#bc everything is MEMORIZED AT THIS POINT

[welcometogrouchland]

I'm on hiatus from thinking for the next while. Discursive and analytical fandom practices I love you so so much you are in everything I do, including the silliest of headcanons and comics but FUCK I am not equipped to think about. Anything right now

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[studioboner]

..

[braisedhoney]

do you have a watercolor brand rec? 👀

i'm actually a really big proponent of using whatever's convenient for you, fr. brands vary in price depending on where you're buying them/where you live, what's available, etc. sure there are definitely differences between them, but especially when you're using professional materials it's actually more rare to pick something bad than to stumble on something serviceable.

(whoops this one got long too. under the cut it goes.)

some brands do, admittedly, do certain things better than others. sennelier (a french brand) is known to go down kind of pale/less saturated on the first wash, but they build really really well in glazes and have a luminosity to them that gives paintings a really interesting depth.

daniel smith (an american brand) has one of the largest collections of colors available i've ever seen and their earth tones are gorgeous and really unique.

QOR (not sure where they're based?) has WILDLY saturated colors that bloom so much it kind of looks like fireworks, same with roman szmal.

holbein (a japanese brand) doesn't move much in water at all and thus offers a lot of control to the user instead at the cost of more abstract or dynamic movement in water.

schmincke horadam (a german brand) was hailed as the holy grail of watercolors for a while for their fine pigments and wild dispersal, but that's kind of chilled out these days since so many new players became beloved staples, and some people aren't fans of wild blooming to begin with. in a similar vein, winsor and newton (english brand) has a very extensive history and honestly works as a super "traditional" pick with few surprises but a solid foundation—and none of that is considering the wild variations in properties between student grade paints or the many types of handmade ones that hit the market lol. some brands make great pro but weak student lines, and vice versa.

buuuuuut.

all of that is pedantic when you're starting out, and honestly if you're asking this you're probably looking to get into watercolor. at beginning or intermediate stages where you haven't gone down the fixation rabbithole, all of tha information is more likely to confuse you than help, especially if you don't know what you like or dislike about watercolor yet.

at beginning stages whatever established pro or student brand is available to you is probably good enough to build fundamental knowledge on.

my actual, legit advice is to pick a few colors you like, then if another brand has what you want get it from them. get a small set if that helps and just build with whatever you find lacking, whatever you aren't using can be replaced with something that appeals to you more. there's no need to stick to one specific brand name just because. just don't pick the super chalky ones that come in those huge art packs with the round pans, and you should be fine (and even then, i've seen some people do great art with those! i just don't like when it comes off like dust on my fingers lol.) general rule of thumb i follow is that if they have accurate pigment and lightfastness information, you're going to be fine.

art isn't really all that exclusionary when you do it for fun, it's just an environment where people started making stuff for smaller and more specific audiences to cater to preferences lol. hell, paint with coffee if you want to. life's short and painting is fun, might as well enjoy it for a while.

oh, but do use good paper. blah blah, you've probably heard it before, and trust me we're all just as horrified as you that watercolor paper is so goddamn expensive. but you could literally have The Nicest Paints In The World and they'd look terrible on bad paper that won't let you use the techniques people try to teach you. if you have to pick between good paper and mediocre paints vs bad paper and excellent paints, pick the paper. trust me.

[the-meme-monarch]

I love how weird birdie's deal is. he's just a guy. he's part of the park. he's the narrator. he's owen's bffsie. it gives central park this small spark of the magic mundane that like none of the other characters acknowledge but it makes the entire vibe so charming bc of it. i am glad to see another central park fan in the wild that brings the counter up to Two

birdie is in fact Eveything to me. literally the most specialest just some guy ever i think

[hybridkilljoys]

I know people say youre never too old to improve your art but hoh boy does it suck when burnout has made it impossible to improve as an artist as much as you wanted to in the past ten years and now im slowly accepting im going to feel like a mediocre artist forever :')

[hyprfixate]

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

read on AO3

summary: seeing chan at the genetic clinic when he told you he was too busy to hang out was one thing. noticing he was now significantly taller than he was a couple weeks ago was another.

learning he's been diagnosed with the werewolf disorder is something different entirely.

pairing: bang chan x reader

tropes: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, modern werewolf au, no transformations tho, chronically ill reader, reader has EDS (ehlers danlos syndrome), some angst, slight miscommunication trope

smut warning: masturbation (m), handjobs, blink-and-you-miss-it subby chan, voyeurism, pussy eating (x2), no actual ABO dynamics but that's not stopping Chan from calling himself Alpha, dirty talk, lots of begging, standing/wall sex, cumming inside AND cumming outside.

content warning: talks about being in pain, self deprecating talk, anxiety spirals, very brief internalized ableism, panic attack

word count: 21.6k

author's note: if you saw the three different attempts to post this, no you didn't. enjoy! <3

Chan was acting weird.

To be fair, he always acts weird. Weird might actually be his default. But this was a different type of weird– a weird that involved canceling plans last minute and making up flimsy excuses about why. 

Today, he was supposed to accompany you to your doctor's appointment. A simple, low stakes kind of hangout. You looked at your phone with a sigh.

Channie: sorry, can we do a raincheck for our hangout? not to sound like a fuckboy but something came up

Channie: i really am sorry babygirl. i'll make it up to you i promise. please tell me how it goes okay?

You let out a small huff of air. You would love to be annoyed, mad even, but at the end of the day, this is Chan, your best friend since elementary school. The guy who held you through heartbreaks and stressful semesters. The guy who memorized your ridiculously complicated Dunkin order. The guy who dropped everything to stay with you at the hospital a few months ago when things got really bad.

The guy you're secretly in love with.

Okay, maybe that was a minor and insignificant detail in the grand scheme of things. Either way, you can't be mad at Chan. 

You: don't worry channie. i'll be okay. I hope your stuff goes well ok? 

Channie: love u, good luck with your appointment, it's gonna be ok

Right. Your appointment.

You'd been having some increasingly bothersome and worrying symptoms for the better part of 2 years now. It started with a noticeable dull ache in your knees that wouldn't go away, reaching a peak now where there's not a single day you wake up pain free. The doctors were just as stumped as you were, and as sort of a last ditch effort, they sent you to a geneticist in the expensive part of the city. Thank goodness for adequate health insurance.

You were a bit nervous, which is why you asked Chan to come with you, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You've been to specialists before. 

Still, disappointment rises in your chest as you finish pulling your hair away from your face and securing it with a scrunchie before grabbing your essentials and heading out the door. You're more disappointed about the fact that he's not coming instead of what he's not coming to. You're getting a little weary and tired of the excuses and him bailing on plans. 

But then you think about the way his voice sounds when he calls you babygirl, and everything seems right again.

The trip to the geneticist office is long, and by the time you arrive, you feel the exhaustion in every joint. For such a high caliber place, it's decorated just as sterile and modern as you were expecting, with white walls and white furniture. When you go to check in, the receptionist hands you a tablet with various forms pulled up and points you to the waiting room.

You settle into one of the white waiting room chairs, balancing the iPad on your lap as you begin working through the forms. The questions start simple enough - name, date of birth, insurance information. Then they get more involved, diving into your medical history.

Have you experienced any of the following symptoms in the last six months?

The list that follows is daunting - joint pain (obviously), muscle weakness (sometimes), unexplained fatigue (who doesn't have that?), difficulty concentrating (depends on the day). You find yourself checking more boxes than you'd like.

Your mind drifts to Chan again. You wonder what was so important that he had to cancel. Usually, he at least gives you a concrete excuse, even if it's something silly like having to wash his hair or visit his parents. Today's vague "something came up" feels different. Worrying.

Before you can stop yourself, you pull out your phone.

You: this intake paperwork feels like the ending of a medication commercial

You: i’m surprised they haven't asked me if i or a loved one has been diagnosed with mesothelioma

The message stays on delivered for a while, longer than you expect. You give up on staring at your phone and turn your attention back to the paperwork.

After a ridiculous amount of questions and an even more ridiculous amount of signatures, you finish the preliminary stuff, heading back to the receptionist desk to hand her the iPad. She gives you a polite nod and smile and lets you know the nurse will be out in a second, so you can wait in the small chair by the double doors.

You're lost in thought, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when you hear the gentle sound of your name called. The sound makes you look up, tucking your phone away and grabbing your bag. A nurse stands by the double doors, clipboard in hand, wearing deep purple scrubs and a smile that somehow makes the sterile environment feel a little more human.

You push yourself up from the chair, joints starting their songs of protest after sitting still for so long. The nurse offers pleasantries that you respond to with your usual politeness. As you're walking towards the open door, you hear a beep and the whirr of an electronic lock unlocking. The closed side of the door swings open and–

There's Chan.

You both freeze mid-step, eyes wide and locked on each other like this is the first time you're seeing each other in years. It feels like it, but you did just see him last weekend at a mutual friend's birthday party. It was a fun night, but he was acting strange and dodgy then, too.

something came up.

You squint at him, not sure whether confusion or anger is winning the war in you right now. He opens his mouth once, twice– words are failing. The most he can do is let out a shaky, “Babygirl…”

You take that moment to really look at him. His hair is in its natural curly state, but significantly more messy than usual, wisps falling over and around themselves. His eyes are red and bagged heavily, and his shoulders seem like they're scrunching in on themselves. He hasn't looked like this since that night in the hospital with you.

Something is definitely wrong. 

The nurse clears her throat, and you remember you're being waited on. You motion wordlessly towards the nurse and he gives you a shaky nod.  

“I'll, um. I'll text you,” he mumbles weakly, holding the door open for you as you walk past. When you do, you can't help but look up at him, like way, way up. More than you usually do. You almost pause again– are your bone problems making you shrink, or is he somehow taller? Why does he look like that?

It's you who nods shakily this time, forcing yourself to tear your eyes away so you don't bump into a wall. It takes concentrated effort not to look back at him while you walk down the hallway, but somehow you manage.

The nurse brings you to an exam room and tells you to sit tight while she gets the vitals cart. You obey, still dazed and confused and maybe even a little hurt if you allow yourself to really feel it. Your phone buzzes less than a minute later, and you don't even have to guess who it is.

Channie: i'm so sorry.

Channie: i can explain. i promise.

Channie: i just.. i need some time before i can

Channie: im such a fucking idiot. i'm so sorry babygirl. please. 

There are a million and one responses in your head, each with varying levels of confusion or annoyance. But, among the haze, the image of his exhaustion floats back to you, and you find yourself folding.

As usual.

You: breathe, Chan. it's ok. 

You: whatever it is, we'll figure it out, yeah?

You: i do wish you told me but. it's okay. I can wait for an explanation.

Channie: you're so amazing. i don't deserve you. 

Channie: i'll call you when you get out ok? i love u

The nurse comes back with the vitals cart and begins prepping materials before you can respond properly, so you send back a heart and slip your phone into your pocket. When the blood pressure cuff tightens around your arm, you wonder if the nurse will notice how fast your heart is beating – though you're not sure if it's from anxiety or the way Chan's voice cracked when he called you babygirl.

Maybe both.

To his credit, Chan truly does make it up to you, in the form of an extended weekend away at his parents’ cabin upstate. The invitation, or request rather, comes a couple days after the geneticist incident while you're in bed feeling anxious over your test results.

Channie: picking u up thursday night, we're going to my parents’ cabin till monday

Channie: had plans?

If anyone else were to text you like that, you'd balk at their audacity. But because it's Chan, there's a growing heat in your face when you simply reply:

You: no plans. promise you won't bail?

He sends you a picture of his already packed duffel bag and backpack sitting by his door, then another picture of him and his laptop that's clearly pulled up to Google Maps. His eyebrow is raised, sinfully plump lips pulled into a smirk as he points at the screen.

Channie: give me some creditt

Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned

You giggle, feeling the perpetual knot of nerves in your chest loosen. A weekend away with Chan sounds like the perfect thing. It'll be a way to get your mind off the maybes and anxieties from your appointment, and a way to spend time with your best friend. 

A win-win.

You spend the next few days packing and gathering supplies for a weekend at the cabin, which isn't as simple a task as it sounds. Chan is adamant that you worry about nothing except getting your stuff together, so he won't tell you what he has planned or what to pack. After losing many back and forth arguments, you toss a little bit of everything in your small suitcase, leaving your backpack for entertainment and snack purposes.

Thursday creeps up slowly, then all at once. Unfortunately, you wake up to deep pain in almost all of your joints– even your fingers seem to be screaming with every movement. Getting ready takes longer than you want, but you push through, and it isn't long before you're sitting on your living room couch, waiting for Chan to let you know to come out. It was a wonder what large amounts of Ibuprofen could do.

You hear the familiar puttering of his engine before his text even comes through, the soft ding of your phone cutting through your apartment.

Channie: i'm here babygirl

Channie: coming up to help w ur bags 

A warm flutter runs through your chest at his thoughtfulness. You're not sure you'll ever really get used to it. 

You push yourself up from the couch, breath hitching when the movement causes a dull ache to radiate down the length of your legs. You pause, gripping the arm of the couch and squeezing your eyes shut for a moment.

It's fine, you reason with yourself. It's not that bad. You're fine.

You're thankful that you had the foresight to pack a suitcase instead of a duffle, at least this way you'll have something to bear your weight on while you walk.

Your jacket is slipped over one shoulder when you hear the buzz from your doorbell. Chan's smiling face greets you when you open the door, looking both insanely handsome and–

“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”

He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest, which is somewhat concealed by the oversized sweater he's wearing. You want to scold him for such a light outer layer in the bitter late autumn, but your words get stuck in your throat as you find yourself tilting your head up further than usual to look at him.

And then you give yourself the pleasure of really looking at him.

His hair is its usual wispy, beautiful mess. He cards his fingers through it as he looks at you, smiling as though about to say something, when suddenly his smile drops, his eyebrows furrowed as he stands up straight.

“You're in pain.”

It’s not a question.  He's providing the information to you as fact. You blink in surprise.

“Yes, I am, but how did you–”

"I can–” He cuts himself off, looking uncertain for a moment before shaking his head. "I just know you, babygirl. You're not putting much weight on your left leg, anyway."

Hm. He caught you there.

“How bad is it?”

You finish shrugging on your jacket. “Um, maybe six out of ten. But I took medicine, I should be– Are you sweating?”

It's a stupid question, because he is, and you don't need a verbal response to confirm it. Sweat is beating at his temples and dampening his hair. Something flickers across his face, but then his expression is back to normal again. 

You watch him flip through a million different responses in his mind, but before he settles on one, he spots your bags next to the door and goes to grab them, slinging your backpack over his shoulder with profound ease. He's moving so fast and he's so jittery that you barely get a second to process everything.

“Chan,” you finally say when he whizzes past you again to put your remote back in the organizer. He pauses, back stiffening like he's a little kid again about to be scolded. He turns to you slowly. “Are you okay?”

You watch him take a deep, shuddering breath, his entire body seeming to expand and contract. The unnatural stiffness in his body seems like he's forcing himself to stay still, and you see his finger drumming patterns on his thigh.

You repeat his name, softer this time. “What's wrong?”

He shakes his head a bit too fast. “No, nothing, I–” He runs his fingers through his hair, pausing to grip the roots to ground himself to this moment. It works for a second. “I'm… okay. I can explain everything later babygirl, I just… I really just want to focus on spending time with you.”

There's a raw edge to his voice that makes your chest tighten. You study his face, taking in the exhaustion, the sheen from sweat, the way his eyes won't meet yours. Every instinct screams that something is wrong, but…

“Okay,” you relent with a sigh. It should be embarrassing how easily you fold for him. It should maybe even be studied. “But you promise that you'll explain?”

He deflates, eyes brightening with relief. “I promise. Chris-Cross my heart.” He punctuates his sentence by putting his hand over his chest.

You can't help the smile that takes over your face at that– the reference to the silly rhyme you'd made up when you were kids based on his English name. A bit of the anxiety in your chest loosens. “Now let's go before the traffic gets unbearable.”

You grab your keys and headphones, giving your apartment one last glance over before following Chan out of the door. By the time you finish locking up, he's already halfway to the elevator, his abnormally long legs quickening his pace. As you try to catch up with him, you can't help but notice his stature– how his shoulders seem broad under his sweater, how he just seems… more.

The elevator ride to the parking garage under your apartment building is quiet, but not uncomfortably. Chan is humming something under his breath, his increasingly restless fingers tapping out the rhythm on his leg. Despite all of it, you feel relaxed. No matter what's going on, this is still your Chan, your person. 

He tosses your bags into his trunk with an ease that perks your entire body to attention. When you go to pull open the passenger door, he beats you to it, adding a dramatic flourish as he holds it open for you.

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

In the passenger's seat is a small pink box with a label from your favorite bakery, alongside a nice variety of drinks in the cupholder. He's got a pair of fluffy slippers on the mat by your feet, too, and you can see on the dashboard he's turned the seat warmers on.

“Chan,” you breathe. Your heart is doing strange things in your chest, and you're either feeling extremely touched or about to pass out. “You didn't have to–”

“I wanted to.” You turn to look at him, and he's looking away, scratching the hair at the base of his neck. “Felt like an ass, you know, being so distant and weird. Needed to make it up to you.”

It's entirely unfair that he can just… say those things to you. He's your best friend, so of course he's affectionate– that's just how he's been since you met in third grade. What started with bringing extra GoGurts and tying your shoes when you broke your wrist has just now turned into spoiling you with cabin vacations and things you mention offhandedly that you like. 

No biggie.

He nudges you in the car playfully, making some lighthearted joke about him getting too soft on you. You can barely hear him over the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears, choosing instead to follow his movements in the rear view mirror. You watch as he pauses by the trunk, carding a hand through his hair and taking a big breath, before eventually making his way over to the driver's seat. He tosses his phone to you, effectively putting you on music duty, and then you're on the road in a matter of minutes.

Time with Chan is always easy. You talk about any and everything for the first hour of the drive, including his job, your lack thereof, and your appointment, and he listens to every detail carefully. 

“So, they think it's a collagen issue?”

You nod, wiggling your feet in your new slippers as you shift your position. “They aren't entirely sure, but they're looking at collagen based connective tissue disorders, like Ehlers Danlos and Lupus. They think that could explain the other issues too.”

He looks contemplative as he peers around you to the mirror by your door, trying to merge into the next lane. “Are you scared?”

You shrug, body moving with the car. “Its.. complicated. On the one hand, it would be scary to receive a life changing diagnosis. On the other hand–”

“You're just happy to have answers.”

You nod again, taking a sip of the caramel latte he bought for you and wincing as you shift again. Long drives are always hard, but paired with the changes in the pressure as the two of you drive further into the mountains, your joints feel like they might disintegrate.

“Scale of one to ten?”

You blink. Chan hadn't taken his eyes off the road, so how could he have seen you shifting? You open your mouth, prepared to lie, but he glances at you with a single eyebrow raised. You sigh.

“Maybe a six,” you breathe.

“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”

“It did, it's just wearing off.”

You put the latte back in the cup holder, using your hands to bear your weight as you try to find a comfy position to sit in. 

“What do you need, babygirl?”

You fight the shiver his voice sends down your spine. “Nothing. Well– I don't know. Maybe a nap? Is that okay?”

“‘Course it is. Here.”

With sinfully dexterous fingers, he reaches across your lap to recline your seat for you. You let him, body going still as his strong forearm helps ease you back with the chair. When you're comfortable, he reaches behind him to the floor of the backseat, fishing around until he produces–

“Is that your couch blanket?”

His answering grin is soft. “The one you've been threatening to steal? Yeah. Maybe.”

He drapes it over you skillfully, with you having to do very minimal adjusting. The familiar, homey smell of his apartment– warmth and something else very distinctly Chan – floods your senses and wraps you in the warmest hug. It feels like coming home.

You adjust yourself again, sleep wanting to come now that you're cozy, but the dull ache in your legs doesn't want to let go. Without warning, Chan's free hand slips under the blanket and finds the knee of the leg that hurts with amazing accuracy. His hand feels blazing hot through the fabric of your sweats as he rubs his thumb in soothing circles. 

“This okay, yeah?” he asks, his low voice a soothing sound to your ears. Words are caught in your throat, so you can only nod, but you don't miss how the pain starts to dissolve by his touch. You also try very hard not to think about how big his hand is on your knee.

“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”

The combination of his gentle touch, the music, and the smell of his blanket is making your eyelids heavy. As you finally drift off, a contented smile pulls at your mouth because no matter what, this is where you're meant to be. 

This is home.

Chan wakes you up about half an hour before you're expected to arrive. However, paired with delays, the pitch blackness of the mountains, and the general unrestrainedness of Murphy's Law, you were only now getting to the cabin at just past 1am. 

The cabin is beautiful, as always. It's nestled amidst a thick grove of evergreen trees, and its tall, warm wood exterior seems inviting even at the ungodly hour you two arrive. As he swings the car onto the gravel driveway, the headlights illuminate it, like it’s a secret just for the two of you.

“Cabin sweet cabin,” he murmurs as he kills the engine. He picks his phone up from the cup holder and gives it a few flicks, then suddenly the porch lights come on. You give a little stretch in your seat, your joints feeling pleasantly loose and mostly pain free– the nap worked wonders. 

The two of you pile out of the car, the fresh mountain air filling your nostrils. It smells like pine needles and freshwater, with an undercurrent of something wild and electric, like the air before a storm.

“Is it supposed to rain?”

Chan barely hears you, his antsyness now back full force. He's got both of your backpacks and his duffle bag slung over his shoulders, and he goes to grab your suitcase, but you appear by his side and pull it away from him. He blinks down at you, seeming surprised to see you there.

You tilt your head to the side. He still looks sweaty, and from where you're standing, it still seems like he's radiating an insane amount of heat. His breaths are labored, and you find yourself reaching over to rub your thumb over his hand. However, once your hands connect, he jumps and pulls away like you've shocked him.

At your hurt face, he tries to backtrack. “Static,” he supplies weakly. You say nothing, and the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Come on, let's get you out of the cold.”

You try not to jump to conclusions. At the end of the day, if something is really bothering him, if something is really wrong, Chan will tell you. He has always been the brooding type, but there is but so long he can keep things from you.

Still, no matter how much you try to take things at his pace, you keep seeing his face at the clinic: the deep bags under his eyes, the messy hair. The last time you looked into those eyes and saw that same pain, you were in a hospital bed hooked up to more monitors than you could count.

Chan had been brooding then too, refusing to leave your side, asking the doctors all the right questions, keeping your parents up to date when they had to go back home. You remember one night in particular, when you were chalk full of pain meds and falling asleep under the whirr of an oxygen mask, he'd stood at your bedside and rubbed his thumb over your forehead to soothe you. You couldn't speak, too exhausted and in pain to move in any capacity, but you didn't need to. He spoke to you the entire time about everything and nothing, switching his  murmuring to quiet comforts when you started to cry. Just before sleep took you under, you met his eyes– his exhausted, red rimmed eyes– and he gave you the softest, most tender look.

“We'll get through it, babygirl,” he had murmured. “You're gonna be okay. You'll come home.”

You did come home, of course, but that's when things became different. Chan was distant, constantly canceling plans, avoiding you.

You shake the memory from your head as you watch him fiddle with his keys in the lock. This weekend was meant to be about the two of you having fun. You could worry about everything else later.

Chan flicks on the overhead light in the living room area and the room floods with warmth. Everything looks just as familiar and homey as you recall.

Before you can take a good breath, he's got your bags and suitcase and is bounding up the stairs with them like they weigh nothing. You choose to busy yourself with getting comfortable, peeling off your coat and hanging it on the nearby hook.

You're tugging your hair back into a ponytail when he comes back down, and when you look up and spot him the scrunchie flies across the room.

He's taken off his hoodie, leaving him in a fitted white tee that does nothing to hide just how different his body looks. It's no secret that Chan works out, but he fills out this shirt like it was painted on him. You quickly pull your spare scrunchie from the other wrist to tie up your hair, trying not to dwell.

"Do you want me to put these in the kitchen?" you call out, holding up the bag of road trip leftovers.

"Yeah, just–" his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "Just throw them on the counter. I'll organize everything later."

You pad into the kitchen, bare feet silent on the wooden floors. Everything is exactly as you remember it – the mismatched mugs in the cabinet, the worn wooden spoons in the ceramic holder, the string lights Chan installed last summer that give everything a soft glow. If you close your eyes, you could almost pretend nothing has changed.

Almost.

You find, unsurprisingly, that the cabinets and fridge are stocked full. Chan's parents likely came out to pack up some groceries when he told them you'd be coming. You find yourself leaning against an open cabinet, staring into space, your mind a million miles away.

"You okay, babygirl?”

You jump slightly – you hadn't heard him come up behind you. He's standing in the doorway of the kitchen, running his hands through his hair again, that restless energy still evident in every movement.

"Yeah, just..." you gesture vaguely around you. "Memories, you know?"

His expression softens, and for a moment he looks exactly like your Chan again. "Yeah, I know."

The moment stretches between you, comfortable and familiar, until your stomach decides to break it with an embarrassingly loud growl. Chan's laugh is startled but genuine.

"I don't remember that.” He jokes. “Hungry?"

You feel your cheeks heat. "Yeah, I think so.”

He starts rolling his sleeves up. “I could probably make some eggs and toast, if–.”

“It's one in the morning,” you scold him gently. “Nobody is cooking.”

He gives you a pout, which is comical considering his current stature, but you still feel a tug in your chest. “But–”

You shake your head, turning away from him so you don't relent. “No buts. We have tons of snacks. Help me find something.”

At your request, the two of you rummage through the drawers and cupboards. Everything either requires too much effort or won't agree with your stomach at this ridiculous hour. You're ready to call it quits and sleep for dinner when a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“Oh, can I have one of your protein bars? You always buy the good kind.”

His smile is soft, dimples catching the light in a way that makes his entire face seem like a dream. “Of course. They're in my backpack, next to the couch.”

You slide your way to his bag with an excited pep in your step. Chan, being who he is, always buys the amazingly expensive protein bars that manage not to taste like chalky disappointment. They're surprisingly filling, and you know they'll settle your stomach without causing a stomach ache.

You find his bag quickly in the low light of the room, squatting down to rifle through it. With your hand in the front pocket, you dig around until your fingers find something that feels like the protein bar box. In your hungry haze, you yank it out without thinking.

It is not the protein bar box.

Instead, it's a thick packet of paper. You go to put it back when the letter head of the genetic clinic you visited catches your eye, along with the words “After-Visit Summary”.

Maybe if your heart wasn't thrumming in your ears, you would've heard his panicked footsteps coming after you. But the only thing in your ears is the erratic beating of your heart, one that only gets worse when you turn the packet over and read the small words on the margin:

You were seen today for: Hormonal Changes. The following issues were addressed: Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome (Werewolf Gene).

You hear your name through the roaring in your ears. It's a soft, tentative sound that cracks around the edges. You turn, slowly, to see Chan almost right behind you, his face drained of all color and his eyes blown wide.

“Chan,” you breathe. You turn a bit more towards him, the packet still gripped in your hand. “What–”

"I can explain," he says quickly, desperately. His hands are shaking. "I was going to tell you, I swear, I just– I needed time to–”

He trails off, looking around the room as though looking for someone to help him.

Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.

You came across this condition when you were researching the clinic, as they mentioned that they were the only place in the area that had the facilities to test for it. It was, as the paper put it, the werewolf gene. People with the condition experienced heightened senses of smell, increased strength, sensory sensitivities– they were werewolves, just without the whole full moon transformation thing.

To say the condition was rare was an understatement. Both parents had to be carriers for the trait, and even then it only occurred in 25% of those births.

And Chan happened to be one of them.

Everything clicks into place now. The sudden growth spurt, the feverishly hot skin, how he knows when you're in pain without you saying a word.

“This is why you were at the clinic,” you say softly. It's not a question.

He nods jerkily, still looking like he might bolt at any second. You stand up to take a step toward him and he actually backs away.

“Don't,” he breathes. “I'm… I don't want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” You almost laugh. “Chan, you're not going to hurt me. How could you think that?”

“No, you don't understand,” he cards his hands through his hair, pausing to tug on the roots. “I can't… I don't know how to control myself yet. I'm different now, I'm–”

“Still Chan.”

The sound he makes is painful. “You can't say that,” he breathes. His hands drop to his sides again. “You don't know what it's like.”

“So tell me," you urge. You move as though you're about to take another step towards him, and your heart drops at how his entire body flinches. “Chan. Chris. Christopher. Look at me please.”

The use of his full name does something to him, and you watch as he settles, eyes drifting over to you slowly. His gaze is intense, and in the dim light of the living room, you feel akin to a deer staring down a wolf, no pun intended. 

It does not frighten you the way it should.

“Talk to me, please,” you beg. “You're my best friend. I'm here for you, always.”

“I can smell when you're in pain,” he grits out. It's not what you're expecting to hear. He clenches a hand into a fist, then lets it go. “You usually smell sweet, like caramel and linen. But then your scent gets an undercurrent of something harsh, like burnt sugar and metal, and I… I feel like–”

He lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he cuts himself off. “I can't control my strength. I've broken so much shit around the apartment. Don't wanna touch you. Don't wanna break you.”

“You won't hurt me.” You take the opportunity to get closer, but he must smell the closing distance because his eyes fly open. You're in front of him before he can move. “Do you know why?”

Chan's breaths are ragged and labored. “Why?”

“Because you're still my Chan. Still the guy who's been taking care of me since elementary school. Still the person I trust most in the world."

His breath hitches. "How can you say that? How can you just... accept this?"

You can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Chan, I'm literally at the same genetic clinic getting tested for a collagen disorder. Did you think I wouldn't understand what it's like to have your body change in ways you can't control?"

That seems to catch him off guard. He turns away, a frown tugging at his lips. "That's... that's different.”

“Is it though?” You pretend to be thoughtful. “Last I checked, it's like both of our bodies are changing in ways we don't understand. Like we both have to navigate a new normal.”

"That's exactly why I–" he cuts himself off, running both hands through his hair. "I can't risk hurting you. Not when you're already..."

"Already what?" You challenge, taking one final step. You're close enough now that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly. "Already broken?”

His face twists up like you've punched him in the stomach. “No! God, no. When you're already going through so much.”

“A lot of what I'm going through is a waiting game, Chan– waiting for test results, waiting for appointments at specialists. You don't have to keep things from me because of that.”

You poke him in his side, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, this? Finding out you're a werewolf–”

“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”

“-- This is the kind of stuff that keeps me grounded. Having other things to think about. Having you around.”

You watch the tension slowly bleed from his shoulders, almost as though he's deflating. There's obviously more he isn't telling you– you can see it in the way his eyes still can't seem to meet yours– but you don't push it. He's already said so much.

“So,” you start. You rock back and forth on your feet. “Can I make werewolf puns now?”

He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you pawsitive?”

He groans at that, a smile pulling at his lips despite himself. “You're the worst. I'm gonna leave you here and go home.”

But he's laughing anyway, his usual giggle that makes everything seem like it'll be alright. You beam at him. and your body lights aflame when he smiles back down at you softly. The two of you hold eye contact for a second, and you watch something untraceable flash in his eyes. Before you can even process it, he's looking away again and clearing his throat.

Another silence falls between you, but this one is different. Chan is fidgeting again, his fingers drumming against his thigh in that restless way you've noticed all evening. He's looking everywhere but at you, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"What is it?" you ask softly.

He opens his mouth once. Twice. Three times– words seem to be failing him again. You raise an eyebrow and he sighs, a sheepish smile on his big stupidly handsome face.

"Can we..." he starts, then stops. Starts again. "Would it be okay if we... like we used to..."

You wait patiently as he struggles with the words. His ears are turning red again.

"Can we share my bed?" he finally gets out in a rush. "Like– like when we were kids? Just for tonight. I just... I haven't been sleeping well since everything started and I… um…”

Your brain short circuits as the request processes.

Share… a bed. With Chan. Taller, wider, more muscular Chan. Chan whose body heat seeps through every layer of clothing. Chan whose one hand can cover your knee easily. 

From the way your body reacts, your knee jerk reaction is to say no. He's already going through enough, and Lord knows what types of degenerate scent you'd be giving off if you spent an entire night with him.

But when you open your mouth to decline, you notice how he's standing, with his shoulders curved inward, trying to make himself smaller. His big brown eyes are pleading, almost desperate, and you think about how scared he was earlier, how convinced he was that you'd reject him once you knew the truth.

Fuck it.

“Of course, Channie.”

The smile on his face is nervous, like he expects you to change your mind any second. “Yeah?”

You nod, ignoring the way your brain tries to supply you with images of everything you want to have happen. "Yeah. Just... let me get changed first?"

He nods quickly, that restless energy back but different now – excited rather than anxious. "Yeah! Yes. Your stuff is in your room, yeah? I'll be in mine when you're ready."

He's bounding up the stairs before you can say anything. You take the moment alone to take a deep breath. You can do this. It's just Chan. Just your best friend.

When you reach your room, you duck into the attached bathroom to change quickly, opting for the full top and bottom PJ set rather than the oversized hoodie you were originally going to wear. You stare at your reflection, willing yourself to calm down and look normal.

Sharing a bed with Chan is not a new concept. When you'd first gotten close in grade school, the two of you tended to hop from house to house, sleeping wherever without a care in the world. The habit continued as you grew up– in college during study sessions, during movie marathons on school breaks, that one time a few months ago when you'd gotten terribly drunk at your friend Jeongin's birthday party. It had never been anything more than two friends seeking each other's comfort.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again, face flushed and breathing ragged. You force yourself to calm down– if Chan could smell when you were in pain, he could probably smell the indecency coming off of you in waves. 

Everything is fine.

When you reach the doorway of the master bedroom, Chan is already in bed scrolling on his phone. You watch his nostrils flare for a second, eyes fluttering shut as he puts his phone on the night stand.

The king sized bed looks both too big and too small.

When he opens his eyes, he looks surprised to see you. and you watch red start to tint his neck. “Um. Hey,” he breathes.

You hover in the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between you. "Hey."

Chan shifts, pulling back the covers on what has always been 'your' side of the bed “Um. Do you want... I mean, we usually..." He trails off, looking everywhere but directly at you.

You take the initiative and move towards the bed, sliding down under the covers until they reach just under your chin. Chan shuffles next to you, scooting this way and that, flipping like a hot dog on a stick. You both settle on your back eventually, staring up at the ceiling.

“This is weird,” he says after a few minutes of strained silence.

“Not weird,” you supply. “Just… different.”

“Different…,” he murmurs. “Different because I'm different?”

You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”

He's sliding out from under the covers before you can finish. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have– this was dumb to ask.” You ignore the way your heart drops. “I'll go sleep in the other room. Or on the couch. Or–”

You grab at his wrist before he can go anywhere. He doesn't jerk away this time, but his entire body goes rigid. You rub your thumb along the pulse point on his wrist.

“You don't have to leave,” you say slowly. “It’s not weird because you're different. It's weird because we're both over thinking it.”

He lets out a little breath. “We are, aren't we?”

"Yeah." You squeeze his wrist once before letting go. He settles back down into the bed, still looking a bit uncomfortable, but not ready to run anymore. 

You smile at him before holding open the cocoon you made in the blanket. "Come here, you big baby."

"I resent that," he grumbles, but there's a smile tugging at his lips.

It takes some maneuvering to find a comfortable position. Chan is hesitant at first, careful not to crowd you, but eventually you manage to guide him until his head is tucked under your chin, his arm draped carefully over your middle. His body curls around yours despite the size difference, like he's trying to make himself smaller again. When he finally settles, it feels like every part of him is contoured to fit you perfectly.

You ignore the heat in your stomach.

The silence that settles around you is comfortable now, broken only by your breathing beginning to sync up. His body weight is grounding, and the heat he's radiating feels like the world's best heating pad. 

You're just beginning to doze off when Chan makes a low, displeased grunt in the back of his throat. You can feel his eyebrows scrunch together where he's pressed against your collarbone.

“Your hip,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

He shifts in your hold, maneuvering you until his other hand can slide under your body to wrap around you. “Your hip hurts. Or it's about to start.”

Sleepiness has made you a pliant, barely conscious little thing. You're about to ask how he can tell when his big, warm hand presses against your hip, heat radiating through the fabric until it settles deep into your bones. You can't help but let out a little whimper from the immediate relief it gives you.

Chan makes another sound in his throat, grip increasing on you almost infinitesimally. 

“This good, babygirl?”

“Mmf.”

The warmth and relaxation is muddling your brain. “S'good, Channie.”

He makes a more pleased sound and nuzzles closer. Sleep takes you quickly after that, and all you can think about as you finally succumb is how lucky you are to have him here with you. You'd love to say as much, but you're too tired to open your mouth, so you give him the tiniest of squeezes, hoping he understands.

From the way his arm tightens around you, you think he does.

Things seem less charged in the morning.

You wake up to sunlight glittering through the curtains and the other side of the bed empty. The sheets are still warm, but given what you've come to learn about Chan and his temperature, he could've left the bed anywhere from three seconds to four hours ago.

You stretch a little bit as you try to wake up fully, heading to the other bedroom to freshen up for the day. It seems like an okay day pain-wise. You're at a steady three out of ten everywhere except your hands, but you brush it off. With the way you sleep, your hands take longer to catch up to the lower pain levels in the rest of your body. It's just a matter of time. 

Still, you run them under warm water in the bathroom, hoping to loosen them up.

When you finally emerge, you follow the mouthwatering scent of cooking down the stairs and into the kitchen. After a nonexistent dinner, you're starved, and you could really go for some food right now.

You pause in the archway of the kitchen.

Food is… an understatement.

Chan stands at the stove, spatula in hand and preparing to flip what looks like an omelette. All around him on the counters are various other breakfast foods: scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, hashbrowns, fruit–

“When did you have time to make a sourdough starter?”

He startles slightly, turning to face you with a sheepish smile. “Ah… good morning, babygirl. I may have.. gone a bit overboard.”

“A bit?” You slide into a seat at the edge of the kitchen island in the one spot where there's no food. “If you were planning to invite the woodland creatures you could've given me a heads up, I'd be decent.”

The responding huff makes you smile. “I cannot communicate with animals. Weirdo.” Chan grins. He folds the omelette in half and flips it over. “I just… I got hungry.”

You sneak a piece of bacon off of a nearby plate and snort. “‘Hungry’ seems like a gross understatement. Is this a side effect?”

Chan's ears turn pink as he plates the omelette. "Yeah, actually. My metabolism is... different now. Food tastes different too– more intense." He starts moving dishes to the kitchen island, careful not to overcrowd your space. "Everything is more intense, really."

"Like what?"

He hums thoughtfully as he settles into the chair next to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. "Smells are the biggest thing. Like, I can smell everything. The coffee brewing, the bacon grease in the air, the rain that's coming later–"

"It's going to rain?"

"Yeah, probably this afternoon." He passes you a fork and a plate you never noticed him constructing. "I can smell it in the air. What’s the word? Petrichor, but... before the rain actually falls? If that makes sense.”

You hum around a fork full of eggs, cracking the fingers on your free hand. “That sounds like it can get miserable. Is everything just… enhanced all the time?”

He takes a bite out of a chunk of toast, making a so-so motion with his hand. “It's enhanced all the time, but the way it is right now, the intensity, that’s only sometimes. Only during–”

He cuts himself off, swallowing his bite of toast with more power than necessary. 

“During the full moon?” You supply.

He nods quickly. “Yeah.”

There's a lull in the conversation that you try not to read into. It doesn't take much effort anyway, because you notice that eating is taking more effort than it was a few minutes ago. Your grip on the fork is weird, and you can't seem to close your fingers all the way around it.

That's fine, you think to yourself. You switch hands. Everything is fine.

You try not to let the revelation sour your mood. Chan mentioned it was going to rain, and while your doctors didn't know why you were in pain, they knew what kinds of things made it worse, and the air pressure changes from rain was one of them. This was just something you had to learn to deal with now.

Resentment for your condition rises in your chest with the little bit you've eaten, and you take a sip of apple juice to swallow it down. It's not fair. People your age were doing things like mountain climbing, running marathons, just living. And here you were, struggling to feed yourself and hold a fork.

It's fine.

A hand on your shoulder pierces through the dense clouds shrouding your mind, and you feel yourself startle a little. Chan is facing you, leaning his impossibly tall torso down to look you right in your eyes. His gaze is intense, gold flecks in his eyes swimming around as he stares.

“What hurts,” he breathes. The sound of his voice is light as a feather, floating through the air before coming to rest gently on your lips. 

“My hands.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

You think about saying your number, but upon remembering how nice and easy conversation was this morning, you decide to lie. “Four.”

The look in Chan’s eyes grows more intense, and you swallow around nothing. He levels you with a very unimpressed look, eyebrows creasing and his plushy, pink lips frowning. He only says two words, but they send a ripple through your body anyway:

“Try again.”

Fuck. You're giving yourself whiplash. Jumping from frustration to stark arousal was an Olympics level move your brain wasn't prepared for. There's a different kind of haze clouding your mind now.

“It's a seven,” you breathe. 

He's up on his feet before you can fully compose yourself, long legs taking him up the stairs and bringing him back down in a matter of seconds. When he sits down again, he's holding your decorative medication pouch and a mini water bottle from your backpack.

You gulp at the way the veins in his arm bulge.

“Which bottle is it?”

You come back to yourself, licking your incredibly dry lips before you respond. It takes a blink or two before you can orient yourself in the present. “Um, red bottle. The tall one.”

He places the bottle and water in front of you in a gentle way that contrasts the energy in the room. You fumble with the child proofing for a second before he plucks the bottle from you, undoing the lid with one hand.

Wow. Fuck.

"Thanks," you mumble, accepting the pills he tips into your palm. His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck as you swallow them, and you try not to shiver at the contact.

“Do you need a nap while the pills work?”

You pout, finally coming back to your good senses. “We're supposed to have a movie marathon today.”

“I didn't realize the TV had a flight to catch?”

You glare at him, albeit thankful for the teasing sarcasm to loosen the tension. “You're not funny.”

Chan's lips pull into a smirk and he gives a little shrug. “I think I am.”

You roll your eyes at him as he stands, coming over to you and easing you out of your seat. He gives a little ‘tsk’ at your faux attitude, but his hands are back on your shoulders, guiding you towards the couch. When you finally do lay down, he's already throwing his signature couch blanket over you, tucking it around you securely.

“Comfy?”

You are, but you've also realized he's tricked you into a nap, so you do the adult thing and mock him before sticking your tongue out at him.

“Wow,” he murmurs. He slides down the couch and onto the floor. “I haven't seen that routine since 4th grade.”

You watch as he adjusts his legs a few times, his head resting against the armrest right by your fingers. It’s unspoken, but you know that he'll stay until he's sure you're asleep. 

"You don't have to sit on the floor," you murmur. "There's plenty of room up here."

He shakes his head. "Nah. I'm good here.”

You watch his side profile for a minute, basking in all of his Chan-ness. He settles in a bit more and lets his eyes flutter closed. When he does, he leans his head back a little more, and you watch the delicate bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. 

“Chan?” Your mouth is moving before you know it. 

“Hm?”

“Were you scared? When you… got the diagnosis?”

His eyes open at that, and he turns his head so he can look at you. The intensity from earlier is gone, replaced by that familiar warmth that only he has.

There's a beat of silence where all Chan does is stare, almost as if seeing you for the first time. It passes, though, and then he goes back to his previous position, eyes closed again as he speaks. “No,” he says finally. “I wasn't scared. The only thing I thought about was you.”

“Me?”

He nods against the couch. “They kept talking about what it meant and all of that, and all I could think about was how on earth I was going to tell you.”

You reach a hand over and start rubbing at his scalp in the familiar way you've always done. “And yet,” you tease gently. “I had to accidentally find the papers.”

He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, leaning into your hand. “That wasn't the plan,” he murmurs. “Was supposed to tell you properly.”

You stay quiet, continuing to play with his hair. The quiet domesticity is comforting, and you find your eyes fluttering closed too. 

You move your fingers through his hair in nonsensical patterns and shapes, occasionally letting your nails graze his scalp. His breathing evens out eventually--he's not sleeping, no, just content and peaceful. You're a different story, though, and medication induced drowsiness starts flowing its way through your body.

Your movements grow slower and uncoordinated, hand drifting lower, and lower, until eventually your fingers trail to the nape of his neck. When you drag your nails across the sensitive skin there, Chan makes a sound that shoots straight through you and straight to your core– something between a pleased hum and a growl that vibrates through his entire body.

Both of you freeze. Your heart starts doing gymnastics in your chest while the sound echoes in your ears, making your body grow hot. Beneath you, Chan is rigid, like every muscle has been pulled taut.

The room is entirely still for a second. Then, he clears his throat a little, shifting himself so you have better access. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Keep going. Feels nice.”

You force your fingers to move again, continuing their exploration and tracing the curls on Chan's head. 

You repeat your mantra in your mind:

Everything is fine.

The moment passes like a summer storm– intense and fleeting– and soon Chan is relaxed again, practically melting under your touch. You're actively fighting sleep now but you're realizing it's a losing battle. Your movements become slower, less deliberate, until your hand is simply resting in his hair.

"Sleep, babygirl," he murmurs, voice thick and honeyed. "I got you.”

So you do.

When you wake up a bit later, you find yourself, sadly, alone.

In place of Chan's thick curls is the cold rectangular slab that is your cell phone. You squint at it sleepily, not remembering bringing it down with you for breakfast or having it on the couch. You flick through the unlock process, and when your phone opens, it's on the notes app.

Hi babygirl. If you're reading this, I went to the store. We don't have any vegetables. I'll try to be quick. - Channie

You wipe sleep from your eyes as you sit up, trying to orient yourself in your surroundings. You hear the steady whooshing of the rain outside and carefully flex all of your joints. You're content to find that you're at a steady three out of ten everywhere.

You settle back into the couch cushions, pulling the blanket around you tighter. It's not scary to be by yourself, especially not in the cabin,  but Chan's presence is definitely missed. You decide to fill the silence with television, something low stakes and stupid that you can listen to while you scroll on your phone.

However, the microscopic roku remote has decided to go missing, and after digging through the couch cushions twice, you sit back with a huff. You suppose your phone will do for now.

You open YouTube with the intent to watch one of your favorite Let's Play videos, but as you scroll through your homepage, something catches your eye. The title makes you pause:

Q&A: Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome (aka The Werewolf Gene)

The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.

The video was posted a little over a month ago and has a substantial amount of views and comments. The creator themselves has well over 100k subscribers. It looks perfectly legit. Before you can overcomplicate it and talk yourself out of it, you press play.

“Hi everyone!” The guy on the video has a soft, smiling face, accented by round, thin-rimmed glasses. “Welcome or welcome back to my channel. If you're new here, I'm Seungmin, and I have GLS, which stands for Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome. Or, to put it simply, I have the werewolf gene.”

You are immediately invested.

“I set up a question box on Instagram a couple days ago, and you guys really went to town.” Seungmin chuckles. “So I'll answer a few of those in this video.”

The first few questions are simple enough– what made him suspect he had it, the diagnostic process, how his family reacted. He answers every question thoughtfully and thoroughly in a way that makes you learn more than you thought you needed to.

You're writing down the fact that people with GLS tend to need more red meat than dark meat in their diet when he starts reading out the next question. 

“@jutdae asks, ‘how does the enhanced sense thing not drive you crazy?’” Seungmin lets out a little laugh. “So, the sense thing is kind of tricky for non-GLS people to understand. On a regular day, it might be enhanced, but maybe only 50% better than most people. The real issue is when rut or heat cycles start.”

You drop your phone, cursing when it slips right into the couch cushions.

“During a rut–” Seungmin's muffled voice continues as you fish around for your phone. “-- it's probably around 150% better. And our body temperature will skyrocket, like a constant fever type. The extra sensory input can cause a lot of restless energy too, so we're always feeling like we want to crawl out of our skin. Thankfully ruts, or heats for AFAB people, only happen once every three months, for about a week.”

You finally find your phone, heart pounding as you fumble to hold it still. The boy on your screen adjusts his glasses before continuing, entirely unaware how he's just flipped your life on its head.

“Well, that's for people who've presented for a while. When you first present with symptoms, you can get your rut every month. And that's… an entirely different type of intense. I surely don't miss that.”

Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.

You don't need to Google what a rut cycle is. You already know. It's the one aspect of GLS everyone is familiar with.

You scan through the events of the last 36 hours with unfathomable speed. It's all there. Every single symptom mentioned in this video. 

Extremely heightened senses. Restless energy. Fever-hot skin. 

Chan.

Chan hasn't been able to sit still. Chan's skin is hot to the touch. Chan keeps telling you when your pain is about to start because he can smell it. Chan brought you to an isolated cabin in the mountains.

Chan is in rut. Chan's diagnosis was only finalized less than a week ago. Ergo, this is his first rut.

The sound of a car door slamming makes you jump so hard that your phone flies away from the couch and skitters onto the floor.

Shit.

You scramble to grab it, swiping out of the video before Seungmin finishes answering what you're certain are other life changing questions. You can't hear anything he's saying, laser focused on the sound of Chan's impending footsteps and the sound of rustling grocery bags.

“Babygirl,” Chan's voice vibrates from the entryway. “I'm back. You awake?”

“Yeah,” you call, forcing yourself to sound steady. You clear your throat. “Yes, I'm up.”

You hear him put the bags down and toe off his sneakers, socked feet padding into the room where you are, undoubtedly, staring like a ghost came through the door and robbed you of your possessions. You fight to fix your expression into something normal, but all of that goes out the window when he steps into the threshold.

He's soaked. The rain has soaked through his shirt, making it cling to his chest and highlight every cut of his muscle. His curls are wild, some of them plastered to his forehead while others seem to be competing for the best pose. There's water dripping down his neck an–

You find a spot on the wall to look at instead. 

“Sorry I took so long.” He brushes his hair off of his face. “The store closest was closed, had to run way into town.”

“It's fine,” you squeak. He looks at you, eyebrows furred. “I was fine, just watched some YouTube. I wasn't up for long.”

He tilts his head, studying you with his nearly impossibly dark eyes. His lips push up, almost like he's pouting, but you watch as confusion takes over his gaze. He squints, and you burrow yourself further into the couch. If his smell is heightened, then he probably–

“You okay?”

You nod too enthusiastically. “Yes, of course. Why?”

He opens his mouth to say something, moves his body as though he'll take a step towards you, but he stops. You hold eye contact for a second, feeling small and exposed among his gaze. But then he nods almost imperceptibly, turning to grab his wet sweater from the entrance. 

“I'm gonna get changed and make us some lunch. Sandwiches?”

You nod.

“Good. Find us something to watch, yeah?”

As soon as he's gone up the stairs, you collapse back onto the couch, pressing your hands against your burning cheeks.

Okay. Okay.

You're probably– definitely – making this weird. Maybe you've read too many werewolf romance novels. Chan is going through something a lot more tangible than turning into a wolf and scampering off into the moonlight, and here you are, being a degenerate as usual. He brought you here because you're his best friend. Because he needs support.

The rut thing… is just a coincidence. Or maybe not even a big deal, or something he wants you to worry about. Yes. That's it. 

Distantly, you hear the shower turn on, and everything from your neck to the crown of your head lights aflame.

The remote chooses that moment to reappear, launching itself from the couch blanket and onto the floor. You snatch it up quickly, flicking on the TV and navigating to Netflix. You need something light. Something stupid. Something to fizzle out the charged energy in the atmosphere.

He'll handle himself… however that may be. You repeat this to yourself as you scroll through the comedy section, eyes blurring at the words in front of you. It's none of your business, anyway. You have one job right now, and that's finding something to watch.

You settle on a cooking show when you hear him coming down the stairs again. You focus on the TV, your mantra echoing around your skull as though you have no brain.

Everything is fine. You're fine. He's fine. 

“Worst Cooks in America?”

You nearly jump out of your skin. He's standing behind the couch, now wearing dry clothes– a zip up sweatshirt and loose sweats. You notice, entirely by accident, that there's no shirt under the sweater. Just plain, exposed skin.

Great. 

You hum out a noncommittal answer, just as he turns and heads to the kitchen, mentioning as he goes that he's using roast beef.  You listen to the sound of the fridge opening and the hum of the toaster as he plugs it in, no doubt solely to put your bread to toast, the same way you've eaten a sandwich since you were eight years old.

You can do this. You can act normal. You're an adult, and you have been for a few years. Things don’t have to be weird just because you now know that your best friend is a delicate, walking bundle of hormones. Chan clearly trusts you enough to have you here, and you're not going to mess that up by being a disaster about it.

You hear him humming in the kitchen, puttering about through the cabinets, the clink of plates on the counter. It's so normal, so Chan, that it almost makes you forget about everything else.

You shake your head, hoping to physically dislodge the memories of the noise he made when you were scratching his neck– the deep, rumbling groan that ran through your sleep-riddled body until stopping to wake you up where you're most sensitive. It was just a noise, you make noises all the time.

When he appears in the doorway with the two plates, all smiles and soft around the edges, you take a deep breath before returning the smile. 

You can do this. You can sit down next to Chan and watch the show and be normal. Everything is fine.

Probably.

… Maybe.

Everything is not fine.

The realization comes later in the night when the darkness from the storm bleeds into the darkness of late evening. It's nearing 10pm, and you and Chan are still seated on the couch together, now on opposing sides, still watching the same cooking show.

Or pretending to.

Chan seemed to be getting worse as the evening progressed. When he first came in from outside, he seemed calmer, less tense, but now he was sitting rigid, wound up like a toy no one would release. He was sweating an almost ridiculous amount, and the zip from his hoodie was pulled down to the middle of his stomach, exposing all the skin underneath.

His breaths were coming in short pants now. He had a steady grip on the fabric of his sweats, and you were almost certain that he'd tear a hole in them with the way he was grabbing them.

You weren't sure what to do.

You had tried nudging him with your foot gently a while ago, but when your skin made contact, he made another low sound in his throat that shot right up your leg and into your core. You pulled your foot away quickly, apologizing, making sure to press your knees together so the scent of arousal wouldn't reach him. 

And that was before he had started panting like… well, a dog. Now you weren't sure you'd be able to reach him through the fog of his own mind even if you screamed right in his face.

You're about to try saying something, anything as the episode that was playing ends, but he shoots up off the couch before you can think of words to say. He's pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, visibly shaking with the effort of breathing normally.

“Chan,” you start.

He holds up a hand. “I'm– I'm okay,” he breathes. 

He's not. 

“The rain, I think,” he grits out. “Too loud. Too much. You're okay, though?”

Of course Chan would find the time to check on you while going through his own crisis. You sit up a little on the couch, staring at him even though he has his eyes covered. The words are coming out of your mouth before you can even think about what you're saying: “Do I smell okay?”

He grunts. You suddenly understand why cavepeople had so many kids. 

“Smell fine,” he breathes. He slides his hands down his face, fixing his gaze away from you. “You do, I mean. You smell good.”

It dawns on you then that maybe the newly awakened wolf-like part of his consciousness is reacting to your smell because you're a girl, and he's in a rut. Maybe you should leave the room, give him some space?

You're trying to find a way to ask if that's what he needs without giving away what you know, but he fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie again, wanting to tug it down some more. He stops, takes a deep breath, and then drops his hand.

“I think I need a second,” he says. His hands are twitching at his side. “Need my room. Need the quiet, yeah?”

You nod. That's fine. It's for the best anyway, right?  “That's okay. You can come back when you're ready.”

He nods, still not looking at you. There's a moment where he seems to hesitate, but whatever internal war he's having ends quickly, and he basically runs up the stairs. Just before you hear his door close, you hear the sound of his hoodie zipping down all the way.

Heat floods your face as you turn back to the show.

After a while of still failing to really pay attention, you pull your phone out from under the blanket. Despite the pure, unfiltered desire thrumming through your veins, you still want to help Chan. It's bothering you how bothered he is, how helpless he seems. There has to be something you can do for him.

You type, How to help a werewolf in a rut into your search bar, and after realizing very quickly that that's actually the title of an erotica series, you change your search to something more medical sounding.

It takes trial and error, but GLS and Rut Cycles Help seems to give you the best results.

You find a forum on a website dedicated to rare genetic disorders. It’s the one link that seems to have real information, ironically nestled between a fanfiction website and Twitter. 

You stop on a thread that catches your attention:

Non-GLS Roommate Here: Any way I can help with heats?

Not in that way, they write. But my roommate just presented with this disorder and she's absolutely miserable, and I feel so bad. I'm not trying to fuck her, but is there anything I can do to help?? Meds? Chocolate?? Leaving her alone??

There are only a handful of responses, mostly people lol-ing about how non-lycanthropes always think a heat cycle is like a period. One answer sticks out to you:

if it's her first heat, she's probably running a pretty high temp. make her some cold drinks to bring the temperature down and the hormones may follow. that used to work for me. ideally, try to convince her to take a cold shower, but her instincts might be telling her not to. it's a delicate game lol. don't press the shower thing if you don't want her to bite. like, literally. AFAB lycanthropes have a thing for biting idk

It makes sense now why Chan looked better when he came in from the rain. It was, essentially, the cold shower that he needed. You wonder briefly if you could convince him to go back out, but you decide against it. It's dark now, and you don't need him getting hurt.

So, instead, you peel yourself away from the couch and head into the kitchen. There's tons of juice cartons already in the fridge, but you bypass them, instead grabbing the bag of lemons and the carton of blueberries. 

The first time you made lemonade for Chan, the two of you were in fifth grade. You wanted to save money for the new and extremely expensive ride-on jeep that you saw in the store, and the only thing you could think to do was sell lemonade. You forced Chan (who had no interest in the car but wanted to help anyway) to sit down and taste batch after batch of your lemonade.

After he threatened to tell your parents you were trying to poison him, you made one last batch of the lemonade, and on a whim, dumped some blueberry syrup into it. He grumbled as he took the cup, but he couldn't hide his satisfied smile.

“That's the one,” he grinned. 

You never did save the money for the car, but you kept the lemonade recipe anyway. There was nothing your blueberry lemonade couldn't fix.

And you were prepared to add rut fevers to that list.

You dump a ton of ice in Chan's reusable water bottle before pouring the lemonade over it, putting the top on and swirling it around. You take a sip first, nodding in contentment when it nearly freezes the back of your throat.

With your phone in your back pocket and the lemonade in hand, you make your way up the stairs, pausing in front of Chan's bedroom door. A feeling of nervousness washes over you, but you beat it down with a stick. You're just delivering some lemonade. You'll be fine.

“Channie,” your voice is tentative as you knock. “You okay? I brought you a surprise.”

You listen carefully. You can't hear anything on the other side of the door. You don't wanna bang or yell, knowing his ears are probably sensitive already. You knock gently again, really straining your ears to hear.

He must be asleep, you think. You'll just leave the cup on the nightstand for him to find when he wakes up. You turn the doorknob and push open the door and–

Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.

Chan is not asleep.

Chan is very much awake.

He can't see you, no, because his eyes are closed and his head is tipped back against the headboard of his bed. His face and ears are red, and his lips are extra plump. You wonder why until he bites down on his bottom lip, hard.

You let your eyes trail down. He's touching himself.

Oh.

One of his hands is wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously like it's just not enough. The other hand is white knuckling the pillow you slept on last night, bringing it up to his face so he can no doubt inhale whatever leftover scent is on it. 

He has no idea that you're in the room. The pillow is already carrying your scent, so there's no intrusion to his senses. You should look away. You should go, you should…

You can't look away.

His hips are thrusting upwards to meet his hand now, his entire body writhing on the bed like he's trying to find the perfect spot. With his sweater open, you can see the contraction of his ab muscles as he moves, all the hard contours of his body chasing his pleasure. You watch as he twists his wrist, thumb sliding across the slit of his cock and smearing precum down the shaft. 

You hear him make a sound, almost like he's grunting, and then he's mumbling something under his breath. It's low, too low for you to really hear it, but when he speaks again, you definitely understand.

"Babygirl," he groans. He squeezes his cock at the base before stroking it again. "F-fuck, babygirl."

It's then that you squeak, slamming a hand over your mouth almost immediately. His eyes fly open and he shoots up, face panicked, but he doesn't stop moving his hand.

"I'm-- I'm sorry," you manage. "I came to-- I just-- Oh my God."

Chan's eyes are wild as he looks at you. His chest is heaving and his curls are sticking up all over the place. He looks pained and conflicted, likely warring within himself about whether he should stop or not. From the way his ears turn a deep shade of red, you can tell he thinks that he should.

He doesn't, though. He's still jacking himself off, faster and faster, even as he gives you a devastatingly desperate look.

"Fuck," he grunts. "I'm sorry. I can't-- you just smell so fucking good and I–” He pants, looking at you with eyes that can barely stay open. “I can't stop. Babygirl, make me stop."

Your brain is malfunctioning, but the part of it that can still process information has taken notice of what he's saying. You were right earlier. It's your smell. Your smell is driving him crazy because you're a fertile, childbearing aged female. It's not poorly contained last or a bad decision on his part.

It's biology. It's what that primal part of his brain needs.

Your body goes hot as you think of your next words.

"You..." you swallow around nothing. You're wearing socks, but the cold from the floor seems to seep into your feet. "You don't– um. Do you… need help?”

His pupils blow.

"I don't… I don't want to hurt you," he whines, chest heaving as his fist pumps faster. "You shouldn't."

"But I want to help," you breathe. You take a step closer to the bed, legs shaking from the sheer intensity of how fast your arousal hits. "What if I want to help?"

He stops then, staring at you with the same intensity he had last night. You feel stripped, exposed, but you don't feel unsafe.

You take another step closer.

"Chan," you whisper. You're at the foot of the bed now. "What if I want to?"

He makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat.

"I won't… touch you if you don't want me to." You take another step to the side of the bed, feeling somewhat bold under his gaze. "But I'll... I'll let you touch me, if you need. Whatever you want. Just... just tell me what to do."

You're only a couple steps away now. Chan is practically shaking with the effort it takes not to move, to wait for your permission. It's then that you realize he's waiting for you to make the first move, and all of the power shifts to you.

You're standing right next to him now, the two of you locked in an intensely heated gaze. He reaches for you silently with the hand not fisted around his cock, moving slowly like you'll dissolve if he's too eager. When you nod, his hand slides down the length of your arm, fingers interlacing.

Then–

"Please," he whispers. His voice cracks on the lone syllable. "Please, babygirl. I need you.”

He brings the hand he's holding over to his already throbbing cock, dragging your fingertips over the sensitive skin on his tip. His head rolls back again and his hips buck up. You try not to shiver.

"I just... I just need this," he breathes. "Please. I won't touch you, I'll be good."

Maybe it's the desperation in his voice. Maybe it's the way his eyes look so innocent, absolutely contrasting what he's begging you to do. Whatever it is, you let your tongue dart out to wet your lips, throat feeling incredibly dry as you stare down at him.

You wrap your fingers around his cock tentatively, not missing the way his body seems to come alive at your touch, and start moving up and down. He's already so hard, his entire shaft coated in his precum so you can slide up and down with ease. The sounds he's making are going straight to your core, and you can feel the way your underwear is sticking to you.

"Tight," he grunts. "Tighter, please."

You tighten your grip, speeding up a little bit. You feel him thrusting upwards to meet your hand, his hand squeezing yours like he needs the support to ground himself. You let your thumb brush over his tip, using his precum as lube to give him even more friction.

He cries out, back arching. "Yes," he chokes out. "Fuck, babygirl, do that again.”

You do, swiping your thumb across the slit and spreading more precum over him. It makes everything slicker and wetter, and the way you're able to move faster now has him moaning nonsensical little things.

His hips are bucking up harder now, and you watch as his abs tense and release, the hand not holding yours going up to tug on his hair. Your body feels like a loaded stick of dynamite, and you're so careful to keep your hips still, knowing how badly you want friction.

"M’close," he breathes. "Fuck, babygirl. You feel so good."

You pump faster, giving him the extra tightness and friction that he needs. You watch as the hand in his hair drops to his stomach, nails digging into his abs.

You wonder how long he was in here like this, pained and desperate. You try not to think about him moaning your name in the empty room, fucking up into his fist as he thinks about you, chasing your scent on his pillow.

Just because of the rut, your brain supplies. Because it would be absurd to think otherwise.

You glance up at his face. His eyes are screwed shut, lips parted as he pants and grunts and makes other sounds in the air. The look on his face is enough to make you clench around nothing. You've only been hot and bothered for the last 5 minutes and you already feel desperate to cum, so you can't imagine what he's going through.

You let your other hand reach up to cup his face.

"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”

He opens his eyes slowly, pupils completely blown as he meets your gaze. You see sweat sliding down the side of his face, and you wonder if it's from his fever or his pleasure.

"You're okay, babyboy," you whisper. His cock jumps in your hand at that. "You can cum, you know. You don't have to hold back."

"Wanna--wanna be good," he grunts. You feel him start to thrust faster. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"You're doing so good, Channie. You're not hurting me."

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before you drop your hand from his cheek and slide it down the column of his throat, letting your nails scratch across his skin. His reaction is immediate, body spasming as he groans.

"Shit," he cries. "Yes, right– right there, Oh my God."

"Yeah?" You scrape your nails across the base of his throat again, making sure to be a bit rougher this time.

He nods quickly, the grip on your hand tightening. You take your other hand off of him, drinking up the sound of his whine before you slide it underneath his hoodie, feeling his chest up. You scrape your nails over his pecs, making him jolt a little.

"C'mon, Channie," you coo. "You're okay. I want you to cum for me."

He lets out a strangled sound, hips bucking up into your fist even faster now. His head falls back again and you see the muscles in his neck strain.

"Please," he chokes out. "I need-- I need--"

You slide your hand from his chest back up to his neck, finding the spot from earlier that made him make that deliciously memorable noise. When you drag your nails across it, his hips stutter in their rhythm, and that's the only warning you have before his entire body is convulsing with pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," he grunts. "Babygirl, fuck–”

His cock pulses in your hand as he cums, releasing all over himself and your fingers. You stroke him through it, gently moving your hand up and down until he's spent.

Then, there's silence.

You're not sure what you expect. Maybe for him to turn over and go to sleep, or for him to act bashful and apologetic, letting you know it won't happen again.

You certainly aren't expecting for him to grip your hips and lift you up onto the bed. Or for him to gently push you down on your back. Or for the desperation in his face to be replaced with something harder, something more in control and dominating as he says, “Please let me eat your pussy, babygirl.”

You almost choke.

You feel like you should protest. Tell him he doesn't have to, that this is already more than you thought you would ever get. But then he's sliding his hands up under your shirt, and the only thing your mouth can form is a moan.

He's never seen you naked, always a respectable gentleman, but there's no hesitation or uncertainty in the way his hands move around your body. He's not tentative and gentle like you expected; he's touching and pinching and running his nails along your skin like he's done this before, like he knows all your spots. He reaches your chest, where you have no bra, and rubs his thumb across your already hardened nipple. Your back arches and your legs fall open for him with a groan, letting him slot himself in the now empty spot.

He pulls his hand away, moving up to your face and cupping your jaw so you can look at him. He's looking down at you with dark eyes.

"Please?”

He's asking, you know, but there's nothing gentle in the way he's looking at you. You nod as best as you can, and he brings his hand down from your jaw to your chin, fingers sliding over your lips. You feel him nudge his thumb against your bottom lip, and you take the hint.

You open your mouth for him, letting him slide his thumb inside and rub it across your tongue. He's looking down at you intensely as you swirl your tongue around his finger, and when you suck on it a little, he lets out a grunt.

"Fuck," he breathes. He pulls his thumb away, watching as a string of saliva connects it to your lips. "You're gonna let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You nod again, but he gives a little humorless chuckle, head tilting at you.

"Use your words babygirl."

"Yes." Your voice is quiet. "Yes, I want you to.”

He stares at you for another moment. You watch his eyes dart across your face, your body, before settling on your lips again. He leans down then, hovering just above you as he licks his own lips.

"Gonna kiss you now," he murmurs. "That okay?"

You fear you look stupid, the way you're just staring up at him, jaw slacked and eyes going in and out of focus. You nod anyway, trying to act normal.

Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.

He doesn't waste any more time after that. He leans down the rest of the way, pressing his lips against yours. It's slow at first, a sweet little thing that makes you feel warm and safe. You sigh into it, eyes fluttering closed.

But then he licks a stripe across your bottom lip, and you let out a pathetic little whimper, lips falling open just enough for him to slot his tongue in your mouth. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. It's desperate, burning, hot and filthy. He's licking into your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lips. You try to press your thighs together again, but his strong, muscular slab of body is between them, forcing them open.

His hands slide down your sides and settle on your hips. Your shorts do nothing as a barrier, and you feel every modicum of heat in his hands. He slips those warm hands into the waistband of both your shorts and panties, sliding them down your body antagonizingly slowly.

He sits back on his knees then, pulling them both all the way off before tossing them to the side. Then he leans forward again, pressing wet kisses to the skin right below your belly button.

"Chan," you breathe.

"S'okay baby," he mumbles against your skin. You feel a new wave of wetness flow through you. How could your usual nickname be even hotter with half of it missing?

Then he's moving his mouth down, down, down, and you feel him pressing his nose to your slit.

"Oh god," you whine.

"I know," he murmurs. You feel his tongue press against your clit, and your entire body spasms. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around your legs and squeezing your thighs to hold them open. "I know babygirl.”

He licks you again, making you groan out loud. You can't help but bring one hand up to his curls, weaving your fingers through them and tugging on them like you've always wanted to. He responds by moaning, the vibrations shooting straight to your core.

You feel his tongue dip lower, spreading your wetness around. He dips it into your entrance, tongue fucking you at such a languid pace you feel like you'll fall apart. You hear him groan against your cunt again, and his hands tighten on your thighs.

"So wet, baby," he murmurs. "Taste so good.”

He presses his tongue to your clit again, and you pull on his hair harder. He grunts, and you feel him rutting up against the bed, his cock hard again, chasing some form of relief. 

"Please baby," he mumbles against you. "Want you to cum for me. Please."

You know yourself, know what gets you going and what really makes you cum, so you want to tell him that it's going to take more than this, that you're not there yet, but you don't get a chance to before he's sliding a finger inside of you, curling it up and finding your spot with such accuracy your vision goes white.

You feel him suck on your clit then, swirling his tongue around it as he slides another finger inside of you. You tug on his hair again, not even realizing that you're grinding up against his face.

You feel yourself getting closer, chasing the release you've been desperate for since he pulled you onto the bed. His fingers curl inside of you again, pressing that spot and making you scream out his name.

"Yeah?" Chan groans against you, voice hoarse and desperate. "Like that? S'okay baby, let go."

"Chan," you choke. You're so, so close. "Chris. Chris.”

He moans at that, speeding up his fingers and moving his tongue even faster.  He's rocking himself up against the mattress with more urgency now, panting and moaning with his mouth pressed to your cunt.

"C'mon babygirl," he mumbles. "Need you to cum. C'mon, please. Need it."

He presses his fingers into that spot again, and you're gone. You arch up off of the bed as you cum, his name ripping itself from your throat as he fucks you through it. You feel your cunt pulsing around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm. He keeps licking, his moans sending vibrations straight up your spine until you're over sensitive, tugging on his hair for him to back away. He does, but not before pressing wet kisses to the inside of your thigh.

He sits up then, his hair sticking up all over the place from where you've been pulling on it. He's sweaty and breathing hard, his lips swollen and red from where you were kissing him. You feel his eyes roam over your body, and you know that if you look down, you'll see how your skin is flushed from your ears down to your chest.

He's still sporting a semi, but his focus isn't on that anymore. He gathers you up in his hands, pulling you with him to the top of the bed and settling you with him on the pillows. He presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling you to rest your head on his chest.

"Sleep," he says into your hair. You notice how his body temperature has dropped-- he doesn't feel like an inferno anymore.

You're too tired to do anything but whine gently at the way he's holding you, too relaxed and spent to say anything. You feel sleep pulling at your eyes as he fixes your shirt over you carefully.

"Ah, shit," he murmurs. "Gotta clean you up. Then I'll come right back, yeah?”

You nod, trying to fight off sleep just a little longer. He presses a kiss to your hair before sliding out of the bed, going to the bathroom and coming back with a warm washcloth. You feel him wipe you down gently, and you mumble out something that might've been a thank you.

He takes the washcloth back to the bathroom, coming back to join you in bed. He pulls you back on top of him, settling the blankets over the two of you.

You're asleep before he can even kiss your forehead again.

When you wake up in the morning, you do your usual pause to see what does and doesn't hurt. You're mostly pain free, you realize sleepily, except for a dull ache in your hips and knees and a pleasant soreness in your–

Oh shit.

Everything slams back into you at once. The lemonade, Chan, him begging for you in more ways than one. It feels like you've been doused in cold water and tossed off of a bridge.

You go to sit up, but when you make an attempt to move, you feel an impossibly heavy weight around your midsection. Said weight snores a bit, and you realize that it's Chan's arm draped across you.

He's sleeping soundly next to you, hair still ruffled and unruly from where you were pulling it, lips still slightly swollen and red. The blankets are pulled up to his chin, hiding his body from view.

Your face burns as you try to really remember everything that happened last night, either to orient yourself through the brain fog or torture yourself. You're not entirely sure. Chan was... he was in rut, you knew that much. And you offered to help. Then he ate you out and gave you what was probably the most intense orgasm of your life, and then you fell asleep.

Typical stuff. Of course.

The memories are still there, but the reality of the situation has you panicking. His eyes are still closed, so you don't have to deal with the embarrassment of him catching you staring, but you're frozen anyway.

You're immediately hit with the overwhelming realization that you just made a mistake. There's no way you can possibly continue to keep your feelings for Chan a secret after this, no way that you can pretend you don't know what his amazingly deft fingers feel like inside of you. How would you ever be able to look him in the face again?

A vibrating sound pulls you from your spiral. For a second, you wonder if it's coming from Chan, but you recognize that, no matter what genetic issue he has, a person cannot vibrate. 

The sound is actually coming from just off the side of the bed, where your shorts and panties lay discarded. You reach over and pluck your phone from the back pocket, turning it over to see an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

You're about to send it to voicemail when your heart sinks like lead along with recognition in your chest. It's the genetic clinic.

You're untangling yourself from Chan's arms in record speed, shirking your shorts on and stepping into the hallway. He doesn't stir, thankfully, but you still close the door gently behind you anyway.

"Hello?" You breathe.

The nurse on the other side of the line greets you enthusiastically, and after confirming you are the intended recipient of the phone call, she asks you to hold while she transfers you to the doctor. You wait anxiously for a minute or two, pacing your way to the kitchen island and picking at the skin around your fingers while you listen to the generic hold music.

"Good morning," the doctor says as she comes on the line. She, too, sounds far too chipper. "I apologize for the wait, I was in the middle of rounds when your nurse flagged me down."

"That's okay," you say. Pleasantries feel superficial right now.

"Right, so. We did get some of your preliminary genetic results back," she says. You can hear pages being turned on the other side of the line. "I wanted to let you know that, unfortunately--"

The floor falls from under your feet.

"-- You did test positive for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Classical type."

You can't really hear anything else she's saying. Something about coming back in, maybe. About starting physical therapy. Taking care of yourself. You feel sick, like you might pass out. Or throw up. 

You manage to push through the rest of the conversation, your voice sounding far away even to your own ears. She lets you know that she's sending follow-up information to your email, says that it's important to have support at such a time like this, and you make a very non committal grunt of acknowledgement before ending the phone call. Your phone chatters on the island, the sound echoing in the empty space.

You can't even form a concept of a thought before your chest feels tight, like there's a rubber band stretching across your ribs and pulling taut. You skin suddenly feels like there are a million and one tiny sets of feet thrumming underneath it. It's too hot. Your shirt is choking you. It's all suddenly too much at once: last night with Chan, the diagnosis, the way you're feeling an ache building in your back.

You need to move. You need to get out.

You're up the stairs before you can really process it, standing in front of your suitcase and rifling through it with speed. You find a pair of sweats and what you’re almost certain is Chan's old hoodie, but you toss them on quickly anyway.

The air is crisp when it hits your face a few moments later. It's exactly what you need. The path around the cabin is familiar– you've walked it countless times during family trips and weekend getaways. You know exactly where to step to avoid the mud, which trees mark the loop back to the house.

You walk until your legs burn, until the tears on your face dry in the cold air. Your mind races with everything and nothing at once.

Classical EDS. Your PCP was right about it being a connective tissue disorder. EDS explains the tummy aches, the racing heart, the migraines, and most obviously, the joint pain. There's no cure. Just management. Just a lifetime of being careful, of physical therapy, of putting in insane amounts of effort to make sure your joints don't fucking disintegrate.

You find this to be the most manageable of all the issues at the moment. 

But Chan…

God, Chan. What were you thinking? He was in rut, vulnerable and needing comfort, and you just... what? Offered yourself up like some kind of heathen? Let him touch you in ways you've only dreamed about, knowing full well it would change everything?

This feels like the biggest issue to you, you realize when you pause on a tree stump. Because if you lose Chan, from something you initiated, you will lose everything else. He is the center of your universe, and everything revolves around him. You can't lose him, especially not over your own stupidity.

You think about going back. Talking to him. Maybe trying to convince him that you're fine, that he doesn't have to worry about you. That you don't like him like that, and you were just being a good friend and helping.

But then you remember his face when he came, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he moaned out your name. The way his fingers felt inside of you. How good he smelled.

You'll never be able to forget any of it now, you realize. And it will tear you apart if you lose him because of it.

You realize you've been walking much longer than intended when you catch a glimpse of the position of the sun. The morning chill has given way to a warmer temperature, though your face still feels numb from the wind. Your joints are definitely making themselves known now.

You suppose you may as well head back, even if you don't have any idea what you’re going to do when you have to face Chan. You can't stay out and freeze.

As you round the final bend that leads back to the cabin, you see him.

Chan is standing on the front porch, shirtless despite the cold, his hands visibly shaking at his sides. He's looking in the opposite direction, but you see when your scent hits him, because he whips around and his eyes lock onto you immediately. There's a look on his face that makes your chest ache– he looks terrified, like he's been coming apart at the seams.

You both freeze in your spots, an echo of that moment at the clinic. The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You notice then that his eyes are red, not the same red tint you now recognize from his rut, no. This is the red tint from that day he had to drive you to the hospital.

He's been crying.

“Where–” his voice is labored. “Babygirl. Where have you been?”

"I just..." you gesture vaguely at the path behind you. "I needed some air."

He takes a step forward, then seems to think better of it, stopping himself in his tracks. "You weren't... you were gone when I woke up. Your phone was on the counter, I couldn't... I didn't know where…”

He makes a pained noise in his chest, and then you see his entire face crumble. He pulls one of his arms up to his face, covering his eyes as you hear him start to cry.

Your heart breaks in two.

You rush to him as quickly as your protesting legs will allow, taking the stairs two at a time until you're in front of him. You reach up to gently pull his arm down, but he jerks away, a wounded noise escaping from his mouth.

"No," he cries. "You shouldn't–  don't touch me. I'm sorry.”

“Chris,” you breathe, hoping to cut through his emotional fog. “Chris, please, look at me.”

“Tell me what I did.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

“What did I do wrong?” His voice cracks around the words. “Last night, I couldn't… control myself. And you were so good to me and then– you were gone.”

"Chan, no." You reach for him again, and this time he lets you pull his arm down. His face is streaked with tears, those big brown eyes red and swollen. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He shakes his head violently, words tumbling out around hiccups. "Then why did you leave? Why didn't you wake me up? I woke up and you were gone and I couldn't– your scent was gone and I couldn't–"

A sob cuts him off. You grab his hand and tug him towards the door. "Let's go inside. Please? It's freezing out here.”

He lets you tug him inside, at least just until you can close the door. You try to bring him over to the couch, but he's stubborn, keeping his feet planted where they are. He won't look at you, keeping his gaze downcast no matter how much you tug on his arm. You let go after a tense moment, sighing and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Chan. The clinic called,” you say softly. “Thats why I left. My results came back.”

His head snaps up at that, understanding settling over his face. “You… did you test positive for–”

“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.

He looks like he'll cry all over again, reaching his hand out to you before pulling it back to his side. He squeezes his hands in and out of fists a few times before he shakes his head, tilting his head back until he's staring up at the ceiling.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes. “Last night… I shouldn't have–”

“Stop, please,” you cut him off, voice hoarse in the quiet. You've run out of energy. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“No, I did everything wrong. I thought I could handle it, thought it wouldn't be too much. Everyone told me it was a bad idea but I didn't want to listen, thought I could control myself.”

You feel bile rising in your throat. “What?”

He shakes his head again. “I shouldn't have said yes.”

He murmurs it, but the cabin is dead silent, so there's no way you don't hear it. There's no way you can misinterpret what he means either. Last night. He shouldn't have said yes when you asked if he needed help.

You take a step back, and you watch his face crumble a bit more. “Right.” Your voice sounds hollow. “It's fine. It was a mistake anyway."

"A mistake?" Now he looks confused through his tears. "No, that's not–"

"It's okay, Chan." You force a smile that feels like it might crack your face in half. You need to end this conversation now so you can go cry in your bed. "We can just forget it happened. You were in rut, I was... available. It's fine."

"Available." He deadpans. His gaze loses some of the previous softness. "Is that what you think? That I just... used you because you were there?”

You find yourself backing away towards the stairs, already mentally checked out. “Isn't it? You said it yourself last night, it was just my scent.”

His face flashes through so many emotions, you're not sure how you would begin parsing through them. He settles on something that looks like a mix of thinly veiled disgust and anger. He fixes his posture until he's back up to his full height now, brown eyes ablaze.

You decide to turn away from him fully at that moment. Whatever this is, this half argument you're having, it can wait until you've taken a good nap. You prepare to climb the stairs, keeping one hand on the railing and one foot on a stair.

That's about as far as you make it before you feel the unmistakable heat of Chan behind you. You stifle back the gasp that threatens to spill when he presses himself right up against your back, head dipped down so he's right by your ear.

“Ask me why,” he breathes. 

You shiver at the feeling of his breath on your ear, and your entire body lights up in record time. You've forgotten how to speak, maybe.

So, you eloquently stutter out a simple, "What?"

He slides a hand around you, reaching from the base of your back all the way to your stomach, pulling you closer to him. “Babygirl. I said, ask me why.”

You swallow thickly. His voice is still hoarse and low from the crying, and it sends a shiver up your spine that rocks your body so hard, you think you would fall if not for the strong arm around you.

"Why," you breathe. The word has no conviction in it. You're getting dizzy.

He leans even closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your outer ear. "Because," he murmurs. "Yes, your scent smells so fucking good. So sweet and warm. But I don't want you because you smell good, baby. I want you because you smell like you're mine.”

You whimper involuntarily at that, and you feel him inhale sharply. His other hand reaches up to hold your chin, tilting your head up towards him. You're looking at each other now, his eyes blown wide and his pupils blown so black, there's barely any brown left.

"Do you understand me, babygirl?" He's breathing hard against you. "Even under the harsh scent of your pain, or the saccharine scent of when you're happy, something in you always smells like you belong to me. Do you know why?"

Your knees feel weak. Not from pain, but because of whatever is happening right now. You let out a pathetic mewl in Chan's hold and watch his nostrils flare. 

"Because you are mine. My mate. You hear me, baby? Mine.”

Then he's tilting your head to the side and kissing down the column of your throat, nipping just hard enough to send electricity through your body. You whine, unable to stop the way your body arches into his touch. 

He makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest, pulling away just long enough to look you in your eyes again. "Wasn't using you," he huffs, saying the word use like it leaves a nasty flavor in his mouth. "I needed you, needed your scent around me to make it better. I couldn't control myself, baby."

He spins you around so that you're facing him now, hands still wrapped around your waist. You think he's about to kiss you, but you see a wave of clarity and seriousness push everything else to the side.

“They asked me at the clinic,” he starts, shuffling with you in his arms until you're back in the living room with him. “If something happened to a family member, or if I had a girlfriend who was hurt.”

You're hanging on to every word, unable to look away from his eyes.

“I told them no to both, but I told them about the hospital, about how you called me crying cause you were in so much pain, and you just kept passing out on me. I told them about how scared I was that if I left the hospital, I would come back and you wouldn't be there. You'd be gone. It was ripping me apart.”

You reach up to touch his face without thinking, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. He leans into the touch like he can't help himself.

“I presented because I wanted to protect you down to my very DNA. I was going so crazy about you that my body needed a way to protect me– protect you.”

“Chan,” you breathe.

“They said my inner wolf, that primal part of me, recognized it as my mate being in pain, and I was powerless to stop it. It's you, babygirl. It's always been you.”

The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy. 

You think about how you'd tried to touch him during the drive up, how he'd pulled his hands away like he was in pain. You supposed maybe he was. Going through his first rut, stuck in an enclosed space with his mate, unable to do anything about it.

You can't imagine the amount of restraint it probably took him to remain normal. The sheer thought of it alone has you blinking back up at him, looking right in his eyes.

With the eye contact, you feel his body swell microscopically, like he's flaxing every muscle so he can look bigger, more threatening, but he is neither of those things to you.

To you he is just Chan.

You're rising up on your toes before you even know what's happening, hand sliding up Chan's neck to pull him down towards you and catching his lips in a hot, burning kiss. 

The hand around your waist tighten's its grip, slotting you even further against his body.

It feels like home. It feels like safety.

You feel his growing bulge press against you, and you hum into the kiss. 

It feels like perfection.

"M'Sorry," he slurs against your mouth. He makes no effort to pull away. "Still in rut. Sensitive."

You say nothing, sliding your free hand down his chest, over his stomach until you reach what you're looking for. You rest your hand over it softly, not grabbing or pressing, but he responds like you do, grunting and rutting up against your hand as he starts panting.

"Babygirl," he groans. "Baby, please."

You start moving your hand in earnest now, cupping his bulge through his sweats as he grinds up against you. His eyes flutter closed and he pulls away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours.

"God, I wanna fuck you so bad," he grunts. "Wanna be inside. Wanna cum inside you so deep you'll never forget who you belong to. Make myself your alpha."

It's insane how your body reacts to that. You feel your clit jump in your underwear. The Alpha/Omega thing wasn't real-- or at least wasn't based on any science with the condition, but the way Chan speaks, the way his grunts sound so close to your ear, you believe it could be.

"You're gonna let me, right?" He whines. "Please? I'll make you feel so good. Been so good for me already baby. Just wanna make you cum on my cock."

Your moan gets caught in your throat when he slides a hand down your body to grip the swell of your ass. Between that and feeling him, rock solid against you, your entire body comes back to life with desperate, almost delirious need.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Channie, please. Want you. Please."

His chest vibrates with a growl and he wastes no time pushing you back until you're laying against the couch. He kneels over you, large hand reaching down and palming himself through his sweats.

He notices what you're wearing at that moment. He reaches his free hand down, gripping the material of your– his – hoodie. It's entirely too big for you, even when you're standing, but laying back like this, the material absolutely dwarfs you. 

He must like the sight of it, because you watch him grip himself tight.

"Fuck, babygirl. You don't know what you do to me. Wearing my clothes? Are you even wearing anything under that?"

Feeling bold, you reach down and pull the hem of the sweater up, just enough so that he can see the expanse of skin right under it. When he looks back at your face, you give him an innocent expression, eyes wide and blinking.

He doesn't even bother taking anything off, just pulls his cock out of his sweats and starts stroking himself again. You feel your mouth go dry just from the sight of it– hard and flushed red, precum dripping from the tip. You grip the material of his sweater tighter.

“Gonna be good, baby?" he breathes. "Wanna get off like this."

You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. He looks fucking delicious above you, cock in hand as he strokes himself faster now, moaning at the way you look underneath him.

"Gonna make myself cum on your stomach," he grunts. "Mark you. Then I'll fuck you until you're screaming, so everyone knows who you belong to.”

You feel your cunt throbbing in your underwear. You cant help the way you whine out his name, the way you squeeze your thighs together to try to get some relief. He looks like he's going to explode just from hearing you say his name like that.

He leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch by your head, effectively caging you in. You can feel how his muscles flex under your hands as you touch him, sliding your palms up and down his chest. You find your eyes locked onto his hand, watching the way he moves up and down.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he breathes. "Fucked my fist so many times wishing it was you.”

You wrap your arms around him, one hand going up to that special spot at the base of his neck. As you graze your nails against it, he turns his face, pressing his nose into the pulse point on your wrist, inhaling you and your smell.

He starts moaning louder, breath fanning across your arm as he gets closer and closer to the edge. You're so turned on from it, you feel like you might actually cum without a hand to your body.

"Babygirl," he grunts. "Baby, fuck. I'm close."

You pull him down to you, pressing his face right into your neck. You can feel how his eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back, the arm by your head straining with how tightly he's gripping the couch.

"Gonna let your alpha cum on your stomach, baby? Mark you?”

You nod quickly. You feel him lean in even more, brushing his lips against the soft part of your throat where he no doubt can feel your erratic pulse. You right into his ear, and then he's groaning out your name and nipping at your throat hard, all teeth and tongue and need as he spills all over you.

He makes sure to press his body flush against you while he rides out his orgasm, so that his cum splatters all over your stomach. He grinds up against you with his hips, making sure his cock slides along the fabric of his sweater. You watch him get lost in it, eyes screwed shut as he mouths at your throat, panting and moaning through his high.

Then he stills, just a bit. He pulls away from your neck, his pupils still completely blown as he looks down at you.

You're not sure what he sees when he does. You know sweat is starting to stick to your skin, plastering little bits of your hair to your face. Despite not being touched yet, you feel absolutely cock drunk if only on the sight of Chan alone.

You can't tell if that's what he sees, but whatever it is, it makes his still-hard cock jump against where it rests on your stomach. He's pushing himself up to sit on his knees before you even remember your own name.

He slides down the couch until his face is level with your hips. He pulls the waistband of your sweats down just enough for your cunt to be exposed, and then he's leaning forward, dragging his tongue along your slit.

"Fuck," you cry, body jolting. "Chan."

He doesn't respond verbally, just hums and pulls back enough to stare at your dripping cunt. You find your hips bucking up when he lets his mouth water just enough to drool right on you.

He dives back down to your cunt and pushes his tongue inside of you. You feel him moan against you as he licks you, slow and deliberate. You can hear how wet you are, and you feel yourself throb around his tongue when you hear it.

"I kept noticing your scent change," he says against your clit. He gives it a few kitten licks before diving down and flattening his tongue on you, licking and slurping you from end to end. "Sometimes, I would look at you, or touch you, and you smelled like citrus. Couldn't figure out why."

He takes those absurdly plump lips and suctions them around your clit, one strong arm coming to hold you down when you arch up off the bed.  "Thats just your scent when you're aroused," he continues, nudging his nose against your clit. "Smells so fucking good."

You're certain you might be delirious at this point. The way Chan eats you out feels so much better than anything else you've ever felt, and his tongue has you hurdling to the crest of your orgasm faster than you can believe.

"Oh. Ohh," you whimper. "Channie, m'so close."

"That's my good girl," he murmurs. His lips are still right against your clit. "You're so perfect baby. Let me make you feel good. Want you to cum for me."

He slides his tongue back inside of you, and you feel a hand come up to play with your clit. You're so dangling off the edge, so ready to jump with the right push. You just need a little more, but then you feel a finger slide inside of you and crook up.

You're gone. You cum with a shout of Chan's name, arching up off of the couch as your body shakes from the intensity of it all. He licks you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine and wiggle around from the sensitivity.

He sits back on his knees again, watching you pant on the couch as you try to collect yourself. You look over at him when you catch your breath, and you see him licking his fingers clean.

He leans over you again, and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down. You don't bother asking first, just slot his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. It's absolutely wet and filthy, the flavor of yourself bursting over your tongue when he swipes into your mouth. You suck on his tongue, hard, and he groans into your mouth, hands sliding up under the sweater to touch your bare skin.

"Gonna fuck you good now," he grunts against your lips. You whine and press your body into his. "Okay, baby? Do you think you're ready for me?"

"Yes, Chris," you sigh. He pulls away from the kiss gently to stare at you. Despite the haze of his rut, you can see a hesitancy in his eyes, like there's something he wants but he's not saying. It takes all of two seconds for you to connect the dots.

"Please, Alpha?" you whine.

That seems to be the magic word, because he's lifting you up into his arms and standing up from the couch immediately. In a split second, you're pressed up against the wall next to the TV. You're very thankful for the layer between your bare skin and the freezing cold wall.

He wraps your legs around his waist, and suddenly you can feel the heat of his erection right on you. He presses his cock between your folds, holding you tight while he ruts up into you. 

You're so wet that the head catches against your entrance every so often, making both of you moan into each others mouths.

"Thank you, baby," he murmurs, uncharacteristically soft at a moment like this. "'m so grateful. So--" He lets out a pant, eyes rolling back as he lets his head drop back too. "Fuck."

You know Chan well enough to know what he's trying to say. He's thanking you for accepting him, for coming back to him, for letting him be vulnerable.

How could you not? He was so distressed by your wellbeing that a distant part of his DNA woke up to protect you. He ignored his doctor's orders to take you on this trip because he knew you needed it. He was content to suffer through his first rut in silence if it meant just taking care of you.

How could you not love all that he is?

You learn forward and nip him right as his pulse point, and his whole body jerks. You know werewolf lore, know that a bite there means a forever. You don't have the same genetic syndrome, but God do you want to be in his arms forever. You don't even feel like you need to question it.

His eyes, heavily lidded, find their way to your face. "You know what that bite means, right baby?" His voice is hoarse, and even when he clears his throat at your responding nod, it doesn't get better. "You wanna mark me there, babygirl? Make me yours?”

You nod, sliding your mouth up his throat until your lips are pressed right against his ear. You slide your tongue over his lobe and tug on it. "Please alpha. Wanna show everyone who you belong to."

He snakes a hand up your back until he finds your hair, fingers tangling in the roots as he grips, pulling your head back. "I mark you first," he grits out. "Let alpha take care of you."

You can't help the way you go pliant, letting your head fall to one side just enough to expose your neck to him. You watch his eyes and make your expression as wanting as possible.

He groans at that, finally pulling you away from the wall just enough so that he can line himself up. He pushes his tip right into you, and you press your forehead against his, the mixed sounds of your breathing being the only thing filling the atmosphere.

"I love you," he sighs. Your heart squeezes in your chest. "Gonna take such good care of you always, yeah?"

"I love you more, Chan," is your breathy reply.

"I'll give you everything," he sighs. "Everything you want. I just need you to come on my cock first, yeah? The alpha's got you. I got you."

Then he's pushing in slowly, and you both sigh as he bottoms out. You cling to him, pressing your face into his neck as he fucks you slowly into the wall.

He keeps it slow, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your forehead and hair, telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how you were made just for him. You're already feeling the pressure building up in your stomach again, barely paying attention to what he's saying. 

"Gonna breed this tight little pussy," he murmurs at some point. You do hear that, and you clench hard around him, making him groan.

"Oh fuck," he gasps. "You want my seed, huh? Want me to fuck my seed in you, angel?"

Your walls around him again, swallowing him up. You know you can't get pregnant-- birth control and all of that-- but the idea of him filling you up has your body begging for more. You dig your nails into the skin of his back and you feel him throb inside of you. He makes a sound between a grunt and a moan, slamming his hips into yours, cock sliding into you deeper than before.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, m'so close already. Think you can you cum with me angel? Hm?"

You nod, clinging to his shoulders as you bounce up and down on his cock. It feels so good, too good, and you're already so close yourself.

"Chris," you whine. "I'm– fuck, I'm close."

"I know, babygirl," He sounds so wrecked. "I'm right behind you. You can cum for me baby. Cum for your alpha. Want you to cum on me, please."

He presses a kiss to your neck, right over your pulse point, and that's all it takes to send you tumbling over the edge. You cry out his name, letting him fuck you through it while your cunt pulsates around him. You feel him twitch in you, a deep guttural moan leaving his lips as he slams into you one last time, spilling all his cum inside of you.

He bites you then.

Its not painful, not really, because he doesn't break skin. His teeth aren't sharp enough for that. The bite is more performative than anything, but it sends a shockwave through your body.

 It's a strange feeling, almost like your blood is simmering under your skin, but you're so lost in the bliss of your orgasm that you don't even care. It feels right, anyhow. Like the final missing piece to a puzzle you've been spending a lifetime constructing.

He stays there for a second, sucking a bruise into your neck. His hands are shaking, but he's holding you tight enough that you don't even worry about falling.

Then, he licks the spot on your neck where he bit, soothing whatever pain he might've caused. He pulls away from you just enough to press a kiss to your lips, still holding you up with his cock in you.

"I love you," he whispers. "My mate. Mine."

You reach a hand up to touch his neck, and he tilts his head to the side, giving away to the instincts thrumming under his skin. You take your fingers and trace them along the column of his throat, stopping just under his Adam's apple. 

You don't say anything at first, just lean forward and press your lips against the same spot. Your bite is more restrained, more gentle. He hisses out a strangled sound, and you would assume it was pain if you didn't feel his cock pulse in you.

When you pull away, you look at him, a small smile on both of your incredibly fucked out faces. You lean forward and press a little kiss to his lips.

"I love you too," is your quiet reply. "My mate."

As promised, he's so gentle with you afterwards, cleaning you up and giving you your medication when he scents your hips are about to ache. The entire ordeal is so familiar, so cozy, you wonder how you could've ever let yourself believe that Chan didn't love you too.

Hours later, when you're cuddled together on the couch, dozing off in his lap, you hear him whispering something against your hair. Your mind is so muddled with sleep you can barely make out the words he's saying.

You string together something about mates, something about how he'll protect you, how you're his everything, how he loves you so much.

It doesn't really matter though. You know already, because he's yours, and you're his.

His everything.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Write some baby Reid stuff?!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: college!spencer reid x plus size popular girl!reader

— summary: who knew that seven minutes in heaven could lead to spencer losing his virginity to the girl he thought was completely out of his league?

— warnings: reader teaching spencer how to please her, light breast play, heavy consent reassurance (bc reader wants to make sure his first time is memorable), praise, sub!spencer reid, dom!reader, praise kink, heavy use of nicknames, petting if you squint, stripping, riding, unprotected sex, creampie, lack of foreplay, vaginal sex, teasing, a sprinkle of comedy in there cause i couldn't help myself, loser boyfriend!spencer plain and simple.

— wc: 1472

�� a/n: HIYAAAA this is the much demanded part two of my dry humping kinktober fic, but you don't have to read it to understand this one (but it would be preferred!!). i'm also writing this because I have something planned for this year's kinktober and i'm trying to set us up for greatness here sooo!! we'll definitely be seeing this couple again ;]

masterlist || AO3

Oh God, Spencer was shaking. He was about to lose his virginity to the girl of his dreams, and he was fucking shaking.

You had to cut the man some slack, because throughout his college career, all he had been worrying about was working toward his first PHD, and his mother, who he had left back in Las Vegas.

As soon as he had entered your empty dorm room, your hands were on him. You tugged lightly on the roots of his hair, attempting to coax him into doing something, because right now, he was as still as a statue and yet trembling at the same time.

“Spencer…” You separated your lips with his and he immediately frowned. “Yeah - yes, yes? Are you okay?” Oh God, you were going to tell him you didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, that everything leading up until now was a mistake and -

“I should be the one asking you that.”

“What?” He asked nervously with furrowed brows.

“Well to start, you're shaking like you're cold and you aren't kissing me back.” He started to pick at his cuticles again. “I- I-” Stop stuttering, damnit!

“What?” You teased with a small smile, “Can you only get hard in public? Is it a kinky thing?”

“What?! No, no!” Spencer sputtered incredulously. His eyes were wide and frantic to the point where he stopped picking at his nails. That wasn't what this was at all! How could you think - oh. Oh. You were being sarcastic.

“I'm just kidding, Spence.” You took your hands off his body and he almost chased their warmth. “We don't have to do anything you don't want to; we can just watch a movie or something. My roommate isn't going to be back for who knows how long.”

“No - I… I want to. I'm just… nervous. I’m -” He gulped. “I'm a virgin.” His confession was muttered and meek but you heard him. The man looked up at you through his long eyelashes, his brown irises boring into your soul in wait for your reaction.

You bit the inside of your cheek and examined him for a moment. “How about this,” You grab him by his hand. “I’ll show you what to do and we'll rectify that tonight if things go well.”

You took a step toward him and his back but the door with a quiet thud. “And I'm sure you're a quick learner, aren't you Reid?”

“Very! I'm a very quick learner!”

“That's what I like to hear.”

You led him over to your twin sized bed and stood by it. You had no idea how the both of you were going to fit on it, but you were really just flying by the seat of your pants right now.

“Take off my dress.” You command softly. “O- okay.” His quivering hands grab at the hem of your dress and tug it up, all the while he was watching your face.

Spencer sucks in a breath at the sight of your bare chest and panty clad lower half. He was throbbing where he stood, and he almost died of embarrassment.

“Touch me, baby.” You encouraged him lightly by grabbing his lithe and shaky hands and placing them on your heavy breasts. He all but gasped at the feeling, but he quickly covered it up by clearing his throat.

He pinched your nipples gently and it caused you to moan quietly.

“Is this okay?” Spencer asked with a swallow. Your hands left his own and your fingers dug into his biceps, your lips rolled in between your teeth to hold back your sounds. “More than okay.” You breathed.

It goes on like that for a moment and the need that was pooling in your gut was nauseating, and your blood was rushing to every part of your body.

“Spencer…” You sighed. “Take your clothes off.”

His eyes widen in disbelief, his hands all but snatching them off your breasts and to the buckle on his khaki pants. His fingers are uncoordinated and nervous but he manages to get it out the loop while you work on pulling your thong down your legs.

You can tell he’s trying not to stare at your newly nude bottom half, and you approach him and drag your fingertips across the band of his underwear. “Can I take this off, pretty boy?” You ask just in case. He nods dumbly. “Yes, yes please.”

He decides to take off his shirt while you rid him of his boxers. “You’re so pretty, Spencer.” You coo and look up at him through your eyelashes. His cheeks flush a deep red, just like they did in the circle. “T - thank you! You are as well and… and you’re pretty all the time too!” You just chuckle. “Thank you, baby.”

“Get on the bed.” You command, and he scrambles to follow your words. You’d work on teaching him foreplay later, because right now you need him inside you, badly.

“I figured this was better than trying to have both of us laying down on this tiny ass bed.” You joke and straddle him.

Spencer’s hands are raised, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. You take them wordlessly, placing them on your naked flesh. He can’t help but squeeze the meat of your hips, the fat of them spilling out from between his nimble fingers.

“We’re gonna take this slow, okay? Because I don’t want to overwhelm you.” You placed a hand on his cheek and grabbed his cock. He yelped, his hips shooting up at the simulation. “Easy boy, easy.” You coax.

He attempts to steady himself, teeth biting down on his bottom lip in order to try and keep his composure when the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance.

“Ready?” You ask. He nods like a maniac. “Mhm!”

Then you sink down.

Spencer sounds like he’s getting his soul stolen with the way that he moans out loud. It’s a mix between a scream and a whimper really, and his eyes practically roll back into his head. His grip on you tightens, holding onto you like a lifeline, and you honestly think that his fingers are going to bruise, but you don’t tell him.

Your legs are shaking and your stomach is tight and you’re smiling deliriously like a mad woman. He feels so good and he’s filling you up so well. It reminds you of how people say the skinniest guys are always hung.

Spencer’s fully sheathed inside of you and he’s trembling, uncontrollable whimpers and whines spilling from between his lips.

“You’re so warm please…” He begs, his hips jumping up once more. You yourself yelp in surprise and he’s instantly apologizing. “‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, I just - just need more, please…”

“I got you sweetheart, just hang on.” You lift up until his tip catches your rim before sinking down again. He chokes on his own spit.

You manage to find a rhythm and Spencer desperately follows you, trying to offer you some pleasure as well. You know he is bye the way he’s constantly searching your face for any kind of disappointment.

“Do you not -” He huffs. “Does it not feel good?” It brings out a sad mewl. “It feels great, baby, I promise; but we can worry about me later. Tonight is about you, okay?” You force him to look at you and accept his words. “Okay.”

Your legs are getting tired but you’re determined to make him cum and by the look on his face and the scrunching of his eyebrows, he’s close.

“You close?” You huff out, sliding up and down at an overwhelming pace, even for you. “I - yes! Where should I…” Cum. Where should he cum is what he wanted to ask but he’s too embarrassed to. “Inside me.” You say with a smirk.

Spencer really wants to question it, but all thought is thrown out the window when he feels his stomach tighten and his legs lock.

“I - I’m -” But it’s too late by the time he tries to tell you, because he lets out a long whorish moan, and his back arches off the wall.

You grin down at him as he paints your inner walls white, your hands that were gripping his shoulders rubbing at the skin of his neck and down his upper arms. A shiver shoots up your spine but you welcome it nonetheless.

You soothe him back down to earth through his aftershocks and tiny whimpers. You feel him go soft inside of you but you don’t try to get off just in case he still needs you there comfort wise.

“Holy shit,” You laugh. “Are you okay?” You ask in disbelief.

“I feel wonderful.” The undertone of his murmur is giggly and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[clockmax]

Miguel wanting you to be his wife so badly that he just loses it and goes feral when it’s finally the day of y’all’s wedding is smth I’ve been thinking about ALL. DAY. like the reception starts late af bc he was just so eager 😮‍💨

i edited it juss a lil but shhh, wrote it for after the wedding cause why not

nsfw below, mdni, requests open

Miguel O'hara who has been nothing but loving with you. Its been a few years together and when the day finally came, you couldn't be nothing more then happy. It was a day full of joy and happiness, wishes for the future and all that.

But the night was so much more different.

Miguel towered over you in bed, his mouth running his fangs down your neck, kissing you and gently biting. He couldn't help it but practically mark you as his. He was just running on instinct at this point.

How his hips moved at a feverish pace, cock gliding against your walls, stretching and filling you the best. The veins of his dick brushing past the spongey spot in you, cock poking your cervix.

How many rounds had you been going for? You lost count. Miguel was fucking you dumb, moans and grunts filling the room along with the sound of skin slapping. His hands running over your body with a sense of rough love, feeling every inch of your skin, memorizing everything.

"Mi amor.. look so beautiful today, can't help myself around you." He almost moaned out, giving another kiss on your neck and nibbling a little.

One of his hands found its way to your clit, drawing circle to the swollen bud. Your stomach knotted up once again, womb getting that warm feeling as you came undone again.

For a moment Miguel paused, letting you catch your breath. You thought it was over, just until Miguel moved positions, having you face the mirror.

"Dont think your finished yet, want you to look at how pretty you are when i fuck you, Cariño."

[soobnny]

classmate au | lee heeseung

❝ hey, i’ll go ahead. i have to walk (name) home. ❞

HEESEUNG | jay | jake | sunghoon | sunoo | jungwon | ni-ki

look…. i know this says classmate au

BUT but but but hear me out

he’s your senior

maybe a year or two years older

AND he’s your neighbor, next door neighbor lee heeseung

do you see where i’m going with this

he walks you home to school every morning and every after class

your parents r also pretty close so you’re always hanging by each other’s house

THO he’s more of like an unattainable senior so handsome 😞😞 yall dont talk much when you’re having that little family get together

he tries talking to u tho … but you run away pretty fast

it’s always that awkward sitting beside each other while your parents talk to each other

…. awkward eye contact

SO YEAH he walks you to school every morning and after class by your mom’s request

heeseung always walks by the side of the road like the gentleman he is

will pull you by the waist when you attempt to even walk on that side so he can switch you two

and always waits for you outside your class or by the student council office to walk you home

sometimes 💔💔💔💔 during basketball practice … he does that thing where he goes home ahead so he can walk u home

the moment you walk into the basketball gym, wide eyes searching for heeseung ?!

he’s already dismissing himself .. saying goodbye to his friends and the couch and slinging your bag on his shoulder

you think he only views you as a little sister this SUCKS !!!!!

ah you are so wrong.

oh also lee heeseung student athlete and face of the school, just thought i’d mention

sometimes, he even appears in your classes to assist the teacher like what CAN’T he do

the teacher encounters some tech difficulties with the powerpoint???

“hey (name), can you call heeseung?”

you quietly slip out of the classroom and hurry to his

(he gave you his class schedule in case you ever needed anything… so you know where to find him…)

“excuse me, mr. hwang is looking for heeseung?” you’d tell the teacher

and their whole class would burst into SCREAMS and teasing as heeseung is pushed towards the door

“hey, you okay? how was your day?” he’d always catch up with you in that small time

dear god please have mercy.

he’d have a hand on the small of your waist to guide you along the hallways too

AND TUTORING

Lee Heeseung who is naturally good at everything is also smart

he tutors you at his house after class when you’re having a hard time

as a reward, sometimes, you guys would play video games

you ended up falling asleep at his house once and heeseung had to tell his mom to call yours so she wouldn’t worry

you wake up to blankets draped all over you and heeseung sleeping on the floor i’m so sad

karaoke is always fun in these family outings bc your family always makes you sing duets

atp you guys have every disney and broadway duets DOWN and memorized

though it does make you blush and all giggly when he makes intense eye contact while seeing to you

“now she’s here, shining in the starlight. now she’s here, suddenly i know. if she’s here, it’s crystal clear, i’m where i’m meant to go.”

he is a fantastic singer and he makes you forget to sing your parts sometimes

ALWAYS ENDS A SONG IN A HUG while your parents violently clap in the background

during the sports festival, the teachers ltrly let him join all the sports and he just accepts 😭😭

if he’s not playing, he’s facilitating

“do you have an event for this year’s sports festival?” he’d ask one night as he’s walking you home

“oh no. i’m just joining the cheer contest with sunoo on the first day.”

“do you think you could cheer for me?”

HE’S ASKING YOU TO CHEER FOR HIM

of course you say yes

and his eyes are on you in every sport he plays

basketball… volleyball… badminton… you name them all!

he’d look to you before serving the ball and point at you when he shoots a ball in bkb

heeseung would win every game for you

because the thrill in your smile is too wide to disappoint

and also because he has a big fat crush on you

goes to hug you after every game

“my good luck charm” as he liked to call you

BYEEEEEE bye leave me alone please

you’re HIS good luck charm

you pretend to be annoyed because he’s sweating so he teases you by hugging you even more

he lets you hold his spare shirt AND lets you wear his spare jersey ……

by the end of the week, he wins a shit ton of medals and a trophy for being the MVP

lets you wear some of his medals 😭😭 honestly maybe even all of them

would come to you after the awarding and take off his medals to put it around your neck too

OBLIGATORY SPORTS FESTIVAL PICTURE WITH YOUR CRUSH

you guys hold the trophy together … he has an arm around you … like he ltrly has the poses thought out already

asks you to be his girlfriend on the walk back home

handcrafted you a medal already in case you’ll say yes

engraved on it is “best girlfriend”

damn you’ve only been together like a few hours and he already awarded you best girlfriend

honestly congratulations

you bagged face of the school and student athlete senior lee heeseung

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! i just thought it looked rly cute and coherent. let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[lnfours]

* ✰. — supernatural | l.n

summary: this love’s possessing me, but i don’t mind at all ; a new year with the same boy, but in a different way.

warnings: fluff, another friends to lovers!au brought to you by yours truly, based off ‘supernatural’ by ariana grande, pining so damn hard, a hint of language, not proofread bc i can’t sleep and i have this on my mind

masterlist | listen

✧˖°.🪐⋆｡°✩

you weren’t really sure when things changed with lando. how the once platonic touches turned into lingering ones that left a fire burning beneath his fingertips. how quick glances turned into longing stares before the other would notice and a quick shift of vision. everything suddenly meant something.

of course, everyone had put money on it years ago. they all had a gut feeling that at some point, things would come clear to the both of you that you were meant to be all along. how all those past relationships, situationships and failed first dates never worked out because no one could compare. and as always, the two of you would always shut it down. quick to reassure your other friends that if it ever were to happen, it’d ruin a life long friendship which was far more important.

they didn’t want to hear it though. always giving a slight nod, a ‘sure’ or a ‘we’ll see about that’. and boy were they right. they were onto the both of you before you even started. assumptions slowly coming to life as they all watched how the two of you acted around the other all of a sudden. how he’d always have an arm around you, not in a protective way, but in a ‘i need you right here with me’ kind of way. they all noticed how you never backed away, how you’d simply melt into him as the night progressed. your head leaning back on his shoulder as you talked. or how you would slip a hand around his back, occasionally drawing shapes onto the thin material of his shirts. a simple giveaway to them about something you didn’t even know was happening yet.

but now it was new years, the house party buzzing with people and music and everything in between. a celebration of the end of another year and into a new one with new beginnings. manifestations of good things in the air as the music played through the speakers of the house.

you were sat on the couch, drink in hand as you laughed with some of your mutual friends. lando couldn’t help but keep glancing over at you, eyes dancing over the way your eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. how your eyes creased when you laughed and smiled, how suddenly you were all he could see in a room full of people.

“mate,” max’s voice brought him back to earth, “did you hear what i said or were you too busy eye-fucking y/n?”

lando turned to his best friend, eyebrows pulled together, “what?”

he was trying not to get defensive. trying so hard not to tell his best friend that he wasn’t eye-fucking you, but rather looking over at you lovingly. looking at you as his heart went a mile a minute, scanning over all the features of your face for the millionth time, but all of a sudden taking this time, right here, right now, to try to memorize it. memorize everything little thing that made you perfect to him.

“c’mon, mate,” max sighed, almost as if he was tired of the same story, “you’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes. when are you going to go tell her you love her?”

lando swallowed the sip of his drink, rolling his eyes at his friend, “i don’t know what you’re on about.”

“please,” pietra joined the conversation now, arm linked on max’s, “you’re a terrible liar. you both are.”

he looked at the blonde with curiosity in his eyes. you both are? what was that supposed to mean? could it be-

he was about to ask before she spoke, “listen, you’re both single. clearly you’re into each other, just go talk to her!”

and with that, the couple was gone. off to join the circle of people in the living room who were counting down to midnight. he looked at the time on his phone, twenty minutes to the new year. to the new chapter he had desperately been craving.

he took another sip of his drink before he felt a hand on his shoulder, a soft ‘excuse me’ echoing in his ears. he looked up, a smile on your face as you squeezed past the person next to him to stand beside lando. he was quick to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him in the crowded area.

you smiled, tucking a strand of hair from your face, with your free hand as the other wrapped around his neck, “hey,”

“hey,” he smiled right back at you, “feeling okay?”

you nodded, “i am now, yeah.”

oh if his heart wasn’t already flying out of his chest, it sure was now. your smile alone could send him over the moon. your fingers absentmindedly reaching towards the curls at the nape of his neck, twisting them lightly between your fingers. you loved when he kept his hair a little longer than normal so you could do this.

little did you know, he kept it a little longer just for you to do it.

“want something to drink? i can go grab you something,”

you shook your head, “i’m okay, thank you,”

he nodded back at you, “so, find your new years kiss yet?”

you scrunched your nose, looking around the house, “have you seen the people here? i don’t think i’ll have much luck. you?”

he shrugged, “haven’t had much luck either, but i also haven’t even really been looking.”

you laughed softly, “you haven’t?”

he shook his head, looking past you to look at the clock. ten minutes.

“i mean,” he started, “there’s one girl but i don’t know if she’s into me.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying not to let your face fall as your heart went to your feet, “well, what’s she look like?”

he swallowed a sip from his drink, “she’s gorgeous, even when she thinks she isn’t, she is. she’s really smart, possibly the smartest in the room right now. and she likes to go out, but she’d much rather curl up on the couch and put a movie on or read a book or something. and she keeps me in line, knows when to bring my ego back to earth.”

you smiled softly, “she sounds great.”

“she is,” he scanned your facial features, “she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

you sucked in a breath, “is she here?”

“yeah,” he smiled softly, “she’s right in front of me.”

suddenly the world stopped. it felt like time stood still as you stood in front of him. it was like you two were the only ones in the room.

“lando,” you breathed out, unsure of what to say. every birthday wish, every shooting star, you had used for this very moment. and now it was unfolding in front of you, and nothing has made you feel so many things at once quite like this has.

five minutes to the new year.

he smiled back at you, the toothy grin you had learned to fall in love with no matter how much he picked it apart whenever he would take pictures. you loved the little gap between his teeth, the way the moles and freckles charted his skin like constellations. constellations just for you. it was right here in this moment that everything everyone has ever said started to make you realize it has been him all along.

“i know it’s scary and new and every thing we always thought was something that was going to ruin our friendship,” he said, “but i can’t help it. i’m falling in love with you.”

the people around you started counting down, “59, 58, 57…”

“i’m falling in love with you, too,” you said, eyes scanning over his, green with specks of blue and oh so pretty, “i’ve been in love with you since the moment we met.”

he stood now, pulling you closer to him. 30, 29, 28…

“i want this,” he said, “i want you. i always have, and im sorry it took me this long to finally admit it.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck as his snaked around your middle. he was holding you as close as possible, and although it wasn’t a new experience to be this close, to take in the smell of his cologne, the smell of his shampoo and the cream he used to style his stupidly perfect curls. it wasn’t new to experience everything that made him ten times more irresistible, but right now, your heart was about to fly out of your chest at the feeling of him being this close before. a step into uncharted territory and you were growing impatient by the second. wanting nothing more than to just call him yours already. to let the world know that he was yours and yours only. to let your friends know that they were right all along, ready to hear the ‘i told you so’s as long as it kept him right here.

“i’m sorry, too.” you said. and you meant it. you had wished this had happened sooner, you couldn’t help but wonder that if it had, where you two would be now. what your little life would’ve looked like right about now.

with ten seconds left on the clock, he smiled and mumbled to you softly, “be my new years kiss,”

you smiled back at the curly haired boy you’ve loved your whole life, “i wouldn’t want you to kiss anyone else.”

five, four, three, two, one…

there were yells of celebration in the air, the echo of the fireworks on the tv. everyone either toasting to the new years or ringing in a new year with their loved by celebrating with a kiss. but you paid no mind to any of it, to any of the noise circling around you as you took in the way his lips slotted against yours. how his lips tasted like the cherry lip balm you had lent him earlier on in the night with a hint of the whiskey he had been nursing. his hands holding you in place in front of him, yours wrapping around his neck as he took it a step further and licked against your bottom lip.

everything about it sent butterflies straight to your stomach because after all this time, all the dreaming about this moment, it finally happened. you two had managed to crack, let down the facade. and truthfully, it felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders and it made you question why neither of you came clean sooner.

his nose pressed against yours and you laughed softly, meeting his eyes. he was smiling back at you, wrapping a strand of your hair around his finger before slotting it back behind your ear.

he licked his lips, the both of you basking in each other after years and years of pining, “wanna get out of here?”

“please,” you sighed, and with that he led you through the crowd around you. led you to the door of the house party, nodding and bidding his few goodbyes before heading out. you held onto his arm the whole way, until he was unlocking the doors to the mclaren parked down the street. he opened the door for you, just like he always had, and you slid in. this time as he closed the door, you couldn’t help but notice the shift of energy. the way everything was unfolding was nothing less than exciting.

he climbed in on the drivers side, starting the car before slotting his hand with yours.

“mine or yours?”

you shrugged, looking over at him with a smile, “doesn’t matter,”

he nodded, pressing your hand to his lips as he pulled away from the curb. and really, it didn’t matter to you. because you would follow him anywhere. even to the ends of the earth and back.

which, of course he knew that. because he’d do the same for you.

[pupyuj]

we need more gf yujin... Mean gf Yujin well kinda cause we all miss babyboy Yujin.

🐝 (new anon)

i see the word “babyboy” and that’s all i focus on 😭 just realized i haven’t posted a drabble in a while so i’ll take a look in my asks and see if anything else catches my eye 🤓 (my neglected asks in the drafts r crying rn) n e ways welcome 🐝 anon! 💕💓

p.s. sub top yujin save me—

babyboy yujinnie dating older!reader… a wild puppy has been tamed! 😭 her friends are the first to notice that yujin doesn’t behave the same around you as she did with her previous partners! perhaps even tho that two of you were dating, she was intimidated by your maturity and how wise you were but really she was just whipped as fuck! whipped to the point of literally worshipping you? well yes! 🤤 she’d try to be as serious as you are but ultimately end up failing bcs you told her that you like it better when she’s silly, aka herself 🥴🥴

don’t be fooled though! as willing as she is to drop on her knees and do anything and everything for you, babyboy still tops 🤭🤭 she has this obsession with being your most perfect pet! making sure to memorize every inch of your body and find out which parts make you moan her name the sweetest, or the loudest… 😳 fucking you gets her rlly turned and by the time you’re shaking bcs she’s given you your sixth orgasm of the night, yujinnie would be so, so drenched but she ignores her own needs bcs all she wants to do is hear her name fall from your lips, feel your nails ruin her scalp, scratch at her arms, and hold her hand 🥺

and don’t get me started on pussy drunk babyboy yujin that finds all the right opportunities to eat you out wherever the two of you are! in your office? check. at some parking lot in the back of her car? check. a random bathroom stall? check. a private booth in an unnecessarily lavish restaurant? hell yes, check 😵‍💫 yujinnie knows how to ask nicely and that’s what she does 98% of the time bcs not only is your pleasure important to her but also your comfort 🥺 however… when her feelings are too strong, she simply just puts her hand in between your legs and start kissing your neck.. she knows it was a weakness, and her lips spread into a shit-eating grin every time it works 🙄💕

and those big puppy eyes of hers that she stares at you with as silently asking for permission every time she’s ‘hungry’?? they look 1000% better when they’re looking at you from in between your legs! 😍 yujin’s heart skipping several beats as she looked at your expressions while she does her work with her tongue.. she’s making you feel so good and she’s so proud of herself! 🥺💓 every time you praise her, she just wants more.. and so she gets better and better the longer she eats you out… not stopping even when your voice was all hoarse from screaming her name..

yujin doesn’t actually care if you crush her head with your thighs or suffocate her by pushing her face so close to your pussy that she almost can’t breathe.. it was the perfect way to die! 🤭 she only stops when you’ve tapped out, or told her to stop, or when she knows you’ve had enough.. but even then she’d give your pussy little kitten licks just to tease you bcs she loves hearing your whines since you get so sensitive 🥺🥺 ah and she works so hard drinking up all your cum, finding your taste as delicious as her favorite sweets, perhaps even better 😵‍💫💓

[opal-owl-flight]

can I ask about the poster "agent 3" kids story?

Yes you can and here it all is!! Presenting…

tldr: She comes from a family of big name actors in the industry, and shes been raised from hatching to continue their legacy. Its…a lot of pressure to put on a kid, especially one who just wants to make her (impossible to satisfy) family proud. Despite being surrounded by impossible standards, the fakest friends chosen for her, being given everything she can ever want (except what she really needs), and putting on a hundred masks for everyone in her life for survival’s sake in a cutthroat industry, she chooses to be kind.

more details under the cut!!

Her name is Sariwa, which means “fresh” . Named for her spring green tentacles and as a blessing from her parents that shed stay youthful, beautiful. a hope that she would be seen and be adored (as freshness implies coolness/popularity in sploonworld).

Shes hatched into the acting industry, with both parents being big in the industry. From hatching she was expected, trained to be an actor like her mother is. The media adores them, this “sweet little family”, but no one knows how nefarious everything is when the cameras are off.

The dad is neglectful, disappearing into meetings most of the time. The mom is a helicopter parent to make up for it. Pointing out every flaw that Sariwa apparently has in either performance or appearance. Never giving praise. Except when she performs “well enough” on stage. This instills in the child this need to make them proud. to…to make everyone happy. She becomes someone whose dependent on other peoples’ praise to function.

Shes given everything else, dont get me wrong. Every material thing she’ll ever need. all the big popular “friends” chosen for her. But…shes not allowed to turf. yknow. biggest event in an inkling’s life here in Inkopolis. and shes not allowed to go to school either. shes too busy memorizing lines for adverts or-

The second she turned 14, she was chosen as the lead role for Cuttlegear’s brand new show abt Agent 3. She looked exactly like the legendary hero, according to the sources. All her time went into this project. Thankfully, unlike at home…her co-actors were very kind. Her parents didnt choose for her this time. She was meeting actual people who dont put on masks beyond their job. the actor they got for Cuttlefish, in particular, is a very kind soul, defending her when the directors get too pissy with her performance. (Those are the only people she fears, tbh shes fearful of most authority figures.)

*Cuttlefish is also depicted as kind and supportive in the show. and in most games. Unlike the real Cuttlefish, which is kind of a loony old man who pushes ideas on young inklings. He still gives more support and kindness that 3s dad ever gave, but thats only RELATIVE to how little he gave in the first place. One can only imagine the longing this inspires in the real 3.

Sariwa…since shes hatched shes had to put on an act. Be the perfect little doll for her parents. For the world. But her friends here, they inspired her to…have fun with what shes doing again. To take off the mask (mostly beyond the clock). Breathe life in the character when she can. (But lets be real…shes getting 3 spot on with how many parallels they have with each others lives.)

But what is she beyond the mask, her role? She wasnt allowed to do anything beyond this. She was forced to depend on her abusive parents and their associates. She cant live alone beyond them. Not allowed to turf bc shes “a prim and proper young lady; above such violent drivel that only delinquents participate in”. They gesture to 3, whos one of the faces Squidforce uses in their promotions, and say (ironically.) that she must not become that. Face ripped to shreds and eye mangled.

No one knows they got that from the real war that Sariwa is pretending to show.

The show does its best to be an accurate telling. Child friendly, to a point. Horrifying things still get kept in somewhat. Things that will horrify a child on stage.

If Sariwa is terrified of the props, can you imagine how it was for 3?

————————

And once she realizes all of this. Once she gets out of this situation thanks to Callie, Marie, and 3 themself. Does she feel guilt? Guilt for depicting the horrors in a way that glorifies it instead? A part of a project that aims to make people complacent to the real horrors that churned below?

There is one thing Sariwa feels about 3, that I am aware of rn.

“Im glad, that out of every story I couldve told, Im glad it was yours.”

Just like 8, she sung this tale in her hearts. Just like 8, she used this to break out of this terrible situation, answering the call of the ones who promised her safety. A better life. Like the way she stage broke through that prop in the choreographed Octavio fight, she broke through the influence of those around her.

*She actually went off-script a bit in that scene. After she beat down Octavio, she held out her hand. Mostly to help the actor up. But then, without realizing, she spoke, she spoke of making things better between the nations. That maybe he doesnt have to steal the zapfish anymore.

Her time with the octoling actors, and hearing the stories from the ex-octarians, made her aware and know the fact that theyre people too. The directors kept it in. They knew that if they released this as they have planned it, there will be fuckign riots from the ex-octarians or the Inkling “sympathizers”.

She saw the value this story held, despite the subliminal messaging that she wished wasnt implemented. That she wished she wasnt a part of. She saw that its a tale of hope. A tale that inspires one to become the hero of their own life. A tale that inspires one to make the world a better place.

————————

So she was hatched and raised to make people smile, singing her songs and dancing their dances. Much like the clan singer that was 4, except the tradition is much more healthy compared to industry standard. And she didnt become as mean as the people around her, at least not internally. She put on a mean mask but she felt the void within. When she was given kindness for a long enough time, she put her walls down.

And just like the real 3, she underwent through the horrors of expectations she had to hold up, and trying to make uninterested parents proud. They dont see her as their daughter, shes just a means to an end. She had to wear a hundred masks to survive and it made her lose her sense of identity. She had to be mature, she had to take the shitty behavior of adults who expect her to be like one too. It made her lose grip of who she is beyond this role. Hell, they made her so dependent on their handouts that shes not sure she can exist beyond this hell. Much like how 3 struggles to know a life beyond their duty.

And much like 8, she used the story she was telling to break out and get herself in a better situation. She met with the real Agents 1 and 2 (without her knowledge) and asked. Begged. for help, after her show ended. (3 also kind of pointed the two in her direction. Bc cod knows how horrifying this industry is. Shes lucky she didnt get any of the grosser horrors ~~its bc I didnt feel comfortable writing such topics~~)

And then shes faced with the same problem all the real legends faced. What comes after the end? When the dust clears, what happens next? She wasnt given a damn choice, she wasnt allowed to try to learn things beyond this role. to be beyond an imagined agent 3. a soldier for the screen. who is she now, that shes out of that battlefield?

little does she realize that the real 3s asking the same question for themself.

[catcze]

Wriothesley thought.

Wrio giving us the princess/queen treatment bcs he's so whipped for us gives me butteflys🤭

THE WAY HE WOULD 🥺🥺🥺 I'm such a sucker for princess treatment so;;;;; this is so self indulgent HAHAHAA I got so carried away but that's ok ♡♡♡ No prns used !!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

Wrio would treat you so well and and spoil you omg;;;

Opens things for you without you even having to ask! Doors, car doors, soda cans, pudding cups. You name it, he's opening it for you.

The kinda guy who would memorize your schedule and what time you come home, just so that he can go to you and pick you up himself 🥺

Would bring your favorite desserts with him, as well as your thermos full of some tea he made. Gives you lots and lots and lots of kisses when he picks you up, sometimes even literally picks you up and spins you in a circle, not letting you down even when you laugh and scold him because he's so embarrassing! he doesn't care— he just lives for hearing you laugh.

Deposits you in the passenger seat of his car himself, and seatbelts you in with a little kiss to your forehead and your nose. When he gets caught in a red light, he holds your hand, too.

When you go out shopping, he will not allow you to carry a single shopping bag. That's all him. The only thing he wants you to be holding is his hand ♡

Also also !! When you go clothes shopping, know that he's paying for everything that you want, too. If you come out of the changing room, smiling and telling him how good you think you look in the clothes you're fitting, he'll always nod and tell you that he's falling in love with you all over again.

And while you're trying on the next outfit, he's quietly calling over one of the store clerks and handing them his card, telling them to charge everything that you like there ♡ Absolute sugar daddy energy HAHAHAHAHAHAH

Pays for all your meals, too!

He asked you what you're allergic to and what you don't like eating on one of your first few dates together and he's been keeping it all on a list on his phone ever since. He makes absolutely sure that whatever restaurant you dine in, you won't be at risk of anything you can't/don't like eating.

If you feel cold while you hang out, he's giving you his jacket in the blink of an eye. Even rubs your arms and holds your hands so they warm up. Deffo cups your hands in his and blows on them!

And if you get tired? He's kneeling in front of you, telling you to get on his back. he'd give you a piggyback ride back to his car or either of your places (whichever is closer) and brings you a cup of water so you're not dehydrated.

and rest assured that on days where he can't be with you physically, he texts you! Not to much so to the point that it's overwhelming, but he at least sends you a good morning and a good night text :)

Also texts you asking if you've eaten! And and, if you say that you haven't yet, he gets food delivered to your home or your workplace/school 🥺

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[pinknightsinmymind]

CANON and the morning sex part? maybe some slow messy ✂️ ? nah i'm on my knees throbbing shaking and all

【 mornings - abby anderson | NSFW 】

abby anderson x fem!reader

MDNI NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

wc: 2.8k

content: established relationship, top!abby, bottom!reader, some soft dom!abby, morning sex, you and abby are very much in love, fingering(r!receiving), scissoring, lots of praise, slight body worship, use of pet names(princess, baby, love, etc.), kinda possessive abs, abby teases you a lot, slight exhibitionism (can you call it that? she wants you to be loud enough for other ppl to hear), nipple play for like one second, not choking per say but abby just has her hand on your neck at one point, cuddling/spooning, i think that's about it? this is pretty tame and kinda cute despite being smut lol

a/n: now wait a minute bc..... you got me thinking.... i got so carried away with this😭😭😭 enjoy!!! also for this fic let's all collecitvely imagine abby's morning voice bc i bet it's so sexy😵‍💫

Abby has always been a morning person by nature. Maybe it’s because of all the times she’d get up early with her father, or because of her training as a soldier for the WLF—either ways, she’s an early riser through and through. That’s why it’s no surprise when she wakes up before you, both for convenience and for her own selfish reasons. Those reasons being, namely, that she loves having the extra time to admire you before you wake up. To Abby, there’s nothing like the beauty and the sanctity of waking up next to you every morning. There’s something sacred about it, a preciousness that belongs only to you and her. You’re here in her arms, safe, loved and cared for by her, and she’d have it no other way.

Your head is resting comfortably on your pillow, having rolled over onto your back at some point in the night. The sheets crinkle underneath Abby’s body as she turns to lay on her side because she’s set on taking in the sight of you. She can’t help it; her mornings don’t feel complete until she has. She pushed your shared blanket off her body, but she accidentally uncovered your torso in the process. She adjusted it a little for you, knowing just how much you like to stay under the covers while you sleep. As you continue to snooze, she takes this time to memorize your face, to see the moles decorating your body, the way your eyebrows are so relaxed while you sleep. You look so at peace, and it reminds her why she works so hard in the first place: to keep you safe. You mean everything to her, the whole world, even, and she’d do anything to protect you. That’s why she takes her job so seriously, why she does all the tasks Isaac assigns her, why she clears so many Infected out on patrol, why she keeps an eye out for Scars like she does. It’s all so you can live in a somewhat safer world.

After admiring you for what feels like forever—because she wishes this could last forever, just you and her safe in bed, your own little world—her hand starts to rub your stomach, caressing your sides, her hand coming up to graze your cheek. Right now she can’t help but remember you’re not wearing anything underneath her t-shirt, and the thought excites her. She remembered watching you slip it on over your naked body after making love last night, and how a part of her was sad she could no longer see every curve, every mark, every inch of your skin. Just thinking about how pretty every portion of your body looks underneath that shirt has her head spinning already. She grabbed onto your waist, pulling you into her, but you ended up rolling over onto your side. Abby doesn’t mind, though, and assumes her role of big spoon so she can rub your sides and your stomach even more.

You may be laying on her left arm, but that doesn’t stop Abby’s ability to caress your body. Her free hand roams over your body gently, so contrary to the scary image many people have of her in their heads. So much destruction has been done by her hands, but when she touches you, it’s like she’s never torn anything apart in her life. It’s like for once she has the capacity to care for something, like she’s not who she used to be, like that version of herself never existed. She’s never cared for anyone as much as she has for you, maybe the last person being her father. When she holds you, when her hands touch your body, she feels like she has the hands of a farmer or a painter, because those are people who know how to nurture, how to grow, how to care. That’s something she’s always desperately wanted to do, but she didn’t know how, not until she met you. All it took was one look into your eyes for her to learn, because suddenly she knew just what it meant to want to protect someone and look after them.

It’s after the caresses that she starts kissing your neck and your face, peppering them all over your skin. This is when you start to wake up, familiar with the routine Abby has set after many mornings together, one you never dislike fulfilling. When you start to stir, that’s when Abby finally speaks.

“Morning, princess,” she whispers. You hum in response, still half-asleep and barely batting away your grogginess. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too, Abs.” Your voice is still rough with sleep like Abby’s, and you find yourself rubbing the hand she has nestled over your stomach. So touchy, you think.

“Look so pretty this morning,” she whispers into your neck. You feel her breath fanning against your skin, and you shiver a little.

“And I didn’t look pretty yesterday morning?” you tease her.

“No, you definitely did,” she says. “You just get prettier each morning.” Her hand moved from your stomach to your sides, rubbing them before sliding down to your hips. She rubs lazy circles there with her thumb as her lips resume kissing your neck. Her kisses are so soft and gentle, and you sigh a little bit as you melt into her touch. Her kisses continue until you feel her move her arm underneath you to slide her hand underneath your t-shirt, skirting over the warmth of your skin until they meet your breasts. Your body feels like it’s on fire with her hands on your skin, and that heat goes straight to your center. A small whine leaves your lips when you feel her start to play with one of your nipples.

“Abs,” you whisper.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, delivering a particularly harsh pinch to your nipple. You let out a loud whimper at the feeling. “Do you need me like I need you?” she asks. Her voice is lower and more gravelly than usual after waking up, and the sound of it has you feeling weak. You nod your head quickly as her hand comes down to grope your ass. “Words, princess.”

“Yes,” you hiss. “Need you bad.” Abby lifts up your leg and places her hand over your cunt. Her fingers just move through your folds, not really touching you how you need, but moving them gingerly to tease you and feel how wet you are. It’s like she’s just trying to feel that you’re there.

“All this for me?” she asks. You say nothing, caught up in how desperate you feel for her touch. You feel hot and bothered and you just hurt. You want her to touch you more and end the anticipation already, but Abby has other ideas. She stops moving her hands through your wetness and instead lets it rest there, cupping you. She removes her other hand from your breasts and rests it on the base of your neck. She doesn’t squeeze, and instead just holds it there firmly. “I thought we went over this, love. Answer me when I talk to you.”

“It’s all for you, Abs,” you whimper. She moves again, satisfied with your answer. “Want you inside.”

“Really, baby? So early in the morning?”

“I just need you,” you answer.

“So desperate for me,” she mutters. You were going to respond, to tell her how mean she was, but you found your words being swallowed when you finally felt one of her fingers insert themselves. You moaned as you felt her fill you up, moving slowly and languidly. She knew how to make the moment last forever, how to make you beg for more. You moaned again as you felt her finger curl inside you, hitting the spot just where you needed her. She chuckled lowly in your ear after hearing your sounds. She loved making you feel good, knowing you were hers to pleasure like this.

“You’re all mine,” she said assertively. “All mine to touch like this. You understand?” She knew you did. You were as devoted to her as she was with you, but she loved to hear it from your lips.

“Yes,” you answer. “I’m all yours. Feels so good.”

“I know it does,” she replied, inserting another finger. A small yelp left your lips at the sudden intrusion, your brain immediately going hazy and filled with pleasure. You found yourself shamelessly moaning with each move of her fingers, one of your hands reaching up to hold onto the one she had on your neck. She moved it from its spot on your skin and laced her fingers through yours as she continued hammering into you with her fingers.

“Keep making those pretty sounds, princess,” she commanded. “I want everyone in the base to hear you. I want them to know it’s me making you feel this good.”

“Oh, fuck, Abs,” you groaned. You wanted to tell her how good she was making you feel, but all that was coming out of your lips were incoherent mumbles. Abby couldn’t help the smirk that grew on her face hearing you fail to speak.

“Yeah? Making you feel that good?” she teased. You poor thing. Just fucked so dumb you can’t even speak, and done all by her. It was an ego boost, but it also made her feel good. Hearing your moans and being able to tell you were feeling good made her wetter by the second. Her own cunt was aching, and it was all for you.

“Abby,” you whined. You could feel your stomach tightening as she continued to hit that spot deep within you that made you go crazy. She knew what she was doing—she always did. She knew your body so well, knew just what it took to make you come apart when she was fucking you. “I’m close.”

“Look at you. Cumming on my fingers already?” You only whimpered in response. “Yeah, keep going, love. Cum all over my fucking fingers.” She quickened her pace, the sound of her fingers pumping into your wetness echoing through the room. You couldn’t help as the loud moan left your lips once you climaxed, the feeling overtaking you and every single one of your senses. It was like disappearing for a moment, swallowed by the white hot pleasure all over your body. Abby removed her fingers from you, grabbing onto your body and turning you to face her. Her lips were on yours faster than you expected, but you gladly returned her kiss. Her hands grabbed onto your shirt and pulled you even closer into her body. She was so desperate and hungry for you, and you were just what she needed to cure the ache between her legs.

“Need to feel you,” she whimpered against your lips. “Want to feel you against me.”

“Fuck,” you whined. “I want to make you feel good, Abs.”

Abby removed her lips from yours and sat up in bed, and you followed her actions. She pulled her boxers and her tank top off, then leaned over and pulled your shirt over your head. That only ignited the aching she felt further as she leaned in close to your body and began kissing you, her hands roaming over your skin, touching you anywhere she could. She loved to admire your naked body like the work of art it was, and she could never get enough of it. As she scooted closer to you, she spread your legs apart as she settled her own between them. When she was finally close enough, she could feel your warm skin on hers, your wetness coating her own. She let out a small groan at the contact as she grabbed onto your leg to her right and started grinding against you.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned. She could feel your clit rubbing against hers, and it was driving her crazy. You were still sensitive after your previous orgasm, and it just made your pleasure intensify. She was grinding against you slowly, taking her time with you, staring so deep into your eyes as she did so. The intensity of her gaze turned you on even more, which you didn’t even think was possible.

“Abs,” you whimpered. Her eyes didn’t leave your face as she watched your expressions twist with every emotion you felt. Lust, love, pleasure—she loved to see it all on your face.

“Love having you like this, baby,” she grunted. “All desperate for me. You like it when I make love to you like this, huh?” Her hips kept that same slow, steady rhythm against yours, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of her against you, the sounds of your wetness echoing in the room.

“Yeah,” you answered her. You knew she’d punish you if you didn’t, and you couldn’t stand to be punished at a time like this. Not when you were feeling so good. You made eye contact with her again, her gaze boring into you and every part of you as she continued her movements. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stared at you, something wild and full of lust taking over her gaze. Feeling her watch you made it all feel even better. You felt like your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, the only thought in your head being Abby. Her name kept being repeated in your head, just Abby, Abby, Abby, and you found yourself muttering it outloud, too. Abby kept grinding her cunt against yours, and with each movement of her hips you were both losing yourselves deeper into one another. You met every thrust of her hips with your own, and it caused moans to slip out of each of your lips. The feeling was just so heavenly in a way you couldn’t put into words.

“Feel so good against me, baby, fuck,” she moaned. She was always the dominant one, always the one in charge, but whenever she got overstimulated like this, she started to lose her cool. Abby was doing her best to maintain the image she usually did, to stay in control, but she was faltering. You could both tell from the whimpers uncontrollably leaving her lips. “So–so good,” she groaned. “I–fuck,” she cursed. If there was a higher power, you had to have been sent to her by it. There was no worldly explanation for why she was blessed with someone as good as you, how she came to love and be loved by a real life angel.

“I want you to cum on me, Abs,” you whimpered. “Use me to cum. Just fuck me,” you begged. Abby let out a grunt at your words and immediately picked up the pace of her hips against yours. That sent you both over the edge as you both got much louder from the sudden sensations. You did your best to reach her pace, but Abby’s hips were moving much faster than yours, so much so she was starting to get messy. She was doing exactly as you asked, not sparing a moment to pause as she chased her orgasm. She was so close, and she knew that she would unravel soon as she was already coming undone. The whimpers leaving her lips were so pathetic, but she just felt so good she couldn’t help it.

“You’re so good to me,” she moaned. “Letting me fuck you like this. Shit.” She could feel her climax approaching, the heat in her stomach overtaking both her mind and body. “You’re—Fuck. Gonna cum.” She grinded her hips against yours a few more times and that’s when she felt her orgasm overtake her. She let out a choked moan at the sudden pleasure, but she kept grinding against you regardless. She wanted you to cum again, to cum with you. You found your eyes filling up with tears at the pleasure you felt, still so sensitive from earlier. The sensitivity made it hurt a little, but it just felt so good.

“Fuck, fuck, Abby,” you moaned, feeling it all finally wash over you. Abby kept grinding against you until your orgasm finally ran its course, then stopped. Both of you were catching your breath with heaving chests, staring at each other in post-orgasm awe. You could feel your body was sticky with sweat—and probably other fluids—but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You collapsed onto the pillows behind you, Abby following suit as she pulled your bare body close to hers. Abby felt so tired and like she could pass out within seconds, but her tendencies as a clean freak were stronger than her sleepiness.

“You wanna take a shower?” she asked. You shook your head, snuggling further into Abby’s chest.

“No. Just wanna lay here with you for a while.”

“But you will shower with me later, right?” she asked again.

You hummed in response. “Yeah. But right now I just wanna cuddle with you.”

“Fair enough, love,” she said. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, the one place she liked to keep you the best.

[winwintea]

eternally yours

PAIRING ↬ idol!winwin x idol!reader

TAGS ↬ fluff, romance, anniversary, marriage proposal, established relationship, idol au, winwin loves flowers, random sm trainee helps winwin sort his shit out, jaehyun deals magic potions because i said so, technically fantasy au for that, no explicit content but they get VERY intimate at the end, ww calls y/n 'good girl' once bc i'm me, my obsession with hands also seeps through...

SUMMARY ↬ roses are red, violets are blue, sicheng prepared 108 roses for your anniversary, what shall you do?

WORD COUNT ↬ 3.1k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ HAPPY WINWIN DAY. i have been working on this fic for a while only because i wanted it to be absolutely perfect. i don't think it's good enough yet, but i hold myself to a higher standard when writing fics for my favs. it's shorter than i wanted it to be too i'm sorry 😭😭 it's wayyy harder cause ww is my ult, but i hope i still do him the justice he deserves, his content is so scarce on here... also sherlisa is a sm trainee that i randomly included for fun lol. lowkey forgot about sm's new girl group until hybe brought it back up again. how is hybe more obsessed with sm groups than me?

SICHENG WAS OVERTHINKING THINGS.

He’d been working non-stop, but he couldn’t deny his mind had drifted—right to his anniversary with you. He’d overheard you talking with one of your friends about how excited you were, how much you were looking forward to it. He wanted to make it perfect, something that would make you happy. Dinner reservations were easy, but they didn’t feel like enough. Should he get a gift? Plan a whole day out? Come up with something else that might be truly memorable?

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice when his bandmate, Kun walked in and took a seat across from him, observing him with a hint of amusement.

“Sicheng?”

Blinking, he looked up, a bit surprised to see Kun there. “Huh? Sorry, what did you say?”

Kun just laughed, shaking his head. “Not much. Just that it’s rare to see you this distracted unless you’re really deep in thought.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Sicheng rubbed the back of his neck, trying to brush it off. He didn’t want Kun reading too much into it.

“Lately, it’s like you’re in another world. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, of course…” Sicheng answered a little too quickly, trying to sound casual.

Kun just smirked at him. “You sure? I mean, there’s no comeback, no new schedules, and you’ve been back from China for a while. So the only thing I can think of is…Y/N.”

Sicheng let out a wry chuckle. Kun knew him too well. It was true; every free moment, his mind drifted back to you, to your anniversary, and to how he wanted to surprise you. He hadn’t expected one person could so easily take over his thoughts, filling him with the urge to make every moment with you special. “Alright, maybe you’re right,” he admitted, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I just…want it to be perfect.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Kun pointed out. 

“I’ll try I guess.” Sicheng knew it was a bit silly, but he couldn’t deny how much he’d changed since meeting you. 

After wrapping up work, he headed home, the excitement building as he approached your room. Seeing you lying comfortably in bed, he slipped in quietly and sat beside you, gently brushing his fingers through your hair.

“Y/N…is there anything special you want to do for our anniversary?” He tried to keep his voice casual, hoping to hide just how much he’d been agonizing over it.

You looked up at him with a small smile. “Honestly? Just spending the weekend together sounds perfect. It’s been a while since we did that.” There was a slight hesitation in your voice, as if you didn’t want to ask for too much.

“You don’t have to hold back,” he said softly.

You shook your head, reassuring him, “I mean it, Sicheng. You’re always working so hard; I just want you to rest.”

Sicheng’s eyes softened. If there was ever a time for you to ask for anything, it was now, your anniversary of all days. Reaching out, he brushed the backs of his fingers along your cheek, your smile putting him more at ease. “Honestly? Seeing you smile is what makes me relax when I’m tired. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen.”

He thought back to when your relationship had first become public, some fans were supportive, some fans were not. The two of you saw some of your worst days, the only people to depend on for support was each other. But through it all, you’d both stayed strong, and now here you were, closer than ever.

“Besides, I can rest anytime,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

You chuckled and leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Well, I’m really happy that I can help you relax.”

Seeing the happiness on your face, he made up his mind—he’d plan something extraordinary for your anniversary, something that would bring that same beautiful smile to your face, even if you hadn’t asked for it.

—

The next morning, as Sicheng watered his plants, he found himself lingering by the peonies, their delicate petals reminding him of you. Maybe a bouquet would be a sweet anniversary gift? It wasn’t flashy, but it was heartfelt, and he couldn’t help but picture the smile it might bring to your face. As he absentmindedly watered the flowers, his thoughts drifted back to last night. You’d tried to be considerate, downplaying any big celebration just so he could rest. But he wanted you to feel comfortable expressing what you really wanted, even if he had a surprise up his sleeve.

That afternoon, after another agonizing day at that entertainment company, Sicheng made his way to a cozy flower shop owned by a friend’s family. The warm, fragrant air and the sight of bright blossoms felt like a haven from his hectic schedule. A new part-timer greeted him. He immediately recognized her as the new Thai-Chinese female trainee Ten had introduced to her a while back. Sherlisa. That was her name. With a smile, she asked what he was looking for.

“You want a bouquet of roses?” she asked, a curious smile forming from her lips. “That’s a little unexpected.”

Sicheng nodded, almost shyly. Meeting someone from work outside of work hours was awkward for him, especially it being a 19 year old trainee. He was glad dispatch had laid off his back for a while, since he hadn’t seen anyone following him around lately. “It’s for our anniversary. I just… I want Y/N to know what she means to me.”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Oh, so you mean you’re ready to tell her you’re madly in love?”

Sicheng chuckled, glancing down at the counter. It was more than that, though. His thoughts returned to you, the way you’d changed his life without even trying. "My life already belongs to her," he murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else.

When he looked up, Sherlisa’s jaw had dropped a bit. “Damn boy, I knew you were whipped, but I didn’t think you were that whipped. If you’re serious about what you just said then that’s pretty much a proposal.”

“A Proposal?” He’d been so absorbed in the idea of making you happy that he hadn’t considered that. But now that it was out there, the thought settled in his heart with unexpected warmth as he started reflecting over his feelings.

“You want to live your life for her, right?,” Sherlisa added knowingly. “So maybe… make it a bouquet she’ll never forget?”

He could only smile, the decision suddenly clear. “Yeah… you’re right.” Picturing you in his mind, his heart swelled with certainty. Yeah, that’s basically what he wanted to tell her, yes. Ever since the two of you became a couple, his feelings for you have just grown stronger inside of his heart. 

“Sherlisa,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “I need to change the number of roses in that bouquet.”

—

That night, Sicheng found himself outside your room again, his heart beating a little faster than usual as he knocked. 

You smiled at him as you opened the door. “What’s up, Sicheng?”

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure. “I wanted to invite you out on a date.”

Your eyes widened, a flush creeping up your cheeks. “A date?” You sounded a little surprised, and it was so endearing that he had to resist the urge to throw his arms around you right then and there.

“Yeah… how about this? We’ll meet in front of SME on our anniversary, and then head somewhere special.” He hadn’t worked out every detail yet, but he had some ideas—something that would make this a night to remember.

“That sounds amazing,” you replied, a bit of hesitation still in your voice. “But… are you sure you’re not too busy?”

He gave you a gentle pat on the head, watching as your smile softened. “Don’t worry. I’ve made sure there’s nothing that could keep me from you that day.”

“All right, then! I’m excited already,” you said, beaming up at him. But, truth be told, it was him who could hardly contain his anticipation.

Leaning in close, he brushed his lips near your ear, his voice dropping to a warm murmur. “And make sure you don’t have any other plans that night, either.”

“O-Of course,” you stammered, your cheeks turning even pinker. Despite how long you two had been together, his spontaneous displays of affection always seemed to catch you off guard.

He smiled, brushing his lips over your flushed cheek in a quick, sweet kiss. “Good night, Y/N,” he whispered, pulling back reluctantly. As he turned to leave, a rush of excitement filled him, and he couldn’t help feeling excited about your anniversary already.

—

The next night, Sicheng made his way to a quiet pub tucked away from the bustling city. It was the kind of place he only went to for close friends— and this one he hadn’t seen in a while. As he entered, he spotted Jaehyun already waiting at the bar, nursing a drink and giving him a casual nod.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Sicheng said, sliding onto the seat beside him.

Jaehyun chuckled. “Anytime. Besides, I needed a night out myself.” He reached into his bag and handed Sicheng a small, glass vial filled with a clear, shimmering liquid. “Here’s the…potion, chemical—whatever you want to call it. If you put it on the flowers, they’ll stay fresh and won’t wilt forever.”

Sicheng took the vial, a wave of relief washing over him. “Thanks, Jae. Really.”

Jaehyun glanced at him curiously, eyebrows raised. “I’ve gotta ask…what’s with the magical flower potion request? You’re usually not the type to go all out on that kind of thing.”

Sicheng hesitated for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “I’m going to propose. To Y/N.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened, nearly spilling his drink. “Propose? As in, marry?” He was definitely shocked, but within seconds, a smile spread across his face. “Sicheng, that’s amazing! I didn’t know you were thinking about it. Congratulations, man!”

Sicheng couldn’t help but smile back, the nerves mixing with excitement in his chest. “Thanks. I’ve thought it over so much lately. And this just…feels right.”

Jaehyun laughed, patting him on the back. “I always thought you’d be one of the last guys in our group to settle down, but it looks like love changes people.” He shook his head, looking impressed. “She must be really special.”

“She is,” Sicheng replied softly, picturing you in his mind. “She’s been with me through everything—the highs and the lows. She’s the one person I want by my side, no matter what.”

Jaehyun raised his glass with a warm smile. “Then here’s to you, man. And to Y/N. May she say yes and make you the happiest guy in the world.”

Sicheng lifted his own glass, clinking it with Jaehyun’s. “Here’s to hoping.”

As they drank, Sicheng felt a new sense of confidence settling over him. The night was filled with laughter, memories, and stories of the past. He had never imagined that his friends would be this supportive during one of the biggest moments of his life, and Jaehyun’s unwavering encouragement made him feel more ready than ever for the step he was about to take.

With renewed determination, he tucked the vial carefully into his pocket, knowing it would be the final touch to make his proposal perfect.

—

It was finally here—your anniversary. Sicheng’s heart raced the entire evening, each little detail of your date building up to this moment. Dinner had been perfect, and when you’d discovered that new cafe for dessert, your face lit up with excitement, making him feel like he’d already succeeded. But the real surprise was waiting back home.

“That dessert was amazing,” you said, still smiling as you unlocked the door.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he replied, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

As you stepped inside and turned on the lights, you froze, eyes going wide at the sight of a massive bouquet of roses waiting for you on the table. “Oh my gosh!” you gasped, looking between the flowers and Sicheng with an expression of pure delight. “There are so many!”

Sicheng couldn’t help but smile; you were reacting exactly as he’d imagined, if not better. He stepped forward, picking up the bouquet, the roses almost spilling out of his arms. “Today’s the anniversary of the day we became a couple.”

“Yes…” You looked up at him, eyes softening as a sentimental smile crossed your face.

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding. He had been thinking about this moment for days now, planning and preparing. This was it. “Did you know that giving someone 108 roses means asking them, ‘Will you marry me?’”

Your smile faded as you froze, eyes widening even more as you processed what he’d just said.

“I love you so much it makes me crazy,” he continued, his voice filled with emotion. “Since the day I met you, everything I do has been about making you happy. Being with you… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” He held out the bouquet which was practically overflowing from his arms, his voice soft yet steady. “So, will you accept this and say yes?”

Tears sparkled in your eyes as you reached out, fingers slightly trembling. “Yes, of course!” You took the bouquet from him, clutching it close to your chest, your smile radiant with joy.

Your eyes shimmered with tears, and Sicheng felt his heart swell. This was exactly the reaction he’d hoped for—a sign that you felt the depth of his love.

You lifted the bouquet, inhaling the sweet fragrance. “They’re gorgeous, and they smell amazing… I wish I could keep them forever, so I’d always remember this day.”

He smiled, feeling the joy bubbling inside him. “You can.”

Your eyes widened, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly. “Those roses were treated with a special potion to keep them from wilting. They’ll stay just as beautiful… forever.”

“Wait, seriously?” You gasped, looking back at the bouquet with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Almost like a kid in a toy store. “So they’ll stay like this, and I can keep them forever?”

“Yes.” Your cheeks slowly turned the same deep pink as the rose petals, and he took a step closer, cupping your face in his hands. “You sacrificed so much just to be with me,” he said, his voice tender. “I want to make all your dreams come true, no matter how small they are. Even if you wish for something as simple as a flower, I want to give it to you. I want to give you everything.”

You gazed up at him, emotions swirling in your tear-filled eyes. “Sicheng…”

“I want to spend the rest of my life making up for anything you’ve lost,” he whispered. “Because you’re the person I’ve been searching for all along. And I want to stay by your side forever, just so I can remind you every day how much I love you.”

He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close. Your head rested against his chest, and he could feel the warmth of your embrace, the quiet joy that had always connected you two. 

Sicheng felt as if his heart might burst. He gently cupped your face, his eyes filled with a sincerity that spoke louder than words. "I love you more than anyone in the entire world,” he murmured. It was rare for him to voice his feelings so openly, but tonight, they poured out effortlessly, the depth of his love shining through in every word.

A warm smile spread across your face, and you whispered, “I love you too, Sicheng. So please… stay with me forever.”

“Of course I will,” he replied softly, his gaze steady. 

As you gazed into each other’s eyes, you felt the air grow thicker with a shared warmth. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours. The kiss was gentle but full of promises, and when he pulled back, he took the bouquet from your arms, setting it carefully on the table.

Without a word, he swept you up into his arms, drawing a startled laugh from you. “Sicheng?” you whispered, cheeks flushed.

He grinned, feeling a sense of boldness he rarely indulged. “I want to see your smile from closer up.” Your scent drifted up to him, light and sweet like the roses you’d been holding, and he couldn’t help but lean in, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

Your cheeks turned pink, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “O-Okay…”

“Good girl,” he whispered, feeling your heart beating wildly against him as he carried you to the bed. As he gently lowered you down, you hesitated, fingers slowly releasing their hold on his neck. He brushed a soft kiss on your cheek, his fingertips trailing over your face and down to your lips.

He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to see you the happiest you’ve ever been.” His fingers caressed your cheek, moving to your slightly parted lips. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it for you.”

You gazed up at him, your breath warm on his cheek. “You’ll do anything?” you murmured, an unmistakable glint of joy in your eyes.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice filled with certainty. “Name it.”

Your eyes dipped down shyly, and after a brief moment, you said softly, “Okay… I want you to stroke my hair.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he nodded, his fingers gently combing through your hair. You closed your eyes, your expression melting into one of pure happiness. “Your hands… they’re so big and gentle,” you whispered, your voice almost dreamlike. “I love them.”

He smiled, his heart swelling. “I’m glad to hear that.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair, brushing a tender kiss on your forehead. “Anything else?”

You looked up at him, your gaze softened with affection. “I want you to kiss me…”

His lips curved into a warm smile, and he leaned down, his mouth finding yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, quiet moment, wrapped up in each other. He kissed you again, and again, savoring each touch, feeling his love deepen with every brush of his lips against yours. Your breath hitched, and he could feel the echo of his heartbeat mirrored in you.

He was yours, eternally yours. He’d spend his life by your side, sharing each joy, every little moment, every kiss, forever and always.

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