wondering what food you'd order in when you got settled because you certainly weren't cooking dinner. Ellie followed you inside, lingering in the doorway. You hated seeing her like that, uncertain, sore and tender. Sometimes it felt like her soft little heart was in your hands, and you'd do anything to keep it safe.

"I'm gonna order in sweetpea, so you don't need to worry about dinner.."

Your voice was gentle, and you pecked her on the cheek that had the least damage. Ellie looked down at you almost dreamily, and you couldn't read what was in those dark eyes, but you were okay with that. Ellie's arms were suddenly around you again, catching you off guard as you both lingered in the doorway. Your hands hovered for a moment before moving around her with ease, feeling her warm damp cheek against your shoulder.

"Thank you.. for coming to get me, ..even when I don't deserve it.."

Her voice wobbled near the end, her grip tight.

You stroked her hair, gently tucking some strands back into place as you shook your head with a soft sigh.

"I'll always come to get you, always.."

495 notes · View notes

prael · 10 months ago

Text

Touch

Kinktember Day 9: Spa

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 7,422 Kinktember Masterlist

"My client, did you see her come in?" you ask.

"No, why? Is she famous or something?"

"Well, that would explain the secrecy, and it would also explain a woman barely twenty having cash to burn at a place like this," you whisper to the colleague who is far too jealous of how you just got requested by name because that usually means big tips for a good service.

"Did you get her name?"

"Supposed to be a secret." Your answer dissatisfies her, and she throws you a side-eye. "Okay. Okay. Danielle something... Marsh?"

"Shut up!" She hits you on the shoulder. "No fucking way. Let me take this one and you can have my next ten VIP bookings."

"Sorry, but she asked for me by name," you tell her. She mutters an obscenity under her breath. "Want to tell me what I'm getting into here?"

And then the girl spews out a jumble of ramblings about K-pop this and K-pop that—the kind of reaction that only the truly obsessed can have. Millions of views on this, charting on that, really fucking popular is the gist of it. So basically the whole planet Earth knows who this Danielle is. Well, shit. No pressure or anything. "Get in there already, do your best work and maybe get me an autograph."

A few forceful pushes out of the staff room and you find Danielle where you left her, her cleansing mask still on her face, sitting in that long white robe. You step barefoot over the soft wood, heat rising from underneath it.

As you draw near, you ask, "Miss Marsh, are we ready to begin?"

"Dani, please," her voice says from beneath the mask. It's hard not to be intimated after being hit with the fact that the woman before you is world-renowned. Though from here, she looks like any other delicate young woman. Her feet are small. Bare, tiny and arched, they hang just a few inches from the floor, and they are as perfectly still as the rest of her. "No need to be formal, I'm here to relax."

"Then let me start by offering you a drink." The bottle pops as you twist it. The label is adorned in cursive. "Bottled at source, premium mineral water." Your arm raises the bottle so she can see the brand clearly.

"Is it magical water?" There is a playful lilt in her voice, "Maybe it has some healing powers?"

"Guaranteed to nourish the soul and unclog those emotional pores," you deadpan.

The facemask stretches with Dani's wide smile, and she lightly chuckles. "That's good, laughter is good for the soul."

"Right." You pour from a height and a theatrical stream flows. When the flute is halfway, you stop the flow and pass it to her hands, which take it gently.

"What? You don't even hold the glass for me? Put it to my lips and tilt?" It's another tease, the joke stretching on her grin, but now it is her hands holding the flute, her fingers long and smooth around the stem.

"I serve, not control."

"Those don't have to always be exclusive." She laughs, and the sound makes you feel something. "But I appreciate the intention. I hear you're the best in the business."

"I'll let you be the judge, Miss Marsh. Now, allow me to remove that mask. I have raised the temperature in here to help open the pores, and I would like to begin with a facial."

"I do love a facial." Danielle smiles to herself. "And again, please, just Dani is fine."

You step over behind her, where her head tilts back against the chair, her long hair cascading below, shimmering in the moist air. Lightly, you place the tips of your fingers along her jawline, finding the edge of the mask and gently lifting it upwards. She doesn't flinch at all, and you watch the wet mask give way to her face. Even upside down, Danielle is indeed beautiful.

With her sun-kissed hair, radiant skin, and effortless, elegant beauty. She is, in summation of all her parts: perfect. The image the word calls up has always been fuzzy around the edges, an abstract idea more than a specific concrete thing, because real people aren't like this. That's what you believed until you laid eyes on her.

"You take good care of your skin, Miss—Sorry—Dani."

"Thank you," she says simply, no joke this time. Your fingers ghost over her chin and then trace to her cheekbones, moving lightly to test her texture, all so smooth.

"First, I shall cleanse away any impurities," you say and lean down to examine her face. Even when you are so close, there is nothing for your scrutiny—no visible crevice, no blemishes, despite there being not a trace of make-up. It's all-natural.

There's a light whisper on her lips, one that you barely make out, "Good luck with that."

You tilt your head as you reach over for a fresh sponge, run it under hot water until it is filled, squeeze out the excess, and slowly drag a path of heat across her forehead. As your other hand holds the sheet over her neck to catch stray water, your first-hand works in large strokes from above, rinsing her skin with each successive pass.

As you focus, she leans back into the chair, and a soft hum escapes her lips. "Feels nice already," she murmurs.

You say nothing, working her in silence. Her eyelids are closed, her lips slightly parted, and she remains so still that, if not for the sound of her breaths, she could be easily mistaken as unconscious. This silence has a tranquillity and familiarity to it, one that feels like home, and without thinking, you are smiling.

She stays just the same as you begin to exfoliate her, brushing across her face in ever-widening circles. It's with such tenderness that her cheeks take a pink tint as she grows hotter and she smiles as you rub in gentle swirls, one spot, then the next.

Time passes in silence as you finish the exfoliation and apply all manner of natural, topical lotions, toners, and peels to Dani. When her skin is primed, you press your fingers against her skin and, starting at her forehead, you massage her face to a rhythm of long, soothing strokes. You enjoy touching her, you admit, which isn't exactly right for a professional, but since you have no outward reaction from her, you assume it isn't the end of the world.

Throughout it all, she keeps her eyes shut. Over time you move around her face, applying more pressure in some spots than others. She shifts and sighs, soft exhalations of her warm breath tickling your arm, yet otherwise doesn't move an inch. Her shoulders relax against the leather of the seat. "You really know what you're doing," she says, with a smirk. You pull her skin with your fingertips, moving them in large circles as it comes to an end. Finally, you tap your fingers gently over her skin to soothe.

"Now, your body, Dani."

Her eyes crack open, but slowly. "Are we moving?"

"I'll wash your skin over there, but the massage will be in the next room. Now, I'll need you to—"

Dani doesn't let you finish your sentence before she rocks forward in her seat and pushes herself to a stand. She's facing away from you and puts her hands in front of her, then she throws the robe back off her shoulders and lets it slide off her arms to the floor in one quick motion.

"Good," she says. "I was for too hot in that thing anyway."

Of course, as a professional, you would never gasp in surprise, yet, at the sight of her ass, the muscles tight, small, and round, the curves of her waist so thin, hair over her shoulders threatening to hide her slender back and those long slim legs, you manage to just barely gulp.

Too hot, she certainly is, you want to tell her and not just in the sense that perspiration coats her skin. Tiny beads of sweat that, as your eyes crawl over her, are in the process of running downwards. This glistening on her flesh is hypnotic. The curve of her ass, the slight tilt of her hips forward, the way the base of her spine leads downward, right down to a crack between her—

Focus. You remind yourself you have a job to do.

"In the far corner. The stone pool. Please, stand by the edge." It takes a second before Dani's head bobs, and then she slinks forward, slow and catlike. Her stride, and every motion of her muscles beneath her flesh that accompanies it, are mesmerising. And with every sway of her hips, you love her tight body more.

She pauses, a foot by the edge, and looks down into the water. Steam rises and envelops her form in a pale white that hugs her curves.

"Please, step in," you say as you walk over to her side and take her hand. Now, you catch a glimpse of her profile, and her chest, small, round and perky, and as you avert your eyes to guide her down the step, you tell her, "Watch your step now, go from stone to stone until you stand in the middle just there."

"Got it," Dani says. She steps with confidence and the hot water reaches quickly above her ankles and then halfway up her calves. With each careful move down the next step she gasps, soft and light. The water splashes with her movement and then swallows her up to the upper thigh.

"Please, take a seat there, on the wide stone." You reach to help steady her as she sinks down, her knees bending as she perches down so the water is at her hips as she sits.

"I just sit?"

"Yes, Dani, and I will bathe you." You step into the pool until the hot flowing water covers your knees, and then you stand behind her. You reach for a sponge, submerge it, and watch it fill, then draw it out and over her lower back and drag a large circle across her soft skin. "How's the water? Feel okay?"

"Great. Wow." She goes quiet as you work up and down her back, long, relaxing, soothing strokes until all the tension has left her shoulders. "That's wonderful," she says.

You clean her shoulders and then down her arms, the sponge dipping under the surface, and caressing her in a movement that feels like worship. With a slow rhythm, you run the sponge over her shoulders and around her neck, and finally, reaching over her, down to her chest. She shifts back as you do, resting herself against your legs. You run it over her chest a few times before coming up again to her shoulders.

"So soft..." her voice says, almost a breathy moan, and you catch a hint of it. Maybe she realises how it sounds because she soon goes quiet. Next, you work downwards, to her tight, toned stomach. Slowly you make sure you cleanse every part of her body. All while her back rests on you and her breathing is warm and pleasant.

"Miss, I mean Dani, can you stand now? We need to get you clean." You prompt, a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure." Dani snaps out of it. She stretches and cracks her neck before rising, leaning forward for a moment. When she rises, ripples run out in all directions and your eyes drift over her ass. It looks plump, perky, perfect. Then you sponge it, giving purpose to your stare. You push it down, over her cheeks and Dani shivers.

You repeat your slow, languid movements. Wipe away any trace of imperfection from her hips and thighs and then when you make her slowly step out of the pool, you work down her bit by bit. Finally, she stands on the edge of the pool, looking down at you, towering over you in her naked glory. She presents to you her foot and you hold her ankle to steady it and clean each digit, scrubbing between the toes.

"You can take the towel, on the peg, Dani."

"You do it." Dani doesn't move at all, keeping her eyes on you, staring into your eyes and through you.

You cautiously nod and then climb from the pool. You keep eye contact and wrap the towel around her small, wet frame. In your arms, she feels so fragile. You rub her down, first her legs. Long strokes, left and right. Each, in turn, both legs. Then you bring the towel up. When you wrap it over her hip and move upwards along her torso, Dani presses herself to you.

"You really know how to put someone at ease," she mutters.

You nod silently in return, and finish drying her shoulders, down her arms, back up, and down her back. You remain stoic as the heat between you builds, and she turns around without prompting. You wrap her again and bring the towel all the way down. Then over her rear. Soft, short circular motions with your palm.

"The table in the next room, Dani. Start by lying on your front, you can use the towel on the table to cover yourself. Once I see you settled in, I'll join you."

She laughs quietly and starts her slow walk to the door. You take your own towel, drying your legs, the water has soaked into the front of your shorts from where she leant against you.

She's on the bed. The towel, provided for her decency, is in a pile on the floor.

"Dani, the towel..."

"I'm fine, I want it off. I want everything off. Is that a problem for you?" There's this undeniably confident quality to her like the universe just has to be as it is because she likes it that way.

"Not a problem," you tell her. "It does tend to get in the way."

You're close to the bed now, looking down at her, still so perfectly nude. So vulnerable and relaxed, and not a drop of shame in her eyes. She gives you a look that says she's in charge, and that she's been waiting for this, and now it's finally going to happen. And that smile is impossible to refuse. "You could join me if it helps. Make it feel more like an equal partnership."

"Miss— I—"

"I'm joking," she winks. Danielle bunches her hair by her head and turns her head to the side as she rests.

The first of your oils, imported, rich and infused, drip with a consistency thick as honey over her. You watch it roll from the top of her back and run down her spine. Its warmth makes her twitch gently.

Slowly you reach out, press your hands into her skin and drag them from top to bottom, following the oil, making sure you cover her.

She hums in delight.

With great care, you begin your work. Fingers sink in, and your thumbs feel her muscles. Stroking and rubbing, from the top of her back, your fingers coax and prod at the flesh beneath. Pressing it back and forth, at times as gentle as a summer breeze and then as hard as a hammer.

There are knots in her back, beneath the tender surface. You find them easily and work at them to relax, coax them into submission, untying the muscles until they go soft. She gasps at your touch as you release them. Her body responds to you in the sweetest ways. With the smallest of whispers, the little fluttering breaths, and with her skin taking on a pink glow.

When the last knot goes soft, she writhes in response, and a content, relaxed murmur comes out of her.

"Oh god, that's it, don't stop," she says, the first words to come from her for a while.

"You were very tight." You reach across, add a small amount of more oil and start working back upwards. One stroke at a time. Up her neck. Over her shoulders. She trembles when you go deep into her flesh and reaches out to grasp at something, anything, and finds the edge of the table, holding herself steady. Her arms now, you lift them one by one, prying them from her grip and then holding and rubbing and pulling to coax the stiffness out.

Oil over her legs, next. Slowly you run your hands over the outside and inside and rub them into her skin, kneading it into her. Danielle keeps her mouth firmly shut the whole time. No jokes. Nothing funny. You lean down to her, focusing on her thigh that refuses to let go. Bending down, you push into her. As you feel her tension drain, you are rewarded with another quiet hiss.

You place the oil upon her feet and work it into her soles with a finger, an instant trigger, she cackles as her foot recoils at your touch. "Sorry, that's a bit ticklish," she tells you, apologetically.

Her feet go still and she inhales deeply as you set back to your task, much to the quiet amusement of Danielle. It's the slowest you have ever worked on a client, with long, dragging strokes to make sure she really enjoys it. Each is careful, so careful, to pull and tease. "Keep working it all the way up, all the way up my legs," she orders, quietly. "Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

You agree.

You hear Danielle sigh as you move your hands slowly up her calf. So soft and firm at the same time as she breathes so gently. A trace of laughter, an easy smile. You work her in the same manner, up her thigh, as slow and relaxing as before, massaging deep and heavy. Danielle begins to roll her hips as you grip the flesh at the top of her thighs and dig in.

"Higher, please, just for me." Danielle makes a little hum to accompany the instruction. You obey, knowing where this is leading. You take the oil, and let it pour lightly onto the peak of her cheek, it threatens to roll away so you capture it in your palm, a firm squeeze of her rear, a spread of oily warmth. She shivers and pushes up her hips in silent encouragement.

Your hands trail along, smooth and oily, each touch brings more shivers. Her legs part slightly, a slow squirm of her hips. Your fingers glide on her tight, round cheeks; running across, back and forth as she breathes deep. You press deeper with each sweep and listen as her gasps become a little louder, and her body moves a little more. She bends her arm, reaching back, as you watch it shake. Her nails claw onto the side of the bed.

The more you tease her with your touch, the harder she grips and the more she parts her legs. You've known the perfection of her body, just by seeing it, but this feeling confirms it.

Your hand wanders with long, oily strokes as you glide up her back, tracing the curves of her slim back up, all the way to her neck. There, you hold her as you lean in. "You can turn over now. Let's work out your front," you say, and Dani nods in agreement.

She smiles, though she remains silent, slowly, with such care, turning onto her side, then twisting to face you, her face flush, eyes drowsy, her mouth agape. She rests upon her back, arms by her sides, legs flat against the bed, open, as you gaze into her eyes.

You apply the oil with long slow strokes down her stomach, feeling her as she flinches, watching the dimples at her waist appear then vanish with her body's twists, with every flexing of her muscles. When you trace up, her flat, beautiful chest, and slowly slide a finger beneath her small pert breast, Dani takes a deep, quick, raspy breath, then says, "They didn't lie when the reviews said you have the best hands in the world."

Your oil-covered thumbs graze upon her nipple, soft at first, gentle in pressure, but this becomes firmer, building and rising, faster. Round and round it swirls, and this delight sends Danielle's breath to hitches and sharp, shallow pants. As she squirms in delight, her legs twist, rubbing and clenching. Her teeth bite down on her lips. The flesh of her body glistens.

One hand reaches, down a thigh then back up, across her stomach and down the other. Repeated in pattern as the other thumb never ceases on her pert nipple. Dani's eyes go blank as your touch continues, circling, teasing, stroking and grabbing. Her body responds and you are delighted to witness every tremor and gasp as it arches. And finally, for the first time, a full-blooded moan rings free.

Your hand goes lower. Deeper into the pit of her thigh as she spreads her legs wide. You seek out the inevitable and when you reach her crotch, you watch her tense up. And when the touch slides between her pussy's folds, and against her clit, there's an immediate reaction, her body jumping as you make the slightest flick of motion with your middle finger. You lift and let a trail of oil roll down her slit and back down to her rear.

"I wasn't really joking before," she gasps. "You should be naked. It would make this whole experience better." Dani tilts her head, fixes her drowsy gaze onto you, and holds the stare for what feels like a hundred heartbeats. "Don't you think that's fair? The way things are going?"

You hold the eye contact and consider this, a sudden lump in your throat making any immediate reply a struggle. Her eyes don't move from yours. Even her chest barely heaves with her short, fast panting.

"Go on, I want you naked. I'm going to feel so, so empty otherwise..."

That's all it takes.

How could you deny her?

Your hands, still covered in the hot oil, reach for the buttons at your collar. You slip them in order from the top and release one after another. Danielle's lips twitch, and her teeth rake them to a shine. Your clothing drops to the floor. Bared. It feels so wrong, and unprofessional, yet Dani looks on and gapes with a hungry, dark delight.

"Nervous now?" Her eyebrow twitches up.

"Never," you bluff.

Danielle's mouth stays open wide, and her breaths get caught and flicker as your touch returns to the same spot as before. Gentle, light touches flutter with your fingertips, drawing the tips of your fingers back and forth, back and forth, over her clit. You watch as her eyes widen, how her legs straighten out and she starts to kick her feet with the faintest hint of frustration as you tease.

"I paid for a deep massage." She emphasises the adjective, dragging the syllable out like a whine. "This teasing is bad for my heart," she whispers.

Her arm rises, then reaches for your chest and trails its way downward. The pressure of her finger, nails lightly scratching at your skin, trailing down to the waistline and then she wraps her slender fingers around you. It's hard. Incredibly so.

"And I'll show you how generous I can be with a tip."

She licks her lips slowly and sensually as her eyes meet yours with a mischievous gleam.

You grunt, pressing down with your fingertip, and then without a second thought, push it inside of her. Danielle throws her head back in silent bliss.

"Holy shit," she mumbles in a muffled, muted moan. "Don't hold back." You circle inside her slowly with one finger, letting the oil's moisture guide you. Then, adding a second digit, you delve back into her, pushing in deep and making sure she can feel it all the way inside as the palm of your hand pushes against her crotch.

Dani rolls her head to one side as you work, staring you right in the eyes and biting down on her lip as she throbs and you press down inside of her, moving in all sorts of subtle directions that are impossible for her to guess. With that, she moans again and there's a little grunt from deep within her. Her fist twists around you and she gets bolder with her touch.

You build it into some sort of rhythm and she moves, each time, reacting so well with your own thrusts. When she's relaxed enough for it, you introduce another finger.

"I— You can— Go a little bit faster," she pleas. Stretched wider, Dani starts to grow even more restless. This time, instead of small, languid strokes, your whole hand works, fingers rubbing and swirling, thumb finding her clit to massage it with purpose, building, always building, until she is shuddering under you, every single time, tensing and twitching with every change in direction.

"Come on—more," she pleads, bucking up against your hand, so slick with arousal.

She's barely jerking your cock, not even intentionally, just the jolts through her body causing the occasional twist of her grip or slide of her palm. You let it just rest in the loose curl of her grip and focus on doing what she commands, twisting your hand, gripping and stroking, tugging in circles and holding inside. The quivering gets worse and worse. And her breath grows heavier.

You keep working her relentlessly, as she squeals a drawn-out curse. Dani nearly loses control. She grips you hard, tightens her fist around you in spasm, a pained wince on her face, as she curls her toes so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." It's the only thing she says, no jokes, no banter, as her eyes roll back, mouth agape as if the wind's been knocked from her, and a final, body-length spasm overtakes her. Her whole body. Back arched off the table, eyes pinched shut. It lasts for the longest time, almost impossible to sustain, you watch with an odd mix of terror and wonder. Her hair is a mess. Her naked, stretched-out limbs, glisten in the warm light.

It takes her a good half minute to fall back down, her lungs now sucking in the air as if there were none at all. One leg quivers. Her breaths slow, her eyes open again and you're holding her stare, her cheeks a faint scarlet, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

More oil. More rubbing. From tension to relaxation again. Slowly she softens and you turn her whole body limp beneath your hands. All while you barely manage to hold yourself back from ravishing her. She keeps her eyes fixed upon you, so you force a smile, ignoring the ache clenched in her fist. You could kiss those lips, right now. Taste them. How soft and smooth would she feel pressed against you? What noises would come out of her?

You'd be forgiven for letting your imagination run wild with desire, but not forgiven for taking this service in any direction that Danielle didn't command.

She watches your thoughts as they float by, and seems to be considering the same. Then she smirks, and just with a look, reassures you that it's going to happen, and it's going to happen just exactly the way she wants it.

You're working your slick hands over her midriff, and have been for a minute or two, waiting for instruction. You work slightly up her body, perilously close to taking some initiative, but then she speaks, "That was... unexpected."

"Was it? Seemed to be your plan all along."

"Planned to tease. Planned to be touched. But did not expect it to be that good." She shakes her head softly, her cheek touching her shoulder as she stares with a fuzzy, dreamy look that is impossible to decipher. She has a cute, beautiful way of pouting her lips that's fascinating, you're struck still, hypnotised by the sight and the motion. "A few more would be perfect."

"You have me booked for another hour, and the client gets what the client wants."

Dani laughs. A light, melodious chime. "I know what I want," she tells you, gently rocking her palm over your cock. "I'm incredibly hard to fully satisfy, you better get to work."

Dani releases you from her grasp, and turns back over to her front, stretching out once more and looking back at you over her shoulder, holding a stare as she parts her legs. This stare could kill a man if his heart were too weak, and though your heartbeat quickens, your mind focuses on your purpose.

Your hands glide over her oil-coated thighs, wet and glistening. Dani rests her head back down and you are unable to stop your gaze from wandering along her spine, the gentle dimple above her ass, the two tight round cheeks below and the line bisecting between them. Up over her ass, you caress, then you slip and stroke in the valley, this, she clearly enjoys, judging from how her butt rises to greet your touch, her hips rolling once more.

Lower now. Lower and lower, until once again, your finger meets her lower lips and she hisses an inwards breath and tenses. Her body is so reactive to every touch. It makes this so easy, so rewarding, so deeply arousing. You are confident you can build her up, high, and crash her down in waves, for hours, until the sun breaks.

Two fingers again, to begin, that same twist and swirl to coax her towards delirium. Her quiet huffs and suppressed moans fill the air. With a heavy push, you dive in deeper, to watch as her whole body, muscle by muscle, starts to become lost in the sensation. And when you curl your fingers down and grind the heel of your hand over her clit, Dani absolutely loses it. She bites the sheets, body tight, hands trying to grab the far edge of the bed to give something to hold onto.

Her feet kick uselessly and a series of incomprehensible phrases fill her breath and break apart on the way out of her. Though you don't quite understand them, you grasp the meaning. This is what she wants you to do right now, to see how high you can bring her.

Her whole body starts trembling again. Tingling, quivering, shivering. It's one constant shake and her moans are louder, and longer. She struggles to breathe out a scream. Sweat begins to mix in the oil, and she lets out another unintelligible mess of words as you pull away. Dani collapses back into a quivering heap, gasping for air and stretching her hands out as if reaching out to the void, reaching out, grasping for something in the dark.

She lies there, spent, breathing deep. Her entire body is hot and burning as her muscles relax. Each breath is a moan, and her thighs clamp tightly together as if the feeling of nothing after being so worked up is torturous to endure.

Your fingers are soaked in her creamy fluids, it drips down onto the bed below. Yet somehow, this isn't over. No. There's a single goal, right in the back of your mind, that's never stopped clawing. If only you could taste her. Sink your face between her firm ass cheeks and tease her with your tongue and suck and devour her, the entirety of her.

Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you could just start kissing her lower back, your nose rubbing against her tailbone, working to the left, towards her hip and tease, trailing your lips ever lower to a spot just over the peak of her butt, until she wants your tongue to dive right in.

The thought is interrupted by her blessing, "Again. Another. However you want," her words stumble upon each other, a raspy, spent quality to her. "Whatever you want."

You kneel at the very end of the bed, lean over and take her hips and you lift them up with an abrupt strength that earns her immediate interest, judging by her sudden gasp. You put her on her knees, ass in the air. Beneath it, her lips shine and spread. You're going to drown in her. You lean over, planting kisses along her body until they land right where your fingers had been, right along her soaked pussy.

The taste is so sweet. Dani whimpers as her body twitches. Your lips part her, and your tongue stretches and laps her up with an unshakeable excitement. Dani tastes amazing, like every inch of her, hot and rich and so unbelievably delicate. She is desire—concentrated and distilled into the female form. Your mouth descends, kissing every tiny spot you can reach, your lips closing, sucking the sticky warmth into your mouth. You might spend the rest of eternity here, savouring her juices.

Each rough lick gives Dani a small burst of pleasure. This is perhaps not the most elegant approach, but you wouldn't dream of stopping and so you continue, over and over, eager to return Dani to her previous, tranced bliss. So wet and sweet and smooth as velvet, your tongue flattens over her clit.

Dani cums twice like this. Ass in the air, your face in her cunt, two more delicious releases and you lap up both. They come accompanied by Dani's musical screams and moans and swearing and mumbles and complete incoherence. Every part of her body tenses. Every movement becomes forced, with less control, until every part of her, quivering and shaking, is taken by a rapture. Her throat chokes off her moans and breathy whimpers, and then she becomes lost for a time, struggling to remember to breathe, caught up in the overwhelming, and unstoppable waves.

"Enough, enough," Dani chokes out, and so you stand back, watching as she twists back into a flat position on her back again, her hips shaking with the effort. She trembles for a while longer before lying perfectly still on the table. As you gaze at her, she still appears ethereal, unattainable. She gazes up at you with lidded eyes and the drowsy content smile that rests upon her lips—she is a goddess. Even after all those body-racking orgasms, she settles into that same elegant grace that makes you question what makes her mortal.

Dani raises a hand and curls a beckoning finger, "Come here."

And you come to her, to her smile that draws you in, a moth to a flame and the moth will burn, not the flame, it will never tire, it will consume anything. She takes you in her hand, hard and throbbing under her delicate touch, and yet so helpless against it. With a pull, Dani draws you in—to consume.

She parts those pretty, pink, curled lips and then looks up into your eyes and sighs as her warm breath runs across your length. Danielle curls her tongue to the underside of your head and engulfs it. She doesn't raise her head from where it rests, instead making you clamber up to her, so you put a knee on the wooden frame and a hand next to her shoulder. The heat grows, and Dani is swirling her tongue over your tip, making you twitch and throb in her grasp, a slave to her touch.

You're pushing forward, leaning over her, as her mouth opens wide and lets you in, then, all at once, tightens. Her tongue and lips stretch around your thickness and then enclose you, sealing tight. She makes a point of looking you in the eye, holding your stare, a curl at the corner of her mouth that only further sets a tremble to your loins. She pulls, slow, agonising and without hurry, her mouth holds tight and sucks back.

You pull out of her, an inch, and she stays clamped tight and as she draws away, she uses the time to slowly slide her tongue along and around your crown and against the sensitive underside. Once Danielle has pulled right off with a wet smack, the warmth of her breath covers your cock once more. She flicks her tongue against your tip, first as a long, sweeping, lingering brush, then a rapid flick that teases.

"Dani, fuck," you groan.

"That's the idea," she whispers, right against you, her warm, panting breath driving you crazy, her own burning desire barely contained. "Get down there and do me. Right now."

Then, in one fluid movement, her hands find her legs. She grips behind her knees and pulls her thighs up and back. She spreads her legs wide, with her feet in the air.

"Fuck me. I mean it," she states firmly, fixing you with that stern gaze. Her words send a flaming arrow directly to light the most basic of your instincts.

She has presented everything to you and wants to give even more. You can think of nothing else but ploughing her into the table until your vision fades to white. It takes only seconds and you find yourself over her, between those slim legs. You put a hand on each thigh and spread her.

Cock bearing down on her leaking cunt, you lower your body until she has all of your weight on top of her. Her hips squirm under your pressure, and she drags your arm tighter around herself until she finds exactly what she's been looking for. A rub between her folds as your length slips against her, up and down.

"Mmm, yes," she giggles, "put it in, all of it."

In an almost unconscious action, you place the head of your cock against her opening. Her wetness provides no friction, and Dani uses her nails to scratch your back impatiently. Slowly you flex forward. Every inch. So warm, so fucking hot. Tighter than anything.

"Oh, yes," is all Dani has to say as her breath cuts short. You feel the intense squeeze, you have no doubt this is a step beyond the pleasure your fingers gave her, and her entire body tightens, and she pulls you in, deep and full. Her eyes grow wide and her fingers dig into you as you draw back and drive in once more.

Another moan, her pitch gets deeper, this one drawn out from her very core. You hear it right in her chest, from the depth of her lungs, before it squeals free, right into your ear. "Worth every penny." Her words are thick and drawled, hard to make out, she can't seem to decide whether she wants to open her mouth or close it and keep it shut.

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and pulls you in deeper, you push her legs higher, folding her body up and it only makes things tighter, a thrill she clearly relishes.

You roll forward, holding her close to you, giving you a better purchase with her feet held up so high. Dani groans as you bite and suck at the soft skin along her neck. Your thrusts are still slow, so damnably slow. You push, and fill, and wait. Over and over, it's a cruel torment to both of you.

"Ah, come on. Give it to me, hard," Dani says, raking nails on your neck. She turns her head. Finds your mouth. Seals her lips against yours. Teeth nibble and then her tongue penetrates your mouth. Her hips start to rise and drop. Her sex grabs at you, pleading to pound her.

So you let go of your iron self-restraint and fuck her. Fuck her good.

Your tempo grows more powerful. Her walls squeeze and pull and writhe with a desperate need. It's tight, so, so tight, the way she envelops you, the slick warmth around you. Each stroke sends a shudder through her. Another ripple follows and with it, her high, pitchy wails. Dani's never been so loud, so demanding that her pleasure be delivered.

Number five is close, you can feel her body going rigid, the quivering, twitching, curling of her toes, the growing tension, you go faster, a force building within, trying to rush her to the inevitable. Dani screams, moaning incoherently, her eyes screw tight as you throw yourself into her with such ferocity, like an animal, with no regard for pace, or rhythm. Pure, unrelenting pleasure.

She grips so hard on your shoulder, and then her other hand goes back, over her head, gripping the edge of the table in white-knuckled desperation. "I'm... cumming," Dani spits through a clenched jaw, unable to even form her tongue around the word.

Her orgasm feels more powerful this time, so much more; it flows through her and you can't help but stare. Watching the way the pink blossom blooms on her face and how the rest of her pales. One orgasm into another, you think, it's difficult to discern. You're in no rush. No race. Instead, you delight in the absolute loss of control you see in Danielle's face and you feed off it.

Her mouth forms a soundless scream and she reaches up and sinks her nails into your chest and drags them across, not breaking the skin, but hard enough to leave marks. It feels amazing. All the more so watching Danielle break herself, willingly.

"Holy shit..." Danielle pants then sucks air into her empty lungs.

Her little, flexible body, pinned beneath yours, seems incapable of even the tiniest motion, save the trembles.

Through gritted teeth, she says, "I want— I want a facial. My face. Cum."

This is the single sexiest thing she could have possibly said at that moment. For all the time you've spent watching that pretty doll-like face contort in a hundred different ways, you want nothing more than to see it coated with your lust. To paint every last bit of that sweetness on her lips, on her cheeks—everywhere. To witness that brief moment, after climax where she is confused and awash with bliss and trying to remember how to breathe, and it's interrupted by a load of your cum. You want it.

You round the table, standing over her head, lowering down and watching her eyes spark with anticipation. Danielle knows how bad you want it, how close it is, and you watch, enraptured by the way she tilts her head up and licks her lips. Her little, eager tongue.

Dani wraps her fingers around you and strokes and pumps fast, pulling, urging you to completion, teasing you to spill over her, onto those pretty, dainty features. Your skin feels alive, like static and pinpricks and pure lightning, like your nerves have come to the surface. Pent-up energy coils low, threatening to snap. You cannot resist her anymore.

It all unfurls in a glorious, explosive instant. Blinding. A shiver climbs up your spine, spreading to every limb in one long spasm. A long, raw growl in your throat as you shoot thick and hard, some on her face, and some overshooting onto her chest. Dani gasps a cute little "Oh" and then starts to giggle as the second rope lands right over her perfect little features. And then another, this time across the bridge of her nose and her cheek and down her lips. Her tongue collects whatever it can.

Dani's small hand keeps a hard grip and keeps coaxing, even as you feel like you have nothing to give, with it all painting her face, still, she jerks up and down, until you are empty, trembling and drained. Still, she goes, forcing you through painful shivers, laughing the whole time until the pain becomes too much, and your hands take hers and pull.

You prop yourself against the table, looking down at the mess you made. Dani's happily laughing to herself, licking up what she can. "You'll need to clean me again now, won't you? Sponge away all your dirty filth," she giggles.

Her giggle is intoxicating. Loving. It warms you right through. You wish you could bottle up her laughter.

"Need a minute," you grunt, and there's so much pride on her cum-strewn face.

"Aw, need time for recovery?" Dani quips. "I'll just lay here, all messy and defiled. Waiting to be tended to. Enjoy the sight of me, of your filthy cum all over my sweet, innocent face, until you get the strength to lift me. Really, don't rush, I love this feeling."

#kinktember #kpop smut #Danielle smut #newjeans smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #m reader #smut #Danielle x reader #spa #danielle marsh

1K notes · View notes