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chateautae · 7 months ago

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risk management | kth. (m)

➵ summary : you have one rule; you don’t date investment bankers, point blank period. but when your best friend invites you to her over-the-top housewarming party to meet her husband’s co-worker, kim taehyung, you don’t expect the night to take a wild turn; and risk bending your own rules.��

➵ pairing: investment banker!taehyung x f. reader

➵ genre : non-idol!au, s2l, smut, pwp

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 9.4k

➵ warnings : alcohol consumption, swearing, sexual tension, heavy making out, mentions of exhibitionism (nobody sees them), big dicc!tae, against a window sex, unprotected sex (you’re smarter than this guys), ass, breast and pussy fondling (the holy trinity <3), sir kink!!, dirty talk, brief hand-jobbing, oral (m. and f. receiving), panty sniffing, denied orgasm, marking, riding, ass smacking, scratching, cum swallowing,

➵ a/n : as always, your feedback means the world to me <3

➵ playlist : take a slice by glass animals

Walking into Nabi’s home was the equivalent of waltzing into a bakery shop. The warm, aesthetic lighting provided a sense of homey comfort, the woodsy, though elegant furnishing and indoor pieces added an exquisite touch of sophistication, and the heavenly smell of freshly baked cherry pie welcomed you into a cozy paradise.

The front door shuts behind you, and you’re privy to at least three dozen people chattering and mingling away. Some clink glasses of liquor together. Others pick off the appetizers in the opulent kitchen while a handful smoke outside on the lawn.

Eyes surfing the crowd of people, you attempt to spot your best friend. Some familiar faces indeed catch your sight, though it’s the amount of new ones that settle some anxiety in the pit of your stomach. It’s not that you’re bad with people; you can actually be quite interpersonal, though the idea that many of these people are strangers leaves you slightly displaced, taking a deep breath.

Exhaling, you’re suddenly interrupted by a familiar cheery voice latching onto your arm.

“Y/N, you came!”

“Of course I would. Why wouldn’t I?” You joke with her. “I know how important this is to you.”

“Thank you. I was seriously getting worried you wouldn’t come. I’m so glad you did!” Nabi’s usually chirpy nature curves your lips, chuckling a little. “God, you must be starving. Let’s get you into the kitchen.”

Nabi leads the way towards her grand, quite impressive kitchen. You have to honestly raise your brows, lips slightly hanging open at the shimmering granite countertops, the sleek induction stove, and the expansive storage space. She surely had an eye for interior design.

When Nabi told you she and her husband Namjoon would be purchasing a new home, never did you expect a house of this caliber. It was already located in quite the expensive, high-class neighbourhood, but stepping inside to assess the luster yourself felt like a reality check.

You live nowhere near this luxury.

“Oh my God, Y/N, I have news.” Nabi dramatically begins, tugging you towards the table of appetizers. You nab a small plate as you choose some posh finger foods, attention shifting towards your best friend.

“Soooo, some of Namjoon’s co-workers are here.” She playfully bounces her brows, wiggling her shoulders a little to indicate something mischievous. How very Nabi of her, you think.

“Ah, speaking of Namjoon, I haven’t been able to say hi to him.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m telling you this.” She sing-songs, much too proud and giddy to not be scheming something evil.

“Nabi.. what in God’s name did you do?”

“Nothing! I just wanted to tell you that Namjoon’s with a co-worker right now.” She explains, but soon begins nudging your side as you bite into a cube of Brie. “And guess which co-worker he’s with?”

You gently raise your brows in question, your round eyes conveying an ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look of inquiry. Nabi ends up huffing in complaint with a roll of her eyes, suddenly snatching your snack plate from you and placing it down on her table.

“Wha-Nabi!”

“You’re coming with me.” She rigidly instructs, clasping onto your wrist and dragging you across her kitchen. You protest against her, grievous over your lonely plate of food.

“Nabi, are you serious?!”

“Very. You haven’t said hi to Namjoon yet, and that’s a crime in my household!” She valiantly declares, to which you roll your eyes to the back of your head and unwillingly tag along.

Nabi tugs you through her house far enough she reaches her living room looking out into her backyard, another show of just how luxurious her new home is. She only stops once you both spot her husband Namjoon, who is indeed speaking to a coworker. The stranger’s suit-cladded back is faced towards you both, your attention falling towards an (objectively) striking Namjoon. His hair is impeccably styled, and he adorns a clean, white dress shirt with a fitting vest.

“Baby!” Nabi calls her hubby, and Namjoon’s distracted within minutes.

“Hey, Bee, what’s up?” Namjoon instinctively asks his wife, and it always manages to melt your heart how considerate he is of her. He spots you immediately and waves a hand as he begins approaching you two, his smile dimply and dashing.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s so great you came!” Namjoon chimes, soon wrapping his big, muscly arms around you for a bear hug. You nearly lose air; he’s gotten huge over the few months you haven’t seen him. You kindly return the embrace, giving his large back a friendly rub.

Just as you let go, Namjoon gestures towards the co-worker he was speaking to. “Sorry I didn’t get to greet you at the door, Y/N. I was just with a friend. Taehyung-ah!”

Right then and there, said co-worker of Namjoon swivels around, revealing himself with a charming smile and beautiful, yet fierce eyes that cause every feminine fiber within your being to become attracted.

This is quite literally the most handsome man you have ever laid witness upon.

He makes careful, slow strides over to the group, and you can’t help but notice how long and model-like his legs are; the confidence in his steps, the assured posture of his squared shoulders and back, the sharp, cutting edge of his sexy jawline. His brows were strong, lips wide and full, the expression he wore on his face equivalent to the ruler of a kingdom.

“Yes, Taehyung! Come meet Y/N!” Nabi becomes far too elated, grasping your shoulder. “This is the Taehyung I told you about.” She harshly whispers by your ear, to which you are finally greeted by reality.

Fuck.

How could you have become so distracted so as to not recognize the man’s name? Nabi has never shut her trap about him ever since the day she met him, and your eyes shockingly widen once she mutters those words to you. You turn to quietly scold her, but you’re soon interrupted by Taehyung joining the group.

“Hey, everyone.”

Fuck, he has a deep voice.

You’ve always had an uncontrollable attraction towards deep voices.

That aside, you tug at Nabi’s arms encircling your bicep, gently rebuking her in a (hopefully) discreet voice.

“Nabi, what the hell? I thought I told you I wasn’t up for this?”

Clearly, you’re horrid at whispering because Namjoon and Taehyung across from you both fall silent, causing enough awkward tension in the air for Nabi to crack a very fake, deliberately polite smile.

“Sorry, boys. Would you excuse us?”

Nabi quickly ensnares your wrist to angrily tug you into a separate room, presuming it’s a guest room. She turns towards you after shutting the door with baffled eyes and firmly crossed arms, evidently pissed.

“Y/N, what the fuck?!”

“What, Nabi?”

“Why would you say that when he was literally right there?” Nabi gestures for emphasis.

You grievously sigh, despising that you were falling into this frustrating line of discussion again. You know all about this, Taehyung, your best friend has been trying to get on your radar. It’s not exactly exclusive information that you’re single. It’s painstakingly obvious being one of the only unmarried and childless friends among your peers. It’s what makes all of them seek out copious amounts of men for you to finally get hitched with. But there’s always the satirical element to every time you meet any of them; they all usually fall into the same pattern of failure.

They’re either egotistical assholes that are unknowledgeable on how to take care of a woman, are far too fragile with their masculinity to even earn a smidge of criticism on the way they eat pussy, or are plain jane cookie-cutter corporate dogs. Most of the time, it irks your soul, being left with fickle relationships that end horribly or somewhat okay sex that eventually dwindles out into dry text messages.

Sure, sometimes you get a good fuck or two in there, but none of that matters anymore. You’re tired of assholes, tired of the same routine of sorry-assed men that can sometimes never even get you to cum.

Of course, you’re not saying all of this applies to Taehyung. You won’t subject the innocent man to such scrutinizing standards already. From what you knew, he was a kind, respectful and hard-working man. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. There was surely something undeniably intriguing about him, and the sweet rise of his cheeks indicated to you he was indeed a pleasant man; there was no doubt about that.

But there was just one goddamn thing about him.

“Nabi, I fucking told you I don’t date investment bankers. You know how I feel about them ever since we found out the pattern of all my failed dates; they were all in finance!”

“Y/N, c’mon, babe. You can’t hold this prejudiced mindset about all investment bankers, didn’t you see the man? He’s scrumptious!”

“He’s scrumptious, yes, but I’ll still hold my bias against investment bankers ever since one literally answered a business call when he was balls deep inside me.”

Nabi sighs, hand to her forehead as she rubs out the figurative stress piling onto her. “Y/N, look. I get it. I know you don’t date guys like him, but… give him a chance, will you? I got to know him, and he’s a sweet guy.” She softes her tone to persuade you, intertwining her fingers with yours to play with them.

“He has a lot in common with you, and he did say he’d like to meet you.” She speaks through puckered lips to coat her tone with sugary sweetness, honestly loosening up as you watch her doe eyes plead you. “You’d be a good match, Y/N. Just one chance.”

Perhaps the night would be a disaster, or perhaps you could find someone actually worthwhile; you’d never know if you didn’t try. That, and the combination of Nabi’s puppy-like eyes and adorable pout, do you in, ultimately acquiescing.

“Fine, fine.. I’ll meet him.” you drawl, to which your best friend springs to life.

Nabi happily bumps a fist in the air as she celebrates, squeaking a series of elated explanations about Taehyung as she leads you out the room and towards this seemingly perfect match of an investment banker.

“Namjoon, baby, we should probably set up dinner for our guests, don’t you think?” Nabi inserts herself back into Namjoon and Taehyung’s conversation, thanking God he hadn’t left yet after you so rudely whispered about him.

“Of course, love. We should get going.” Namjoon secretly communicates with his wife through his eyes, his smile growing equally as scheming as hers. God, they’re the perfect match.

“We’ll see you two around.” Namjoon politely excuses himself and Nabi from you and Taehyung, to which your best friend shoots you a cute wave and wink, and Namjoon similarly flashes a finger gun and suggestive bounce of his brows to Taehyung.

The displaced pair of you send tentative waves back to your friends, eyes finally, though nervously shifting towards each other. The sheepish two of you gently chuckle then, attempting to cut the nerves and welcome some ease between you.

“Hi.” Taehyung begins.

“Hi.”

Your fingers dig into your Coach wristlet, maintaining a smile. It’s not that you’re anxious, but something about Taehyung automatically makes you assume a shier demeanour, his own exuding a subtle alpha-male power you’ve never felt before. Other men have channeled such power, but only with demeaning or dogmatic intentions; never so subtle and yet, enticing like this.

“So, it seems you and Nabi had a lot to say, huh?”

Your eyes immediately go wide, remembering he very clearly heard what you said about him and seemed intelligent enough to fill in the blanks of your private conversation. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry about that. I was just- I wasn’t-”

“Expecting to meet someone new so soon, I get you.” Taehyung considerately offers an answer, to which you honestly feel your heart slow down its erratic beating, your lips curving into a smile of gratitude.

“I’m Taehyung, by the way, Kim Taehyung.” He extends his hand, introducing himself quite suavely. His deep, baritone voice is what warms you up to him. There’s something so innately soothing about it.

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” You clasp onto his hand, and it’s almost embarrassing how your eyes widen. His hands are huge, his slender, ring-slated fingers long enough to entirely engulf your hand, the expanse of his warm palm wide enough he could most likely grab you with ease.

You place a pin in that thought before it makes your legs squirm.

“So..” You clear your throat, releasing him to fish yourself out of your delusions. “Your friends with both Nabi and Joon, huh?”

“Yeah, I work with Namjoon. I just got transferred to his department a few months ago. I’m-”

“An investment banker, right?” You finish for him, to which he puckers his lips with impression, his eyes bright with surprise.

“Yeah, I am.” He confirmed with a smile, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Is it possible he’s nervous about meeting you, too? You don’t want to toot your own horn, squashing the contemplation.

“How do you know Nabi?”

“She’s my best friend. I’ve known her since our first year of high school.”

“Wow, you guys must be-”

“Like peanut butter and jam, yeah.” You both adorn amicable smiles, enjoying the company. Taehyung’s already turning out to be quite pleasant, exhibiting actual manners and social etiquette as you work through small talk.

It’s almost comedic how even such simple decency seems so rare these days.

“And you’re a..?” Taehyung suddenly obstructs your thoughts, drawing out his question for you to answer.

“Oh, I’m studying for my PhD in psychology. Professor is my goal.”

“Ah, at the university here, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s always been a dream of mine to teach.” You honestly admit, watching Taehyung reveal a quite... breath-taking smile, you notice. He seems thoroughly interested in what you have to say, and you quickly find a liking towards his personable aura. Taehyung’s close to speaking again until a rowdy group of men next to you almost impede on your personal space, instinctively cowering away.

Taehyung’s eyes shift towards the group, jutting out an arm in between you and the careless stranger.

“We should probably move.” He instructs, and something about the caramel smooth tone of his voice compels you to do so, to feel safe about it. Taehyung encircles his arm around you, not exactly touching you, but shielding precariously as he moves you both further away from the partygoers. He may not be directly contacting your skin, but the proximity of his presence alone suffuses you with a sense of fiery hormones.

He smells incredible.

The pair of you settle beside the backyard door, now much more secluded in the corner of the grand living room. Taehyung retracts his arm then, settling it by his side as he holds his glass of wine while you tuck some hair behind your ear.

He swishes around the mahogany liquid in his glass, while you twiddle with your fingers. A beat of wary, nearly awkward silence passes until Taehyung bravely breaks the ice.

“So.. Nabi and Namjoon keep telling me that I should ask you out.”

There it is, the big elephant in the room. You should’ve known Namjoon was also indoctrinating the idea into Taehyung’s head, being a schemer just like his wife. Namjoon’s obvious encouragement earlier and the tangibly nervous shuffling of Taehyung’s feet was also a tell-tale sign.

“Oh-please, I’m so sorry about this, but I don’t really date investment bankers.” You admit as courteously as possible.

“Oh really, now?” Taehyung seems slightly taken aback but handles the information surprisingly well.

You immediately scramble to clarify things. “Sorry, it’s nothing against you per se... I just-don’t necessarily have a liking towards corporate men.”

“Ah, I see.” Taehyung charmingly smiles, and something about the curve of his pretty lips makes you want to kiss them.

No, no.. you can’t have those thoughts. You cannot possibly be thinking about such things when you’re quite literally turning the gorgeous man down.

“Just not your type, huh?” Taehyung catches your drift, and you let out a sigh of relief for his understanding.

“Essentially? I’ve just had terrible experiences with them, and I’m not into the whole egotistical capitalist mentality.”

“I mean,” Taehyung begins, and it’s hard to miss the way his eyes aren’t necessarily kind and polite anymore. They’ve been coloured with a darker shade, his gaze much more piercing, almost wild. “We’re all slaves to capitalism at the end of the day, aren’t we?”

You gulp listening to the slow, alluring cadence of his deep voice, almost as though he was trying to lull you under a spell of his own making. You feel something in the pits of your stomach begin to knot, arousal causing you to fix your legs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes a little as he observes the change in your tone; it’s much more lax, inviting. He takes the opportunity to lean his forearm against the wall you both occupy, taking half a step towards you, and it’s now you realize just how much he towers over you. The impenetrable persona of his climbable body causes you to swallow, shifting your eyes upwards to meet his.

“Funny you don’t like investment bankers,” he comments with a suave tone. “I’m not really into students.”

Your eyebrows furrow with offence, the possible allusion that you’re a child in his eyes throwing you off. You do remember Nabi mentioning he’s a couple years older than you.

And that suddenly makes him a thousand times hotter. Fuck.

“Hey-” but you halt yourself, checking the tone of your voice. “I mean, we’re... all students of something, aren’t we?” You attempt to mirror his earlier comment concerning capitalism, noticing how he lightly smirks at your scrambling.

Is that something he enjoys? Seeing a woman flustered because of him?

Why is that so insanely hot?

“Perhaps,” Taehyung tilts his head in half-hearted agreement, eyes dancing over the guests of the party as he takes a slow, leisurely sip of his wine and returns to you. “Though I’m not into how pretentious doctorate students can be.”

“Hey, I’m not pretentious-”

“And now you know exactly how I feel.”

You open your mouth for a retort but quickly pause. He got you there, your look of defensiveness dismantling into one of amusement, breaking out into a little chuckle. He was trying to get back at you. “I… I’m so sorry.”

Taehyung similarly laughs, and suddenly the sweet chime of his giggle sounds mellifluous to your ears. “No big deal, I just… feel like changing your mind, Y/N.” He sincerely admits, and you soften at the show of genuity in his look, not so nervous anymore.

You bite your lip as your eyes flicker towards the ground, feeling courage permeate through you as you meet his gaze once again. You step closer to him, almost leaning into the arm he’s casted against the wall, finding his irises to be a warm, tender colour of coffee.

“So, here you are at a party drinking an exquisite glass of Merlot compared to the other money-hungry mongers at this party.” You joke.

“Well, what would the other money-hungry mongers usually be drinking, anyway?” He plays along with a similar tone.

“You’d usually find them with a glass of Scotch or Canadian Whiskey, tipped off with rocks, of course, because it adds a little more snazz to their parvenu looks, you get me?”

Taehyung lets out a hearty laugh, joining him as he curtains his mouth with his palm. “Yeah, you’re totally right.” He agrees.

“But not you… huh?” You won’t deny the suggestion that taints your tone, even bringing your hand to his bicep and just gently caressing him. You watch his eyes follow the action, observing calmly, calculatingly as he returns his gaze to you. He’s much more dangerous, tempting.

“Not me, Y/N.”

His reply and the way he recites your name drips with sin, the caramel smoothness of his voice rich enough to want to hear it against your skin. You’re both caught in a moment of simply absorbing each other, observing him bringing a finger to his bottom lip. He rubs slowly as he speaks, drawing your attention towards his mouth.

“And what about you?”

“What about me, Taehyung?”

“You have no drink in your hand.. which means you’re either not a drinker or you’ve got somewhere to go tomorrow morning?” Taehyung draws out as he attempts to uncover you, as though he were traversing the map of mystery within your eyes. “Perhaps to see someone..?”

“Oh, no, I’m not seeing anyone at all.” You immediately respond, squashing that assumption.

“What a coincidence… me neither.”

You could feel the tension between you two. It was palpable, so dense even a diamond couldn’t cut through. There were only mere inches between your bodies, having absent-mindedly gravitated towards each other. Something’s compelling you to drag him into a room or get him out of here, to stick by his side the rest of the party until it leads to something riveting tonight.

But your mind tells you this isn’t a good idea. Sure, despite being an investment banker, Taehyung was certainly sweet and kind, even a delicious man of sin who just looks like he’d let a woman ride his face into the sunset. However, they all seem like that at first until they eventually reveal the beastly, harsh truths behind their unappealing characters, knowing that as much as you feel tempted, whenever you made decisions with your pussy, it didn’t go very well.

“I um… I’m gonna go find Nabi and see if she needs help with dinner.” You stupidly derail the conversation, Taehyung springing back into his courteous persona from before, as though he were also awakened from a trance. “It was great meeting you, Taehyung.. And I see where our friends think we could be a good match but I just… I don’t think we’re a good idea. I hope you can understand.”

It’s only right. You don’t date investment bankers, and he’s not into PhD students, it makes perfect sense for you two to not tread any further than this.

“Yeah, yeah.. Of course.” Taehyung sweetly smiles, not revealing any hurt or immature offence, but rather mutual understanding, thankful he was surprisingly so compassionate.

“It's okay, Y/N. I agree, it only makes sense.” He admits, propping his arm off the wall. “I’ll see you around the party, alright?”

“Of course, enjoy yourself as well.” You politely reply.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.” He considerately bids a farewell, and it honestly feels good to hear such words.

You kindly wave him off as he lets you go, appreciating how gentlemanly he was, and shooting him a grateful grin. “Take care, Taehyung. I’ll see you around.”

Taehyung rams you against the front door, his full lips devouring every inch of your hot mouth. He breathes impatiently.

“When you said see you around, I didn’t think you meant in my apartment.”

Here you were; dress falling off your shoulders, wine drunk, and shoving your tongue down Kim Taehyung’s throat. You moan, feeling the power of his manhandling, the sheer, rough carnality to his movements absolutely riveting. You remain shoved up against the door of this high-rise apartment, his knee nestled between your legs as his large hands desperately tug your lips onto his.

“Shut up and kiss me.” You breathe harshly as you dive in for his tongue, impatient with your movements as Taehyung laughs.

Nabi was the instigator, the goddamn game master of this entire play because if it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be licking into Kim Taehyung’s mouth in his luxurious, 17th-floor apartment at 2AM in the morning.

She’s the one who suggested you all keep drinking her expensive wine, always bringing out another bottle the minute the previous one finished. You didn’t want to make things awkward with Taehyung for the rest of the party, what with him being a quite pleasant man, and a possible, potential friend, so you self-determined your earlier farewell to be temporary.

He joined you, Nabi and Namjoon in keeping yourselves entertained all night, having laughed, joked and hollered together the more progressively drunk you all became. Nabi was always a schemer, honestly, because she knew wine always made you exponentially horny, and you had already been daydreaming of what Taehyung’s lips would feel like sucking on your throat.

You don’t need to imagine it anymore, though, because right now, he popped off your mouth to trail kisses along the edge of your jawline, moaning his name as you desperately tugged at his beautiful locks of nearly-raven hair.

“Fuck, Taehyung..”

“Y/N..”

The way he says your name in his deep voice leaves even more arousal pooling in your panties. His lips skim down the column of your throat as you throw your head back, eventually latching onto your pulse point. He lays tender, slow kisses before wrapping his lips completely around your skin, suckling and licking generously.

Perhaps Nabi isn’t to blame at all when you recall the night. It wasn’t her fault the irreversible sexual tension you and Taehyung had established between each other ever since your conversation. It was lingering, evident, magnetic anytime you two even brushed arms. You didn’t miss the amount of times you caught him already staring at you, that one look of his so alluringly wild; and he could never keep his eyes off the way your legs squirmed anytime he even so much as lowered the tone of his voice.

Hours of painstaking tension later, you were both outside and near his car. You allowed him to show you the upscale features of his Benz as you watched him with arrant horniness. He just seemed so sexy when he was demonstrating something, so caught up in your arousing thoughts, you actually misstepped and nearly fell over.

You didn’t, though, because Taehyung immediately wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you, and the one, hooded-eyed, tipsy look of lust you gave him caused Taehyung to suddenly pull you flush against his body, and crash his lips against yours.

Now, you were both hungrily eating at each other, tasting wine and pure desire on each other’s dancing tongues. Taehyung, shortly after his wet kisses along your neck, pulls you off the door. Shoes and your purse are removed along with jackets, Taehyung swiveling you around to walk you back into his apartment.

You both carefully step back as Taehyung peels off his suit jacket, your hands quickly shredding them off his body too. You trail your red nails all over his chest and torso, nearly angry at his dress shirt, gatekeeping his skin from you. You can feel how deliciously sculpted he is, and it makes your pussy palpitate.

You can’t help the moan that escapes you as he rapidly rips off his tie, disconnecting for a mere millisecond to tug it entirely off until it’s tossed away, grabbing your face once again for messy kisses.

The pair of you waddle far back enough your back contacts the seamless glass all of a sudden, breaking away to observe your surroundings. You breathe harshly as you take it all in.

“Windows…” You mumble, every nerve of yours alight with insatiable arousal; you’re pushed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Taehyung’s, you had to admit, beautiful apartment. High ceilings, aesthetic light fixtures, a grand, king-sized bed, sleek and minimalistic furnishing.

This definitely looked like the apartment of a wealthy man.

It offers the cityscape as his view, mesmerized by the myriad of lights and moving traffic along the spangly roads, but also, unpreventable openness.

“Are you okay if we’re against them?” He breathes against your mouth, lips brushing each other’s as his palms press against the window either side of your head. He leans down to your height, and the hooded, flaming look in his eyes makes you throw every care for whoever could possibly see you two right now away.

You grab his collar and collide your lips with his, allowing your undeniable horniness for him to consume every fiber inside you.

“Yes, yes Taehyung.” You answer headily, impatiently, and Taehyung immediately engulfs you in an intoxicating, head-spinning kiss once again.

You were thankful to have worn a dress of pretty thin material, moaning into Taehyung’s mouth as he pins his hips against yours, feeling the impressionable, delicious prodding of his hardened cock. You ignite with passionate fire, pressing your chest against his because the rub of your nipples against him feels heavenly.

Tongue swirling around each other, Taehyung glides his hands down your body, feeling every inch, curve and divot of your figure, finally settling around your waist. His large palms feel gigantic, but in a way that leaves you excited about what other things he can do with his hands.

As if reading your mind, they skim down over your dress until he grips your ass, biting your bottom lip as he tugs you closer to his heated body. You release him with a gasp, hands clutching onto his thick neck.

“I thought you said.. you don’t date investment bankers.” He chides, a ghost of a smirk playing onto his luscious lips. You huff hard enough it fans some hair from your face, lungs full of intoxicating, enthralling intensity.

“And you’re not into PhD students,” you snark, flipping your hair out of your face. “And technically, we’re not dating. We’re going to fuck.”

Taehyung immediately hisses with satisfaction. “Damn, a woman who knows what she wants.”

“And a man that finally knows what he’s doing.” You nearly croak as Taehyung’s deft fingers abandon squeezing your ass cheeks to rather slip underneath the skirt of your dress, the sweet taste of his breath kissing the apple of your cheek.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His proclamation leaves you keening, at a loss for more air once Taehyung bypasses the band of your panties, and dips right into your sticky, sopping pussy lips.

He hisses once again in pleasure, speaking deeply against your lips. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” The searing cadence of his tone leaves you gushing more essence, gasping when Taehyung boldly cups your sex in his palm, and a pathetic whimper escapes you.

“Fuck…”

“Yeah? You like that?”

Shit, you can feel blood pumping in your ears and adrenaline coursing through your veins. The way you’re turned on right now is fucking unquantifiable. You haven’t felt this insane in a long time, and it only drives you to relish in Taehyung’s crafty touches more, hands hooking onto his shoulders for moral support.

He continues rubbing you just like that, smearing your essence all over his hand as he attentively watches your every reaction, groans rolling off his tongue. You throw your head back against the window once Taehyung weaves two fingers through your soaked folds, gliding up your slit until he fondles your quivering clit. You let out a broken gasp, fingers digging into his sturdy shoulders as he begins a gentle sliding motion over your ocean of a pussy.

“Fuck.. fucking shit, Tae..”

You don’t even notice you’ve uttered a shortened form of his name, only recognizing the slip up when you feel Taehyung breathe a laugh against your swollen lips.

“Shit.. I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s okay.” He just as breathlessly replies, letting out little grunts every time you moan. “Just one thing,” he begins, leaving a wet trail of kisses down your throat until he finds your collarbones, slowly pecking away as his fingers work your pussy like magic.

“I like hearing my name, but I want you to call me Sir.”

Fuck, fuck.

Of course, a man like Taehyung would have something as tremendously sexy as a Sir kink.

The rumble of his deep voice against your throat leaves you mewling out, hugging his head into the crook of your sensitive neck.

“Fuck yes, Sir.” Taehyung lets out a shaky groan that indicates the wave of arousal that washes over him, watching him pull back from you to wet his lips. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a moment to breathe, using this as your opportunity to observe the city lights casting a soft glow over him.

His lips are just as swollen and wet as yours, his hair disheveled after having wildly tugged at it in the backseat of his car, a chauffeur having transported you two here. One of his top buttons had popped open when you desperately clawed at his shirt too.

He’s sincerely the most stunning man you have ever known.

You also witness the tight tent in his crotch area and are suddenly filled with a fierce sense of confidence.

He currently leans against the window, head hung low as he exhales. But you obstruct his moment of meditation, latching a daring hand onto his belt. With a feline-like grin, you tug him towards you by the Calvin Klein belt, catching a look of surprise from Taehyung.

“Oh fuck..”

“May I, Sir? You deserve some attention too.”

You whisper it so seductively, Taehyung releases a deep groan from the back of his throat, the asking of his permission spiking blood towards his dick. You undo his belt with your flawless, ruby nails, and Taehyung peeks down to watch you do so. He cocks a brow at the skill he sees, observing with a sexy smirk. You tear his belt open and loosen his pants, diving inside his boxers to feel at the beast he’s hiding inside, and dear God, are you in for a fucking treat.

He’s big, and you didn’t expect anything less.

Your surprise seems to capture his attention, feeling the breath of his laugh fan your cheek.

“You’ve got a cute face when you react to things, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Sir. You’re just so...”

“Big?” Taehyung laughs, and you join him with a chuckle before you traverse further, and find the thick, meaty shaft of his cock. Taehyung folds with a groan as his face dips into your neck, enjoying the delicious sounds of his weakness.

You waste no time in freeing him from his dress pants, Taehyung helping you along and curling his hand around your much smaller one. You both begin pumping him together.

“Fuck..” he curses against your neck, and you conjure up all the willpower possible to not gobble him up like a five-course meal this instant. You splay your fingers over the back of his neck, tugging him closer as your lips envelop his pulse point for tasteful, intimate neck-kissing. You move your hand over Taehyung’s divine length in accordance with his own, guiding you to utilize the speed he likes. It’s so goddamn sexy; you moan against his neck and pump him faster.

He’s leaking incessant pre-cum, but the dryness of his cock leaves you devising other plans, removing your hand. Taehyung huffs as though he’s pulled out of a trance, and before he can ask, you drop to your knees, fingers hooking onto the band of his bottoms.

His pupils nearly physically dilate, eyebrows raising with rampant impression. You shoot him a look from below, eyes dressed suggestively as you tug his garments further down, and wrap a hand around his cock.

Giving him a few pumps, you jut your tongue out to lick a slow, long stripe up the underside of his shaft, meeting his tip to swivel around and catch a heady taste of his pre-cum. Taehyung groans beautifully, bouncing off the walls of his apartment as he throws his head back.

“Fuckkk” he draws out, fingers weaving into your hair for leverage. You moan once his tip is in your mouth, kitten-licking his slit and watching his Adam’s apple bob, the column of his throat enough of a masterpiece to have been crafted by Greek Gods.

He gently thrusts into your mouth once your lips envelop him, sinking down on his engorged, red-tipped member as you hollow your cheeks. He lets out a string of curses once you bury him deep, his tip smothered by the fleshy back of your throat, and he immediately keens.

“Fucking hell, Y/N.. just like that.”

You hum in satisfaction, which causes Taehyung’s blown out eyes to meet you beneath. You maintain eye contact as you draw yourself out, and slowly swallow his thick, veiny length once again. His reactions grow weaker every time, relishing in the power you hold and beginning to bob your head a bit, crafting a pace he seems to like, slobbering all over his erect cock.

He moans, deep-throating once before popping off, a lewd string of saliva breaking. He seems headily into it, boosting your ego, but when you move to drag your tongue across his balls, Taehyung gives you a soft push back, rejecting you.

You furrow your brows and look up at him, puzzled. But before you can ask anything, Taehyung helps you to your feet and crashes his lips against yours, the power strong enough to shove you back up against the window. You breathe in his kiss, swiveling your slipper tongues around each other before he breaks away, saliva prevalent all over your lips.

“I need a taste, too.” He breathes against you, your mind losing circuitry the second his lips meet your throat. He presses electrifying, hot kisses down your neck, the valley of your breasts, your midriff and stomach until his knees fasten onto the ground.

You meet his bewitchingly smug look below you as his fingers travel up the sides of your thighs, casting your skirt away from your pussy to reveal your soaked panties. Taehyung doesn’t waste his time in stuffing his nose against your dampened folds, catching a heady whiff of your essence and letting out a soft hum from the back of his throat. The rumble travels up your core and nestles into the pit of your stomach, knotting the coil inside you as you gush a waterfall.

His fingertips hook onto your panties and tug them off, revealing your nearly sodden pussy to a hungry Taehyung, who wets his lip. Without a single prompt, he locks eyes with you above, and slowly casts your thigh over his shoulder, drawing his face towards your sex and wrapping his lips around your cunt.

The wet contact of his tongue sets you ablaze, skin flushed and hot as your nails scratch at his window, the most erotic of moans spilling from you. He groans the second he catches a taste of you, tongue slithering through your folds as he amply sucks on your labia.

“Shit… you taste sweet as fuck.” His deep voice resonates through your heat, eyes watching him as he stuffs his sexy face between your legs. You sigh obscenely against his window, using it as your only leverage to stay upright as he makes you weak in the knees.

His tongue feels Godly, driving your hips over his face to shamelessly ride, and he welcomes you with an indulgent moan. It’s as though he enjoys his mouth being stuffed full of pussy, and you can’t help but feed into his heavenly work.

Your fingers slot through his locks, tugging at him as intense pleasure overwhelms your system, rolling your hips against his mouth until high-pitched, heightened moans leave your lips. It means you’re getting close, and something about the way the bridge of Taehyung’s nose presses and rubs against your clit works wonders for your building orgasm.

It’s coming, you’re blanking, and he’s eating you so passionately and methodically, you knew this would be your undoing. Your eyes are squeezed shut, reciting a mantra of Taehyung’s name and the hot title of sir that only spurs him on, losing your mind.

“Taehyung, Sir, fuck, fuck!”

His large hands grope your ass as he practically makes out with your pussy, tongue weaving through and around your engorged clit, and just as you grip him with a warning of your coiling orgasm, Taehyung stops.

Air is sucked out of your lungs, peering downwards to breathe erratically.

“Tae, what the fuck-” But you’re met by his lips when he springs to his feet, tasting yourself on his glistening lips as he sloppily makes out with you. He then props you off the window and spins you around, roughly pinning your front against the cool glass as you gasp.

“Tae..”

“Did you just say my name?”

Taehyung then rips open the zipper of your dress and loosens the top enough it’ll inevitably slide down and reveal your bare breasts to the goddamn world. Taehyung wraps an arm around you from behind and cradles your stomach, lips by your ear.

“I thought I told you to call me Sir.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Sir.” You immediately apologize, the heat of Taehyung’s breath invoking innate submission. “I was… just surprised.”

��Still okay against the window?” He asks.

You bite your lip with a harsh nod, hot arousal heating up your skin.

Taheyung then tears off the top, hiking up the skirt of your dress as he shoves his crotch against yours, hard cock heavy on your ass. His heated breaths fan your ear, Taehyung casting away the hair on your shoulder to access the sweet spot behind your lobe. He kisses tenderly and yet, wildly as he fists his wet cock behind you, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Put it in, Sir, fuck.” You desperately request.

“Condom?”

“Just fucking pull out. I can’t wait.” You wave him off, breaths rampant and needy.

“Mmm, guess doctorates don’t learn patience, huh?”

“And bankers don’t learn haste, fuck me right now.”

Taehyung scoffs, and you want to say something, but when he pushes the bulbous, leaking tip inside you, you both let out harmonious, pleasurable groans that leave your nipples hardening and his dick leaking even more pre-cum.

“Shit… you’re fucking wet, and tight.”

“Fuck, you’re big, Sir. So big.”

Taehyung likes the sound of that because a low growl and his palm fully engulfing a breast later, he’s tugging your hips back to sink himself inside, voice dangerously husky against your neck.

“Do you care about marks?”

“No, not fucking at all.”

And Taehyung dives for your neck like a starved vampire, sucking wet, plum-coloured hickies over your pulse point as he bottoms out inside, filling your pussy up with his throbbing, divinely girthy cock. You moan against the window, nipples perfectly rubbing against the smooth, pristine glass and relishing in the arousal it speckles throughout your nervous system.

Taehyung leaves no room for playing around, and begins slowly thrusting his delicious cock inside your gushing sex, your slippery, welcoming walls smothering his cock with arrant, uncontrollable arousal.

“Fuck.. oh fuck.” Your moan hitches in your throat as Taehyung rides the wave of desperation, of searing, hot passion as he sucks all over your neck. You’re sure he’s going to leave purple blossoms across your skin, but right now, all you can focus on is the way his hips smack against your ass, your hand grappling onto his head dipped into your neck, tugging at his locks as you sigh like a pornstar.

His kisses feel enchanting, his dick magical, and the way he fondles your tit is otherworldly, causing you to become completely lost in the stars you see behind your eyes and the breath-taking cityscape before you.

Carnality overrides your entire body, turning your head to instead request Taehyung’s lips for rough, harsh kissing. Your lips and teeth smash against each other then, absolutely in unison with his hips slapping against you, his hands encasing your torso as he gives it to you from behind like a champ.

“Fuck, Sir.. Oh, fuck me.”

“Yeah? You want it like that?”

“Yes, Sir, oh God.” You grit through your teeth as he pulls back the flesh of your bottom lip, nothing but your breathy moans and groans heard in the sizable apartment.

You reach even further back and begin tugging at the collar of his dress shirt, hating that he’s still wearing fucking clothes.

“Take this off, take this fucking off.” You ramble, Taehyung paying heed to your request within seconds and letting go to peel back his shirt, casting it off before his fingers curl around the hem of your dress.

“Lift up your arms, sweetheart.”

You’re not sure if it’s him calling you sweetheart that makes you so docile and pliant, but you follow his instruction and Taehyung strips your dress off, soon throwing it onto the floor. You’re both naked now, Taehyung having removed his pants and boxers in exchange to feel the heat of your skin.

The warmth of his broad, smooth chest presses against your back, and the new feeling of his body heat causes you to moan indulgently, hands curling against the window. But you don’t have time to think, because Taehyung draws his pulsing length out of your fluttering pussy to turn you around, facing him.

He’s equally as flushed and heated as you are, the gentle city lights exposing the sweaty glow to his dewy skin. Taehyung reaches his hands down for the back of your thighs, and you know exactly what he wants before he even has to say it.

You leap into his arms, hands weaving into the feathered hair on the nape of his neck.

“Let’s get you on my bed, sweetheart.”

Taaehyung leans forwards for kisses, and you meet him for shameless make out as he walks you two towards his grand bed. He doesn’t toss you onto the sheets as though you’re a ragdoll, not that you would mind something like that, but he instead sits himself down with you perched on his lap, disconnecting for air.

You peer down at his cock to make sure he’s still hard, wrapping a hand around him for generous pumps. Taehyung wraps his hand around yours and helps you, both of you fisting him together as his hooded-eyes remain fixated on you, and your eyes glow with sheer desire as you hold his gaze.

You spring up onto your knees and Taehyung pulls his bottom lip between his teeth with a smirk, lining his cock up with your entrance and whispering against your wet lips.

“Ride me like you mean it, doctor.”

You huff at the deliberate emphasis on your future title, scraping your nails down his unblemished chest.

“If you can even make me cum, Mr. Banker.”

Taehyung scoffs, and before anyone can further the argument, Taehyung guides your hips down over his cock, and he invades you for the second time tonight. This position feels eons better; your breasts pressed up against his warm, smooth chest, his cock stretching your pussy wide open. You moan loudly as Taehyung huskily grunts out, who is settled against the headboard of his bed as you grip onto his shoulders.

He entirely spears you over his cock then, and the way he fills you up leaves him impeding on your fucking cervix, letting out a shaky moan.

“Fuck, fuck..”

“You okay?” He asks as a hand clutches your shoulder blade, maintaining his rugged breaths.

“Yeah, just-give me a second.” You breathe through the ache of his intrusion. You can feel him everywhere in this intimate position. Still, the pain feels good, and not long after you peck a kiss on Taehyung’s lips, you nod to him.

“Okay, okay.. you can move.”

Taehyung listens immediately and soothes his hands over your hips, helping you lift them off his crotch until you smash back down over him, a broken sigh escaping you.

“Shit..” Taehyung curses, fingertips gripping your body hard.

You repeat the action, then again, then again and again until you’ve developed a deliciously fast, wild rhythm, Taehyung’s hands slipping over your supple ass to grope and smack to his desire as he fucks you over his cock. He even drives up from underneath, and it leaves you keening, trading his shoulders for the headboard as you clasp on for dear life.

But Taehyung isn't fond of that, grabbing your wrists and weaving them around his neck, eyes wild when he says, “hold onto me, sweetheart.”

You fold, biting back a pathetic moan as she returns to gripping your body in place, impaling you from underneath as you work tirelessly over his thick, elongated dick. You feel so full, so satisfyingly filled to the brim your walls are quaking to release the orgasm he denied earlier, whimpering pitifully.

It’s sinful the way he not only grasps you but slams upwards into your cunt as he presses your hips down, stuffing even your stomach as you cry out against him. Your face falters into his neck, relentlessly irving all over his throbbing cock as the friction against his abdomen supplies you the right rub for your pulsing clit.

Taehyung takes your sudden weakness to mean you’re tapping out, which you are because he’s entirely a beast compared to you. He’s moaning and groaning like a mad man, watching your tits bounce as you repeatedly plummet over his cock.

“Fuck, so gorgeous when you bounce, sweetheart.” He praises with a heady groan when you stuff yourself completely, the confines of your pussy driving him insane. He bites back a string of curses as you sigh erotically, nails digging into his skin, but he doesn’t fucking a mind a single bit.

Your groins and thighs are already burning as your moans heighten in pitch. Taehyung suddenly wraps his arms around to embrace you close, hand splayed in between your shoulder blades as he cradles you and unforgivingly drills into your sex from underneath.

You gasp so loudly, his neighbours are certainly tired of hearing you. You scream and beg, losing your fucking mind as you feel your pussy walls spasming around him.

“Fuck me, Shit, fuck me!”

“Yeah? You want more? Say it!”

“Sir, I need more, please!”

You’re both animals now, holding yourself before Taehyung’s face as he rams into your leaking, slippery sex. Taehyung sneaks a hand over your visibly pulsing mound and supplies you the relief you so desperately need. You release a drawn out, heady moan as obscenely as possible when he does, relishing in the ridges and veins and shape of his delicious cock fucking you wildly as your orgasm approaches, filling up inside your gut.

It coils, your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut, and your body shakes, legs quaking as Taehyung concentrates on stimulating your clit. He’s hissing and grunting, containing his load almost painfully as he senses your body beginning to convulse.

“Oh shit, you’re gonna cum, huh?” He breathes against you. “Cum for me, sweetheart. I wanna see it.” He finally, stuffs himself so deep inside you, the gates of your impending release burst mightily open.

A whimpering moan erupts from you, and you squeeze Taehyung’s so infinitely tight he begins to panic.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Taehyung throatily grunts. “Where do you want it?”

You’re still lost, in a post-orgasm daze as you gush gops of essence all over his violently throbbing dick. You’re only pulled off your cloud nine when Taehyung worryingly taps your breast and alarms you.

“Y/N, I’m gonna cum any second,” he warns you, repeating urgently. “Where do you want it?”

“In my mouth.. in my mouth.” You ramble, hopping off his dick and immediately assuming an all-fours position, sticking out your tongue and wrapping your hand around his pulsing shaft.

Taehyung pushes himself into your mouth and tangles his fingers in your hair, sinking you down on his length. He begins fucking into your throat as heady, unabashed moans and groans leave him, hearing them mellifluously heighten as he nears his high. He rams into your hollowed mouth, fucking it open as he chases his euphoric high relentlessly until his load releases inside your throat.

You moan as his hot seed floods you, tasting his cum for all its sweet glory. Taehyung actually loosens his hand on your head here instead of shoving you down over his length. It confuses you momentarily, but realize he’s presenting you the option of not swallowing if you don’t want to. That sweet sentiment alone drives you to, without hesitation, swallow his cum as plentiful as you can.

Popping off his member with flustered cheeks and heavy breathing, you know your face is a hot mess, meeting Taehyung with hooded, tired eyes as he similarly comes down his high, leaning back on his palms. He wets his lips before cradling your chin in his palm, tipping his own to take a closer look at your mouth.

“Fuck, open.. your mouth.” He breathes, his chest rising and falling as sweat sexily coats his skin. Your lips fall open and reveal an empty mouth, Taehyung adorning a proud side smirk that showcases his teeth.

“Swallowed without hesitation.. you’re nasty.” He comments, and you shoot back just as smugly with a coquettish grin.

“Eating me out and fucking me against a window? You’re kinky.”

He laughs, and you soon join him, giggling together before collapsing face first against his thigh, and Taehyung’s hand lands over your bare back with a huff.

Morning sunlight spilled radiantly into Taehyung’s apartment, welcomed by the bright light reflecting off his white furnishing as you awakened. Eyes fluttering open, you find your head nuzzled against Taehyung’s bare chest, his arm cushioning your body as he loosely clutches you, his face turned away as he sleeps.

You grumble as you’re woken up by the abundance of annoying light, last night’s wild escapade probably too tiring for Taehyung to remember to shut his curtains. Said man also stirs underneath you as you prop off his chest and onto an elbow, watching him rub a heavy eyelid as they blink open.

He turns towards you, and you both sleepily regard each other.

“Fuck, I forgot to shut my curtains, didn’t I?”

His deep, raspy morning voice shocks you, nodding with a sleepy pout, and Taehyung gently laughs as he reaches over towards his night table. He removes the arm underneath you and pries open the first draw, digging around until he pulls out a remote and presses something, to which his blinds begin to cover his windows.

You raise your brows with light surprise, Taehyung returning the remote to plop back down in bed, tucking his hands underneath his head. You hate that it makes his bulky biceps appear meatier.

He shuts his eyes again, desiring to indulge in more sleep, but you feel far too awake now. With a yawn, you entirely sit up, holding his duvet over your naked breasts.

“Are you okay with me making breakfast?” You query, hoping that he is because you’re honestly famished.

He speaks with his eyes closed, voice amused. “If you’re a good cook, then yes.”

You snicker a little, shooting a narrow-eyed look his way. “I’m probably much better than you, investment banker.”

His eyes flutter open to that, watching you with an entertained smirk. “I’ll have you know I make impeccable eggs, professor.”

You roll your eyes. “Please, you’d probably never be able to make them sunny side down the way I like.”

Taehyung suddenly springs up onto his elbows, shooting you a look of genuine surprise, eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, you like your eggs sunny side down too?”

You pucker your lips with a confused chuckle. “Uhh, yeah I do.”

“Sorry, I’ve just.. never met a single other person who likes them sunnyside down instead of up.”

“What? Don’t tell me you also listen to some.. I don’t know.. Dean Martin or Sammy Davis Jr. when you’re cooking them too.”

Now Taehyung entirely rises into a seated position, lips hung open with shock. “Holy fuck… you listen to Jazz too?”

Now it’s your turn to widen your eyes with surprise, both of you replicating each other’s unbelieving looks. “No goddamn way, now if you tell me something like a movie you’ve been looking forward to seeing and it matches mine… we’ll have a situation on our hands.”

“Okay, we’re gonna count backwards from three; tell me the movie’s name.” Taehyung instructs.

“Okay.” You nod, both of you turning towards each other to focus.

“3.. 2.. 1.. Billie Holiday.” Both of you immediately gasp, as though you just had the most shocking revelation of the 21st century.

“No way, this isn’t possible. You have to be lying.” Taehyung becomes disbelieving of your similarities, laughing it off.

“I’m not lying at all, Tae. I have no reason to.”

“I don’t either.”

You both take a moment to soak in the information, until you break out into an ironic laugh. “Fuck, Joon and Nabi were right. We really should date each other.”

Taehyung cocks a brow with a pleased smirk, lazily leaning onto an elbow, and you admire him in his beautiful, shirtless glory. “I thought you said you don’t date investment bankers because you have terrible experiences with them?”

“Eh, last night wasn’t a terrible experience.” You shrug, fluttering your eyelashes and similarly leaning on your elbow like him, mirroring his smile. “I can take a risk or two.”

2K notes · View notes

inkedtae · 3 months ago

Text

iii. howlin’ ⇾ bgc. [M]

chapter three : ringin’, howlin’ ⤑ ❝ chan gazes up at you, eyes gleaming with that unidentifiable emotion as he declares, “i am pathetically in love with you.” ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist

⌁ pairing; alpha!bang chan x alpha!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; established relationship, secret lovers, werewolf au, soulmate au, angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 19.1k

⌁ warnings; switch!chan, ass enthusiast!chan, big dicc!chan, (chan is also a total simp for reader), switch!reader, (reader is highkey thick/curvy), rough sex, break up sex, handjob, oral (f./m. receiving), degradation, some masturbation, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, dirty talk, biting, knotting, hair pulling, choking, lots of cockwarming, spanking, cum play, a bit of spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

❥ prefer ao3? keep reading here

❥ a special thanks to fleur ( @editsbyfleur ) for making this lovely banner for me and to my girl jen ( @anobodyslove ) for editing and beta reading this monstrous fic for me! you are amazing and i am so lucky to call you my friend 💕

You don’t want to open your eyes. Last night is a lump in your throat searing through all your emotions.

When you returned from Chan’s apartment, you debated about going out to get some air. There’s a twenty-four-hour convenience store just around the corner. They sell those stale honeybuns you like and piping hot tea that always burns your tongue. Sometimes it’s all you can afford, and life post-college is not as lucrative as you were once promised. Chan would always offer to take you somewhere fancier. You always refused, preferring the sturdy walls of the rotting convenience store. You wanted to go last night but didn’t want to risk him following you.

Instead, you laid in bed all night, folded into yourself and hidden under the sheets. You tried to stop crying, but every inch of you only craved him. Though you knew the party would prevent him from checking on you, a part of you hoped you were wrong. You hoped he took what you had said seriously, leaving the safety of Changbin’s room for yours.

He never did.

You coil into yourself again now, trying hard not to throw up. You swallow that lump thickly and take a deep breath. Everything hurts. All over, your body tingles with dull pain. Parts of you are shattered for not having been touched and others from being overstimulated. Your clit seems to be experiencing both, faintly aching. You’re not exactly turned on but not turned off either. The underside of your stomach cramps too, spreading a silent discomfort around your torso.

There is a little pounding in your trembles, heaviness to your bones. You can practically feel the energy drain from your body with every thought of him. He’s not here to cuddle you to sleep, to coddle all your worries away and soothe every twinge of pain. He’s not here to be yours. Why are you still craving him? You know he doesn’t deserve it.

You screw your eyes tight and allow your exhaustion to take over.

Slowly, emptiness consumes you.

— — —

Rain falls. You hear the muted patters against the window.

Chan loves the rain. He’d call you over and sneak you into his room, with snacks and a movie ready. He’d insist you sit on his lap or lay between his legs as he held you. He’d laugh quietly in your ear, lips tucked against your earlobe, during all the funny moments and hold you tighter during all the sweeter ones. When something dangerous flashes on the screen, he’d pull you closer. He’d never said it, but you knew he would never let anything bad happen to you. That little tug of your body towards his was proof enough.

Even with this faint pang of pain in your stomach, further soiling the taste of your own tongue, you still crave some chocolate-coated popcorn.

You slowly open your eyes. Light peeks through your curtains. It’s a bluish-grey, dimly illuminating the room enough for you to know it’s not quite the end of the day yet. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sleeping. It almost feels as though it hasn’t even been five minutes since you had fallen back asleep.

Unwrapping yourself from your sheets, you search around your bed for your phone. You can’t remember if you fell asleep with it beside you or if you put it on your night table. You pat your mattress down around yourself, until you feel it wedged under your back. You pull it out to check the time only to find it’s dead.

With a sigh, you reach out to put it on the charger. The overdue stretch releases some of the tension in your fatigued muscles. You take it as a moment to lay back and further stretch your arms and legs out, slowly turning your wrists to crack your stiff bones. It doesn’t sound as satisfying as it feels. Your body isn’t as heavy anymore though, some degree of energy returning to you.

CRASH!

You sit up to the sound of glass breaking. A flurry of whispered demands exchange between your roommates. It’s always something with them. If they are not breaking furniture, then they are rearranging it. You once walked in after work one day to find that they redecorated the living room to make a maze.

“It’s a livable maze!” Jeongin corrected, popping out from somewhere in the middle.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You can live in it!” Seungmin excitedly added, peeking out of the makeshift door they made. It wasn’t lost on you that they had used the clean sheets you washed the night before.

You crawled through their weakly structured tunnels, trying to convince them that this was a terrible idea the entire weekend. Minho eventually lost his patience when he stubbed his toe on the edge of the couch. He couldn’t see it under layers of wrinkled bed sheets. The maze collapsed as he walked right through it.

You rub your temples, drawing out of the memory. You attempt to calm yourself down with the reassuring fact that they are probably trying to clean and something must have slipped out of—

SMASH!

Twice in less than a minute is concerning.

Pushing off your covers, you scoot out of bed. You throw on a hoodie and some shorts as their hushed voices become sharper. You shuffle towards the door. Silence settles when you open it. A myriad of scents wash over you, intensifying the ache in your temples. Between what smells like baked cookies, you can sniff out the mixed scents of all your friends.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the light. You rub them with the heel of your palm when you pop your head out of your room. Seungmin looks down the hall at you. Still in his pyjamas, he hugs a pastel green mixing bowl against his chest, his other hand clutching onto a silver whisk.

“You guys okay?” you ask, voice groggy.

Seungmin nods, parting his lips to reassure you when you hear Changbin’s sing-songy voice instead.

“Good morning!” he calls, triggering a chorus of ‘good mornings.’ However, his voice carries on an all too long melody. A sudden thump silences him, not a moment too soon, giving your ears a second of peace.

A smile plays on Seungmin’s face, cute eyes gleaming with amusement before he corrects. “It’s almost five.”

Your eyes widen. You figured you were out for a while but didn’t think you slept that long. Have they been trying to be quiet this whole time or did they just arrive?

You shuffle down the hall to properly gauge who exactly is here, nostrils too overwhelmed to distinguish specific scents.

The living room has been redecorated into a makeshift bedroom. With the couches pushed back and out of the way, Changbin and Jeongin have lined up four blankets and pillows as beds. You raise a brow and turn towards the kitchen to ask what’s going on, but your words get lost as you catch Felix sweeping up broken glass, Hyunjin washing dishes and Seungmin dumping a whole pack of chocolate chips into his bowl.

“Did I miss something?”

“You mean besides the whole day?” Seungmin teases.

“Or a comb?” Jeongin adds with a little smile as he walks by you to the kitchen.

Your friends snicker, their gazes lingering over your bed-headed hair.

On any other day, you’d probably tease them back. Changbin is wearing a shirt that’s two sizes too small and Felix obviously let his clumsiness get the best of him. The lingering ache in your stomach, however, dims your humour. You barely manage a smile as you grab a seat on the barstool, in front of the island.

Jeongin studies your expression, once playful gaze softening. He flashes a little smile when you catch him staring as if silently asking if you’re okay. It’s not like you to not toss a harmless insult back, or fall silent after receiving one. A part of you wants to tell him everything’s okay, but it will only pique everyone else’s interest and you cannot avoid all their questions or watchful gazes at once. Remaining silent might be your best option right now.

After returning the smile, you pull your attention away from Jeongin and onto Changbin as he seats himself beside you.

“We’re going to be staying here for the night,” he explains.

A chill runs down your spine. We? Who exactly is “we?”

Changbin… Jisung…

You gulp at the thought of Chan spending the night here. Smelling him so close, hearing his heartbeat through the walls… His voice and laugh are enough to make you giddy with excitement on a regular day. When you’re this frustrated with him, it only chips away at your confidence and pride. You’re going to yearn for him all the more. You won’t be able to take it, especially with this many eyes around. What makes it worse is the thought that if things were still blissfully uncertain, this would’ve been the perfect opportunity to sneak off together.

You take a deep breath as your friends slip back into their previous conversations and tasks. You just need to calm down. Maybe they might not have to stay and whatever the issue is with their apartment can get easily worked out. If all else fails, you can visit your parents for the night. Gaining some more distance from Ch— the situation might be best for the both of you, as heartbreaking as that conclusion sounds.

Stripping your tone of panic, you try to casually ask, “What happened to your apartment?”

Changbin exchanges a confused look with Jeongin and Felix. A little smile plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “Did you not hear what I said?” he asks with a little chuckle.

You look between your friends, realising they may have been talking to you this whole time and not each other. Even Hyunjin, mid-rinse by the sink, looks at you over his shoulder.

Eager to recover, you rub your eyes and force a yawn. “Sorry, still sleepy,” you excuse, “What’d you say?”

The guys seem to buy it– except for Seungmin and Jeongin. You never can get anything past your roommates, their gazes sharp and expressions blank as they study you.

“I was just saying Chan’s in heat,” he repeats.

Eyes widening, brows shooting up, you gape at Changbin. How is that even possible? Males cannot go into heat.

“No, he’s not,” you dryly chuckle.

“The blue moon messed with everyone,” Changbin shrugs.

“Sensory issues, irritability, impulsivity, overactivity, heat reversals,” Felix lists, disposing of the glass he broke. “Didn’t you see it online?”

An image of Jeongin breaking off doorknobs flashes before your eyes. He’s been having trouble controlling his strength, Chan once mentioned. Seungmin’s been up all hours of the night, with energy to burn. Felix and Hyunjin wore earplugs for nearly the whole week. Jisung and Changbin have been short-tempered, rough housing every chance they get. You and Minho almost passed out a few times due to scent exhaustion. And Chan— moody, impatient, suddenly intensely active — is now holed up in his apartment, suffering and in heat alone.

Is this why you’ve been aching? When you were researching mates earlier in your relationship, you found that if a bond is strong enough, you can subconsciously share emotions, even symptoms of sickness or heats. Your wolf must have known he was in pain, you realise. Your wolf sensed his discomfort, mildly experiencing his symptoms, and was trying to tell you.

You blink back tears, avoiding your friends’ gazes. Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he tell you? Yes, you’re mad at him, but being in heat is hard— extremely painful if not properly tended to. If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t even need to call him; he’d already be there for you. It doesn’t matter how upset he’d be, he’d drop everything to make sure you’re okay.

He should’ve called.

Why the fuck hasn’t he—

“My phone’s dead,” you think aloud.

Maybe he did try to tell you but your phone’s been dead and considering you lashed out at Minho last night (who you still need to apologise to), no one has been brave enough to wake you up.

You get up, rubbing the smeared mascara and eyeliner from under your eyes. “I’ll be right back,” you say, making your way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Changbin asks. He stands from his seat with you.

“Um,” you hesitate. “There’s this drink that Chan likes. He told me before that it helps when he's feeling sick. I-I think they have it across the street.”

“Minho and Jisung already went out to buy him stuff,” Seungmin replies after putting the brownies in the oven. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Great.

You should have seen that coming when you didn’t see either of them arguing. You keep your hand on the doorknob as a nervous sigh escapes you. “Yeah, yeah, that’s good,” you nod, pausing to swallow your nerves. “The thing is that I also forgot something in, um, the car— my car so I, um, I have to leave anyway.”

A nervous chuckle tumbles out of your lips as you open the door.

Jeongin leans over the island countertop to get a better look at you. His eyes linger on your bare feet as you step out of the apartment. He flashes a little suspicious smile, asking, “What’d you forget?”

“My…. charger?”

You catch them sharing glances.

They’re onto you.

You know it.

They know it.

Panic suffocates your chest, your heart pounding faster, working harder to calm you down. Maybe there was a better excuse to try, or a better way of handling this, but you don’t really care any more. Chan’s behaviour does not deserve your presence but you know he would never leave you aching and alone like that. He’d try to help any way he can, any way you’d let him. At the very least, you need to do the same, right?

I just miss him, your wolf whispers.

The conclusion loops in your head, festering your stomach with pathetic shame. You try to push the thought away, rubbing your brow and exhaling heavily but it continues to spew the truth little by little. It’s barely been a day and you’ve spent it sleeping because being this conscious means you have to be aware of just how far away Chan is and just how badly you want him.

“You can use mine,” Jeongin suggests.

You ignore him, already out the door. You don’t trust your voice not to betray you. The weight of it sits heavy in your throat already, clawing at your oesophagus. No matter how many times you try to gulp it away, it remains with the undeniable truth that you don’t want to leave him, that you don’t want to play a game of ultimatums.

The click of your apartment door shutting echoes in the hallway. You stare at the one across the hall, recalling the way you pushed it open last night after flirting with Kai. Straining your ears, you try to pick up the sound of his voice. You can only just hear the faint beat of his heart and the spray of the shower. You wonder if it’s breaking as much as yours.

You take a step forward.

How will he perceive you after last night, after he might have tried to call you? He’s stuck in heat, emotions awry and high. You don’t know if he’d be upset or relieved. Would he even want you here? Is this a good idea?

Your hand hovers over the doorknob.

You should at least try, right? You should walk in there and try to offer some help. Whether he takes it or not is up to him. As long as you did what you think is right, what he would do for you if the roles were reversed, then you can walk back into your room guilt free.

With a turn of the knob, you take a deep breath and open the door.

A hot wave of pure cedar and peppercorn burns your nostrils. Stumbling to regain your balance, Chan’s scent, overpowered by adrenaline and drenched in frenzied pheromones, knocks you back. You reach for the door frame to keep yourself stable. An appetite for him grows, festering in the base of your stomach. Every inhale makes you clench. Your core, wet and aching, tightens and relaxes in anticipation as if preparing for his length.

Heart hammering, you turn your head away from the apartment and take a deep breath. The scent is still thick, your attempts at avoiding it useless. It almost smells as though he hasn’t gotten off at all, still pent up with desire and frustration. Along with reversing the cycle, the blue moon must have strengthened it too, forcing a week’s worth of arousal in twenty-four hours.

And it’s not going to get any easier standing here with the door wide open. With his alpha pheromones at their peak, you’re sure they’ll eventually attract someone’s attention.

Wiping the drool from the corner of your lips, you let out a shaky breath and quickly enter his apartment. You make sure to shut the door behind you, carefully leaning your back against it.

He’s in the shower now, the muffled spray of the water greeting you.

Good– it gives you some time to get yourself together. You shut your eyes and try to remember that you’re just here because it’s the right thing to do. This doesn’t change how you feel about the way he’s been acting. This doesn’t change how serious you were— are.

You lick your lips before a hushed profanity escapes you. Your chin is still wet with your saliva. You hurriedly wipe it away with the back of your hand, panting like a starved dog.

How the fuck am I going to get through this alive?

With the squeaking turn of the tap, the shower stops. Your attention snaps down the hall, to the muted sound of the glass door as it screeches open. You hear the drips of water fall on the floor from his naked body, the soft pads of his feet as he shuffles through the bathroom. If you try hard enough, you can catch the soft ruffle of his towel against his curls.

And then you hear it, a soft groan, a silent squelch. You push yourself off the door and take a couple of steps towards the bathroom, eager to hear more of his frustration and what it has manifested itself into.

You should probably say something, right? Announce yourself? He might be your mate, but eavesdropping on him getting off is still wrong…right?

“Fuck…” Chan moans in a hushed tone.

You clamp your hand over your mouth to hold back your own sounds. A shiver rushes down your spine. Brows furrowing, eyes watering, you press your thighs together. Feeling dizzy with lust, your knees almost give out. You reach out to the nearest wall and lean against it to stabilise yourself.

The bathroom door squeaks open and you catch Chan’s nearly naked frame through the narrow crack of the ajar door. His buff chest gleams with fresh drops of water, curly hair damp and pushed back. His scent is not only stronger now, but wet.

It is not the potent scent of arousal that shatters you, however. Rather, it is his swollen face. Dark circles, tear-stained cheeks, red tint of his pale skin, brittleness of his dry lips– he is broken.

Your wolf shudders. Needing to shield him from any further pain, you want to wrap him in your embrace. You want to engulf him in your scent, knowing the smell of you will at least ease the tremors of his aching heart– you can hear it thudding in his chest, beating fast and almost uneven. You want to run your hands along his broad back and strong arms, soothing his nerves long enough to lay him down and finally relieve that throb between his legs.

Your instincts rage against your stubbornness, brewing storms of guilt deep in your chest. You hold your ground, however, curling your hands into fists.

Chan takes one deep breath and snaps his attention to you. His eyes are bloodshot, drowning with disbelief and remorse.

Your knees buckle, throat dry.

While Chan is to blame for your drastic words, your chest still festers with guilt, knowing you haven’t made this any easier. You edged him last night, only to leave him blue balled and begging. You ignored him all day too while he suffered alone. Not even his hand is cutting it anymore, you realise, noting the abandoned attempt to jerk off a couple of seconds ago. This is your fault.

Forcing yourself to stand straight, you start, “I—”

The slam of the door cuts you off.

You stand still for a moment, stunned and confused. Sure, you didn’t expect him to run into your arms. Some relieved acknowledgment might have been nice though. Had he not been thinking about you? How else had he been able to get off? You remember the countless nights when neither of you could risk sneaking out to see each other but were rendered a mess of horny emotions. Chan would call you once he was sure everyone was sleeping. He couldn’t get off until he heard your voice.

And now, he can’t even stand to look at you, hiding away in a humid bathroom.

The click of the lock draws you out of your thoughts.

“What are you doing here?” he asks through the door. His voice is strained, no doubt tired from moaning and growling.

The thought of him doing so in your ear makes you tremble. Breath shaky, you inch closer towards the door.

“My phone was dead,” you begin.

His silence reminds you just how useless that explanation is without context.

“So, I didn’t know. I didn’t see your texts. Changbin actually just told me. They’re all staying across the hall, but you probably already know that,” you chuckle, twisting the hem of your shirt. “So, my phone died and I just…” you trail off, realising you’re repeating yourself.

You can hear Chan’s rapid heart beat on the other side of the door and his little huffs and puffs as he tries to calm himself down.

Suppressing a defeated sigh, body now aching from the fragility of his voice, you shut your eyes and swallow thickly. You take a step closer, now almost pressed against the wood. With a part of your lips, you’re about to tell him you came to help.

“I didn’t text,” he admits in a mutter, voice heavy with regret.

“Oh.”

Maybe he doesn’t need you after all. Maybe you’re the one too attached to him and can’t let go. You could barely last a day before running back into his arms, foolishly thinking they would be open for you. Blinking back tears, you swallow thickly.

“I just didn’t think it was fair,” he explains. His voice strains, almost breaking.

You pause.

“You made yourself clear last night and you were right,” you hear him shift his weight before he continues, “I don’t deserve to call you mine when I’ve been treating you this way.”

Though you want to hate it, you’re relieved to find that your assumptions were wrong. Of course, you don’t want Chan to get hurt, but a little toxic part of you is almost glad your harsh words have made an impression. You’re glad you’re not the only one craving his presence and yearning for his touch, his scent, his being intertwined with yours.

“We don’t need to discuss that right now. I just came to help you through this heat. And—”

A muted growl cuts you off.

You can hear the pound of his heart clearly now, the rush of blood coursing through his veins as his wolf’s nails scratch at the door.

Shit, can he smell you? Is it driving him crazy?

You try to fight the silent satisfaction that beams in your chest, biting back a smile. Are you just that horny or purely insane to feel this much excitement about his torture? There’s just something about being in control and knowing that he needs you, that you are essential to his survival.

“I think it would be best if you left,” he finally sighs.

It would be, you should reply before leaving.

You just cannot bring yourself to follow through, let alone utter the words. There’s a muted twinge of pain in your pelvis and vague nausea in the pit of your stomach. The scent of his pheromones only intensify the discomfort in your bones. When you try to swallow your desires away, you feel a vacancy in your throat that just begs to be filled and tested by an all too wide girth. Your entire body craves the satisfaction of an earth-shattering orgasm spilling in your mouth, leaking from the corners of your lips.

Even if your life depends on it, you cannot not find the ability to leave. So, you latch onto that pathetic, measly reason that brought back you to his apartment.

“Would you leave?” You ask. “If I was in heat and you were upset with me, would you leave me here alone?”

Silence.

You merely catch little hisses followed by a thick gulp. He’s in unimaginable pain and would rather endure it than let you help him. Maybe your words have stuck; maybe he is really starting to believe you when you say you’re leaving. And being here could undermine it all, yet he doesn’t let it. He knows you were serious last night and must be considering your presence as obligatory.

And it is. But, you cannot ignore the lingering pain below your stomach and your wolf won’t let you forget just how much you love him either. He’s your best friend. He’s the person you feel safest with, someone who wouldn’t care about anger when he knows you’re hurt. So, even without certainty from your wolf that you belong together, you’d still find your way back to him.

“Let’s pretend everyone knows,” you whisper. “Let’s pretend we didn’t fight.”

“I want everyone to know,” he says, pausing to inhale deeply, “I—”

“Just open the door,” you plead.

The lock clicks, but the door remains closed. You hear a little shuffle, a nervous heart beat.

“Are you sure?”

“When it comes to you, I’m always sure,” you whisper.

He opens the door, peering at you from the crack. One look and he shakes his head, about to shut the door again. “This is a bad ide-”

You push it open with all your strength. He stumbles back; you rush forward. Arms wrapped around his neck, you press yourself against his wet body and let your lips collide.

Your heart raptures. His breath gives you life. The deprivation of his essence reminds you that you have probably found each other in every lifetime. Your love collides like planets, aimlessly floating, yearning to become one.

Chan cups your face, his hands shaky yet firm, like he cannot believe it himself but wants to. You can almost feel the ache of his body radiate onto yours. It makes you quiver with want as your legs press together.

His nose brushes against yours when he breaks the kiss, breath rapid and lips wet. He searches your eyes for even more certainty, desperate to ensure that this really is what you want. His gaze then flickers back to your lips.

Kissing him was a mistake, you realise. It was too intimate, too magical. You feel obligated to help him through this unusual heat in honour of your friendship and bond. And that should be where it ends. You cannot let yourself get lost in world-altering kisses.

So, before he can close the gap between you again, you dive towards his neck.

You planned to plant open mouthed kisses under his jawline as he flexes it for you. However, you stupidly forgot just how strong his scent is around his neck. It’s where the majority of it seeps out and intoxicates you. The moment your nose is smothered against his skin, you cannot control yourself.

Your eyes widen, pussy clenches as your arousal stains your inner thighs. Digging your nails into his biceps, you moan loudly and drag your tongue over his sensitive skin. He smells so good but tastes even better. You feel the vibrations of his growls against your tongue, eyes rolling back as your face flushes with pride.

Chan urgently pushes you back against the wall. You don’t have time to tell him that he needs to rest, quietly grunting from the impact. He’ll only further torment himself if he attempts to take control– you know from experience.

In a breath, however, he has pushed your shorts down and spread your legs, cupping your pussy. He chokes on his next intake of air and you’re not sure if it’s because of your wetness, or the intoxicating heat of it all invading his senses. But Chan is on his knees. He smothers his face between your legs, growling the moment the tip of his nose presses against your clit. The sinful sound of his slurping, the rushed drag of his tongue, makes you tremble. You tangle your fingers in his hair, resting one of your legs on his shoulder.

He grips onto your ass, pushing your pelvis up in his face. Starved, you’d think it’s been weeks since you’ve had a taste of each other and not mere hours. Shaking his head, he slurps on your arousal as his nose rubs against your clit. You squeal, toes curling. His warm tongue glides up and down between your folds before he latches around your clit. He harshly sucks, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. A loud moan tears through your throat as you throw your head back. He’s usually not this rough when you’re standing, knowing you can’t hold yourself up for very long. He doesn’t seem to care this time, even going as far as nibbling on the little nub only to lick the sting away.

“Ch-Chan,” you start, only for his finger to slide inside you.

“Cum on my tongue,” he mutters against your clit, voice raspy and slightly frayed.

You can’t find it in you to tell him to slow down. He’s the one who is overstimulated, cock painfully hard between his legs. He’s the one in heat. You shouldn’t be the one showered with attention this aggressively.

However, with his fingers deep in you, slighting curling forward, you seem to forget how to speak. All you think about, all you feel are his long fingers, his hot mouth. You throw your head back. Your moan cracks into a high pitched whine as you cum. Body shaking, hips jutting out against his face, you gush all over his mouth.

Chan wastes no time replacing his finger with his tongue, reaching deep inside you to gather every last drop. He growls, sinks his fingers into the fat of your ass, forcing you to stay still against his face.

It’s then that you realise, while he may be aching under that thin towel and so urgently craves the comfort of your care, he needs this right here– your body, your heat, your taste. He needs to feel you melt in his hands, to react to his touch. And while you desperately want to give him whatever he needs, your placating alpha merely wanting to satisfy all his urges, you don’t think you can endure another second of this overstimulation.

“Chan,” you cry, tugging at his hair to push him away. “P-please!”

He flattens his tongue and slowly drags it up your folds before finally pulling away. He gives you a second to catch your breath as he gets back on his feet. Chest heaving, he towers over you, chin and cheeks glistening from your arousal. His nose is particularly shiny from the way he shoved it against your clit. He brushes it against yours, hands gripping your ass. You catch a strong whiff of your thick scent. He spanks you, smirking when you whine.

You part your lips, about to suggest continuing in his room. You can lay him down there and ride all this frustration out of him.

However, Chan is not interested in leaving the hallway just yet. He pulls your shirt up and off then turns you towards the wall. You already know what he wants, having been caught between his frame and the wall multiple times before. His favourite position is your face against any hard surface, preferably standing, with your ass perked up behind you. Spreading your legs, you arch your back the way he likes and press your face to the wall.

Chan lets a hard hand come down on your ass once, twice, lowly chuckling as you jolt forward and whine from the impact. He quickly rubs the stinging skin, then pushes your cheeks up to align himself. Lips attached to your shoulder, he sloppily peppers your skin in wet kisses and pushes himself in. You feel his jaw drop against your neck; the deep groan he emits resonates down your spine. You squirm, gasping from the stretch of his thick length.

You remember thinking you were so naïve for believing you can take him the first time he fucked you. He asked you if you were sure three times and you begged him to just push himself in already, not able to properly see him in the dark car. Your eyes rolled back, just like they do now. You lost your voice then too. It happens every time. Your pussy aches for it, but he always fills you more than you expect. You always think you’d get used to the stretch, the depth he can reach, to the mere speed he adopts. You never can, however, especially when you're standing. Your legs weaken, trembling from the stimulation. It’s even more exhilarating in the shower, all wet and slippery. Chan has to pay extra attention to keep you from falling, usually holding you firmly against him.

“Fuck,” he groans, lips pressed to your earlobe. He draws back a couple of inches and pushes into you again. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he must feel your knees buckle from the depth of his voice, the agonisingly slow progression of his thrusts.

“I can cum in you right now,” he confesses.

You pathetically whine, whimpering like wounded prey. “Please!” you find yourself moaning. “Please, daddy!”

You swear you feel his hips quiver before his thrusts snap into action. They smack against your ass, practically applauding your pussy. His moans fill the spaces between the claps, loud, feral and breathless. And with his lips pressed to the shell of your ear, you feel each wave vibrate down each vertebrate and settle into your bones. His gruff groans embed in your flesh like a tattoo, forever scarring you as his. Others may not know but, as much as you want to, you cannot deny that every part of you belongs to him. From the way he grips onto one of your breasts and buries himself in you, there is no denying he belongs to you either. And it makes the thought of having to leave him even more heartbreaking.

So, for the sake of his heat, you pretend you have been bitten. You pretend you have been marked as his mate, solidifying the bond between you and becoming one. You pretend you aren’t disappointed and let yourself sink into this feeling of finally belonging. Pushing back against him, you throw your head back against his shoulder and cry out his name. Your voice is practically a squeal, trembling and desperate– just how he likes it.

Chan cups your drenched core. A low growl rumbles from his chest and against your back. He smirks, your earlobe between his teeth as he tugs. The constant simulation gathers tears in your eyes. You shutter against him, scratching at the wall.

“Cum with me,” he whispers, voice raspy. “Cum on my cock, princess.”

Your moans cinch at the base of your throat. You screech as your orgasm tremors through you. Chan hums a pleased moan as you gush around him, pussy flexing with each wave. He suddenly keeps you extremely still, his finger still rubbing fast circles around your clit though. His cock twitches before unloading. You feel it move against your walls, his warm cum curling your toes.

His groans are loud and fraught. He pulls out only to forcefully thrust himself back in, keen on draining every drop in you.

You lean against the wall, limp. Breathes jagged, you try to push his hand away from your clit, the ongoing simulation proving painful.

“Stop squirming,” he gently orders, trailing sloppy kisses along your shoulder blade. “You’re going to fall.”

You can only manage a whine, nudging his hand away again. He finally yields. Your hips still quiver though.

Chan quietly chuckles against your shoulder. “You should have told me it was too much,” he murmurs, not nearly as breathless as you.

Your chest heaves. You shoot him a playfully pointed glare over your shoulder, sighing, “You can’t be serious.”

He just laughs, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He swallows breathfuls of your scent, allowing the familiarity and comfort of everything you are to calm his erratic heart. Showering you with small kisses, he mutters against your skin,“God, you’re so cute. Lemme carry you.”

“It’s oka– Ah!” you begin.

Chan pulls his still hard cock out, the spark of friction cutting you off with a gasp. His arms remain firm around you to keep you steady, and you don’t realise how weak your legs really are until he shifts back half an inch and you wobble against the wall. He carries you like a bride in his arms, smirking to himself at the damage he’s caused.

Your inner wolf simmers with irritation, resonating a peeved growl from the pit of your stomach. His face glistens with your arousal, skin scenting of your peach, sandalwood scent, and he still has the audacity to smirk like he’s ruined you, as if a little buckle of your knees can be any indication.

“Put me down.”

His arrogance wavers at the sound of your velvety voice, at how it brims with authority. The playfulness that once twinkled in his gaze darkens. He tongues his cheek, like the rise of your alpha has threatened his own. Mischief now gleams in his eyes and drops you on his bed.

You squeal, bouncing on his mattress.

He bites his lip but chuckles anyway, tilting his head to admire your curves.

“I told you to stop doing that!” You want to sound annoyed, grappling for your previous control. However, upon the sound of his deep laughter, you cannot swallow your own.

“You like it and you know it,” he replies, crawling over you.

You hate it when he’s right.

A comfortable silence settles as you lie back for him. His face hovers over yours, and your noses brush. He leans down to meet your lips and you turn your head. You feel his brows furrow against your cheek, his lips place a chaste kiss to your jaw.

Chan whispers your name, but you shake your head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I—”

“Please,” you plead, turning to face him again. Your attention flickers down to his lips. His hot breath fans over your face. “That’s not what this is about.”

Chan sighs, rolling off to lay beside you. “I don’t want to do this then.”

You sit up on your elbows to find him rubbing his face. His curls are still wet, muscular body laid out before you. You swallow thickly at the sight of his erect, pink tipped cock, glistening with your recent orgasm. When you glance back up to try to meet his gaze, you find he is fighting off a knowing smile, already staring at you.

“It kinda looks like you do.”

“You’re just as eager.” He says it like he has you figured out, but you weren’t even trying to hide it.

You rest a hand on his chest. He rubs your closest bicep, once firm fingers now so delicate on your skin.

As your hand trails down his abdomen, tracing every ridge, you ask, “Are you sure you don’t want this?”

He swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He moves from your arm to cup your cheek. He thumbs your lips, smirking when you lean into his touch. “Rest for a minute,” he gently commands. “I can smell how sensitive you are.”

You press your thighs together, biting back a hiss from the pressure.

He only smiles.

Then, his composure wavers as your fingers reach his pelvis, tracing his v-line until you reach his cock. His hips jerk at your touch. You’re about to giggle when his hand falls from your cheek to your neck. He glares, tightening his fist. You hold him properly in your hand and begin pumping him.

“Why do you always insist on testing my patience?” He asks, sitting up to tower over you. “Why can’t you just behave? Don’t you want to be my good girl?”

“Yes!” you beseech. Your voice trembles with desperation.

His gaze softens. He places his hand over yours, stopping your movements on his cock. “Babe—”

You shift on the bed, removing yourself from him. Chan sits up when you crawl between his legs. He pauses. Brows furrowed, lips in a pout, he tries again, saying your name only to be cut off by your hands on his knees.

You push his legs further apart.

His breath hitches. You watch lust cloud over his eyes as they flash a dark red. You scoot closer. Hand wrapping around him again, you smother your face against his shaft. You start at the base and inhale deeply. Eyes rolling back, you drag your tongue up his length.

His thighs tense, chest constricts with a sharp breath.

Lips around his tip, you suck the remnants of his orgasm and oozing pre-cum. A small ‘pop’ sounds when you pull away and a string of salvia still connects your lips to his throbbing tip. You pump him a couple of times, watching as he tries and fails not to squirm in his seat. He fists the edge of the unmade bed, face scrunched up in pleasure. You hold his wolfish gaze as you spit on his length, rub it against him and then dive back around him. You start slow, knowing oral with Chan is more of a marathon rather than a race. You have to pace yourself, take him in batches. Not only is he long, but thick too. He feels heavy in your hand alone, your jaw already aching.

He lets out a throaty groan. He pulls back your hair with both hands, tangling his fingers on either side of your head. Gripping tight, he attempts to guide you into a quicker pace. You let him, hollowing your cheeks and unleashing your tongue around him.

Chan throws his head back. He inhales sharply and hisses as he looks back down at you again. “Ah, baby,” he moans, petting your hair back only to get a tighter grip on it. “Mmm, that’s my good girl.”

He sounds needy already, claiming you in a growl. You feel the words rumble from his chest and against your tongue.

It spurs you on. You twist your wrist with every bob now, moving faster, testing your limits as you take more of him in. He moans your name and you gag. He tugs on your hair and you drool. When he shoves you further down on him then you’re prepared for, you force yourself to take it, violently fighting against your gag reflex. He trembles from the vibration, warming his cock a second longer in your throat before pulling you back by the grip on your hair.

You heave, tears fall freely down your face. Chan takes his cock out of your hand and smacks it against your tongue. Wet, it splatters saliva and cum around your face.

“Breathe, babe,” he quietly moans. You can only just make out a smirk through your watery vision.

You wrap your hand back around him and dive under his shaft. You take his balls in your mouth, catching the faint sound of his toes curling, and suck. Rotating your wrist, you jerk him off to the rhythm of your suction, tight and fast.

“You fucking slut,” he growls, eager to move your hair out of your face.

You moan at the insult, using your other hand to wrap around the base of his balls and gently squeeze as you suck hard.

Chan cums. It seems to catch him off guard as he jolts in place and gasps rather than growls. His thighs tremble beside you as another rope shoots out and over your back. You pump him faster, swallow between harsh suctions, and moan with him. The bed squeaks and shifts as he falls back.

You start to slow your movements when he roars, his alpha prominent in his voice, “Don’t fucking stop, you little cunt.”

Smirking, you resume your quick pace. Chan groans on the bed, humping your hand as his orgasm continues. He coats your hair and back with his cum a couple more times before he sits up again. He grabs onto your hair and yanks you away from his balls. They drop from your mouth with a wet ‘pop.’

That sound is starting to become one of your favourites, but then Chan croaks your name.

He leans your head back and replaces your hand around his cock with his own. “Stick out your tongue,” he orders, jerking himself off.

You do as you’re told, holding his gaze. His hand moves from your hair to your face. He caresses your cheek for a second, eyes darkening as his wolf shines through. He then holds your throat in his fist, groaning when you let out a frayed whine. He parts his lips to degrade you no doubt but gets cut off by another orgasm – courtesy of the heat. Cum coats your tongue, shoots around your lips and cheeks as it twitches frantically.

“Swallow,” he demands, the grip around your throat tightening. He smirks when you gulp against his palm. The sight of you being so obedient must have done something to him because another rope of cum shoots over your face.

You shut your eyes with a gasp. Your tongue swirls around your lips to lick off whatever missed your mouth. Chan lets go of his cock long enough to collect the cum over your eye and cheek. He shoves his thumb in your mouth, a quiet moan rumbling in his chest as you suck and swallow.

He repeats his actions until you’ve swallowed all his cum.

The tip of his erection pokes your chin, summoning your attention. Ensnared by the heat, it pulsates against your skin, hot and needy. You recall all the times you begged him to eat you out when you were in his position just desperate to cum, cum, cum all over that handsome face. You’re not surprised to find he is experiencing the same thing, with his endurance strengthened and sex drive intensified.

“Do you want more?” You ask, hoping to bait him into begging.

He sighs, lips breaking into a tired smile. “Not here,” he shakes his head. “Stand up for me?”

“Say please,” you say anyway. From the way you catch a hint of his wolf’s intimidation in his gaze, you can only assume the mischievousness of your own has surfaced on your features.

Swallowing thickly, he concedes to your alpha, muttering through gritted teeth, “Please.”

You smirk and stand. However, your reign of control flatters as you find that your legs are still weak. He put a substantial amount of his strength into his previous thrusts in the hall. While you can usually keep up, the spiked dose of testosterone due to the heat has amplified his power.

He wraps you in his arms, pulling you into his chest, before you can even reach out to and stabilise yourself against the bed. He kisses the top of your head, the act no doubt out of habit, and you regret to find that you melt into him. He does it again, and again, guiding your bodies towards the door.

As you make your way down the hall, his hands run down your back before grabbing a handful of both cheeks. You bite back a moan, risking a peek up at him.

A knowing smile plays on his lips. And his eyes gleam with pride and adoration. His grip becomes soft, hands cradling you against him.

You flicker your gaze down at his lips, so full and sweet. You don’t realise you’ve been tracing them with your thumb until you feel the cold tile of the bathroom beneath you. The humid steam from Chan’s recent shower still lingers, dampening your skin.

“Didn’t you just shower?” You ask as he leans over you to turn the tap on.

Chan smirks down at you, tonguing his cheek when you stiffen at the proximity of his lips over yours. “Yes,” he breathes, making a point to fan his hot breath on your face.

You gulp, unable to avert your gaze from his lips no matter how loud you mentally shout. Digging your nails into his shoulder, you attempt to recenter yourself, perhaps even work up the strength to create some distance between you long enough to remember that this is out of obligation and nothing more.

“So why—”

“Because I fucked my hand thinking about you,” he starts helping you into the shower.

He falls quiet for a moment, watching the warm water spray down your hair, over your body.

You lean your head back, letting the water wash away the despair and anguish of loving someone who cannot love you. You run your hands through your hair. Your eyes flutter shut. You embrace the heat, the comfort of the thickening steam. He knows how hot you prefer your showers, and endures them even if they’re “scotching.” His skin would gleam a bright red once you’re done and he’d sulk about it until you kiss every last blotch. You’d tell him to just set it colder next time, but he never does.

You’re not sure why someone, who would burn for you, is so content with hiding you. If his love for you is so strong he can stand for hours under “scotching” water, why can it not endure the withering judgement of his family?

Chan traces the outline of your breasts. You look back at him, his touch drawing you from your thoughts. He cups them gently, thumbing your nipples.

“I want to feel you clenching around me this time,” he whispers, brushing your nose with his.

He squeezes once, twice, and by the third, he uses his grip to shove you against the wall.

You moan the moment your back meets the cool wall, arching into him to escape the cold.

“I want you against this wall,” he lifts your right leg to rest it over his shoulder, “folded all pretty,” he lifts the left to rest it on his other one, “moaning and whining, just like you always do.”

You whimper.

His lips hover over yours, breath hot.

You shiver against him, unable to escape the cold of the shower tiles now.

He makes this so easy. He holds you so close, rubbing his shaft between your folds, nudging your nose with his own. He peppers delicate kisses under your jaw. He grazes the skin with his teeth. His fingers dig into the fat of your ass, keen on holding you up. You almost lose yourself hearing him quietly moan against your neck. His lips are so close to your pulse, you can almost feel the vibrations of his voice echo with your heartbeat.

He makes it so easy to love him, it takes everything in you to snap your eyes open and pull yourself out of the familiarity of the act.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, voice smoky and breathless.

Chan pulls himself away enough to meet your gaze, noting the slight influence of your alpha in your voice. His eyes still gleam a deep red.

You stifle your dominant wolf for a moment, yielding to his, as you try again. “Please? Please fu—”

Your breath hitches, words failing, as he pushes into you.

Chan tries but fails to hide his smirk. He watches your face scrunch in pleasure, your brows furrowing, nose slightly wrinkled and jaw slack, tonguing his cheek to suppress a cocky chuckle. He can’t help himself for long, however, breathing a little laugh as he dips his head to lick the drool now dripping from the corner of your lip.

Barely holding it together with how deep he reaches already, you cannot resist the loud moan that tears through your throat at the feeling of his warm, wet tongue dragging across your skin.

Your toes curl, legs trembling already.

Chan notices, throwing his head back to allow a full-fledged laugh to echo in the steamy room. The vibrations resonating off his chest and against yours are not doing you any favours either, your orgasm already gathering.

Your face grows hot, eyes water from the sheer embarrassment of your pathetic stamina.

“Stop laughing at me!” You attempt to order. The words are frayed, however, croaking with the thick impression of desperation and amatory.

It’s enough to snap him out of his egotistic stance and ram his hips into yours.

You scream– You tangle your fingers in his hair, gripping onto his messy, curled strands and scream. The pressure of his girth pushing through your tight walls, pulsating. The speed of his thrusts, the slam of his body, hips moving out and up right into you, so deep, so—

“Not yet,” Chan warns through a rogue growl.

You want to obey, you really do. You screw your eyes shut, hold your breath, and even clench tightly, eager to keep your orgasm at bay. But all it seems to do is encourage it.

The force of his hips become so strong now, your legs begin to bounce further and further along his shoulders until they’re just dangling over his forearms. You try to resume the position he so keenly put you in but cannot find enough strength to hold off your orgasm and move your legs at the same time.

Chan doesn’t seem to mind anyway. His pace, his force, even his depth does not falter. He moves just as aggressively, determined to use every hidden inch of you.

Your whiny moans stagger with each thrust, each one raising in pitch. Tears sting your eyes again. Your voice breaks. Cedar wood and peppercorn, wet and thick, invades your senses as you gasp for a breath.

You meant to say something— maybe his name, maybe even the beginning of a sentence you never intended to finish. But your words cinch at your throat, your breath hitches and fails, and your voice hits an octave you don’t think Chan would have been able to hear were he not a werewolf.

Your orgasm gushes around him. You only just hear the wet smacks of skin on skin as blood rushes to your head and disorients your mind. There’s a ringing in your ears; your vision blurs. You feel so light, your head so empty.

Chan holds you up, engulfing your body in a tight hug as he continues. You’re not sure how long it takes him but he eventually finishes, shooting ropes of warm cum deep inside you. His head nuzzles deep in the crook of your neck, inhaling and licking your scent as he rides his high, using you like a cocksleeve.

Then, he helps you stand. Your legs wobble, sore, and he holds you close. For a moment, you forget where you are and how you got here, you forget the heartbreak and arguments, you forget the regretful realisations and troubled truths. For a moment, it’s just you and it’s just Chan, and it’s just another shower.

It’s just mates.

And then the water runs cold.

There is something off about the smell in the hallway. It doesn’t merely linger with notions of someone in heat. Due to the effects of the blue moon, Minho can detect hints of desperation, despair. It’s as though there’s a strong yearning in the air, salty like tears and bitter like sweat. He cannot pinpoint it to an apartment though, the scent flooding the entire floor.

“Chan needs to open a window,” Jisung mutters.

Minho adjusts his grip on the grocery bags. “Maybe he’s not the only one,” he wonders aloud. “We aren’t the only wolves in the building.”

“Why is the smell only here then? Why didn’t we smell it when we came in or got on the elevator?”

Minho swallows thickly. He has known Chan for almost ten years. And while Chan does his best to hide his burdens and worries, Minho can always tell when something is off. There is always a certain rigidness in his posture or sharpness in his voice. He doesn’t smile as easily and there’s a tiny yet prominent crease between his brows.

Given the effects of the blue moon, Minho can also smell it. He can smell anxiety, uncertainty, misery. He can smell hints of fear, desire, and something pure, something whole.

“I’m telling him to open a window anyway,” Jisung sighs.

“Don’t bother him. He’s going through enough.”

“It’s a quick knock,” Jisung argues, “I won’t even go in.”

Minho rolls his eyes.

The smell intensifies around the apartment door. Minho begrudgingly realises that Jisung might be right. Chan does need to crack open a window.

Discomfort brews in his chest at the fact that this also means that his friend must be suffering. This does not smell like the usual mess of chaotically erratic and eager nerves, though. This smells of pain, regret and… heartbreak?

What is going on with his friends lately? Chan is experiencing a soul-trampling heat. You locked yourself in your room since last night. And you snapped at him this morning. He noticed you left the party hastily last night only to rush back and hide in your room. He asked Kai what happened, having caught glimpses of the two of you dancing earlier that night, but Kai was just as confused. Worried, he gently knocked on the door to check on you, and you barked at him to get the fuck out of your room. In all the years Minho has known you, you have never once spoken to him like that.

Minho and Jisung share a look as they stand before the apartment door. Minho sets the bags down. Jisung holds his fist up at the door, about to knock.

“Chan! P-please!”

Minho stiffens. Jisung spares a sidelong glance at him.

Is that—?

“Fuck, I can cum in you right now.”

“Please! Please daddy!”

Minho can feel the blood drain from his face. “What the fuck,” he whispers, taking a step back.

Jisung’s jaw drops. He frantically points at the door, looking between the thick wood and Minho. “That’s—”

“I know.”

“With—”

“I know,” Minho repeats in a hiss.

He should have known, shouldn’t he? You’ve both been acting weird, disappearing at similar times, having one-on-one chats that seem to end the moment someone else walks into a room. Your behaviour yesterday at the dome was an oddity in itself. You drove twenty minutes to see him after you knew everyone would have gone. And the smell in the air when Minho walked back in there… God, were you two fucking in there too?

Jisung holds his head, eyes wide, breath heavy. “I need to tell someone,” he whispers. “I need to tell everyone!”

Minho snaps his attention back to Jisung, watching him pace by the door. “Are you insane? They clearly don’t want anyone to know.”

“But we do know!”

“And that’s why no one else can know.”

“But—”

“Jisung!” Minho whisper-yells, cutting him off. “What if that was you and, I don’t know, Hyunjin?”

Jisung pauses.

“Would you want all your friends knowing and talking about it behind your back?” Upon Jisung’s silence, Minho nods over to his own apartment and continues, “Now we’re going inside and pretending like nothing happened.”

Sighing defeatedly, Jisung shuffles towards the other door. He crosses his arms over his chest and quietly asks, “Can we at least agree that this is crazy?”

Minho rubs his face. “Sure,” he mumbles before opening the door.

The smell of freshly baked cookies and brownies only momentarily refreshes Minho’s senses. He reveals in this sacred second of serenity before the collided smell of his friends’ pheromones attacks once more.

“Jesus, shut the door,” Changbin whines, covering his nose.

“I prefer Jisung.”

Minho glares at Jisung’s stupid joke, closing and locking the door.

“Someone tell Chan to open a window,” Seungmin says around a bite of his cookie.

“He’s definitely opening something,” Jisung whispers under his breath.

Minho shoots him a cautious glare as Felix asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Minho reassures.

Jisung rolls his eyes. He inhales deeply before walking over to where Felix and Seungmin sit in the kitchen. Minho carefully watches him, straining his ears to listen to their conversation.

“Well, did you?” Jeongin asks.

Minho turns to find Jeongin standing in front of him, a concerned look on his face.

“What?”

“Did you see ____ on your way up here?” Jeongin repeats. “She went down to get her charger from the car like twenty minutes ago.”

Sparing a quick glance at Jisung, Minho replies, “No, we didn’t.”

Jeongin rubs the back of his neck. “I’m worried about her,” he quietly confesses, “She’s been acting weird lately.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Minho lies.

“Really? She literally yelled at you this morning.”

Minho catches Jisung shifting his weight from the corner of his eye. Keep it together, he thinks before turning back to Jeongin.

“Maybe it’s the blue moon,” Minho shrugs.

Jeongin nods. He looks at the ground, rubbing down his neck to his shoulder again and again.

Minho bites his lip. He squeezes Jeongin’s arm and offers a small smile, “It’s going to be alright. She just needs some spac—”

“Chan and ____ are sleeping together!” Jisung suddenly shouts.

Everyone is on their feet, walking towards Jisung or looking at Minho for confirmation.

“What?”

“Where?”

“How do you know?”

“Where are they doing it?”

“Are you sure?”

“Guys, where are they doing it?” Changbin repeats.

“Why? Are you trying to watch?” Seungmin sarcastically questions. “Who cares where they’re doing it? Why didn’t they just tell us they’re dating?”

Changbin furrows his brows, shaking his head. “Someone tore my mattress and Chan told me it was a couple from the party last night.”

“Did he say which couple?” Felix asks.

“No…” Changbin trails off as his terror settles over him.

Trying and failing to hold back his laughter, Minho shares a look with his friends. They’re all failing to contain themselves, merely stifling their amusement and averting their gazes.

That bout of fear in his eyes morphs into anger as Changbin clenches his fists.“It’s not funny!” He insists, stomping towards the door, “I’m going to kill them!”

Minho tries to stop him but Changbin is determined to get through, pushing around his friends. He yanks the door open, stumbling back from the scent. He regains his anger quickly, however, about to storm across the hall when your scream, only just muffled by the door, echoes around the room.

No one moves. Not a breath can be heard. Whatever humour once lingered between the group of friends disappears.

Changbin slowly shuts the door.

The lock clicks.

He stares at it for a second longer before turning around and returning to his place on the couch, muttering, “I think they’re busy.”

“Maybe it’s not what we think,” Felix interjects, defusing some of the awkward tension. “Maybe she’s just helping him through the heat?”

“He did leave around the time she was in heat a few months ago,” Jeongin agrees. “He said something about a trip to the beach.”

“What does it even matter?” Minho wonders aloud. “Who cares if it’s just for the heat or if they’re dating or if it’s just sex or whatever. Who cares? Why would they hide it from us?”

Jisung shrugs, “It’s awkward to talk about. I mean think about it— they know what the other does when they’re about to… you know…” he trails off as a chorus of disgusted groans erupt. “See! No one wants to talk about that.”

“Don’t be gross, Jisung. No one but you is that perverted,” Changbin chastises. “It’s obviously about Chan’s parents. They have been on his ass about marrying an ‘obedient omega girl’ for as long as I can remember.”

“What century is this?” Jeongin chuckles.

“They’re purists,” he continues. “It’s a whole religious or survival-type thing for them.”

Minho hides his shock with a bite of his lip. He didn’t know purists still existed, much less that Chan’s parents are believers.

“How can it be both?” Hyunjin asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because they are not worshipping anything. They just participate in a ritual of ancient practice,” Changbin answers.

When Hyunjin’s face still reflects his confusion, Felix explains instead. “You know how, like, no one can find a mate anymore,” he asks, continuing when Hyunjin nods, “Purists think that if they mate an alpha with an omega, they can appease the moon into blessing our kind with mates again. So, they don’t worship the moon. It’s just an ancient belief our ancestors had.”

Hyunjin furrows his brows. “But what about people whose mates are not werewolves? How do they explain that?”

“They don’t,” Changbin sharply replies. Minho notes the tension in his shoulders, the disapproval in his eyes, and wonders how many times Chan has spoken to him about his parents.

This time Chan’s growls, distant across the hall, slightly tremble the walls, only just cutting through the conversation.

Seungmin snatches his phone. Minho parts his lips, about to tell him not to call or text when loud music fills the room. It mostly drowns out the travelling sounds from across the hall.

Looking around the room, Minho shares an uncertain look with his friends. “Let’s just get through the night,” he calls over the music, “And talk to them about it tomorrow.”

This should ease his mind, but Minho is only left with more questions. If you two are together, why were you dancing with Kai? Is that why Chan left in the middle of his set or why you locked yourself in your room all day? Whatever is happening must be more than sex — or at least smells like more.

Minho crinkles his nose at the thought.

Chan lathers his shampoo into your hair, his fingertips delicately pressing into your scalp. He runs his hands through the strands when rinsing. He then drags a vanilla-scented, foamy loofa in circles around your torso, arms and between your legs. You hold your breath as he carefully avoids the apex of your thighs. His eyes ever-so slightly gleam maroon at the scent of your sensitivity.

You meant to tell him that he doesn’t need to do this. You are more than capable of cleaning yourself. But your legs still tremble and you find yourself clutching onto his broad shoulders in a weak attempt to stabilise yourself.

And he’s just so gentle. He cradles your body close, brushing his lips against your forehead. He holds you like you might shatter at any moment. He holds you like he might lose you under the spray of the hot shower, like you might dissolve between his fingers. Your wolf whimpers deep in your gut at the thought of losing this. You were missing his tender touch all alone in your bed last night.

Still, you refuse to meet his gaze. You refuse to be lulled back by the sight of those big brown eyes and red tipped ears. You refuse to forget that this is an obligation— (the word becoming meaningless the more you mentally repeat it.)

The water cools again. Chan reaches behind you to adjust the settings once more. His scent screeds from under his arms.

Breath hitching, wolf whining, you sway into him. Fuck, you just need an inch of distance to gather yourself. If you continue to nuzzle into him outside the context of a heat-fuck, he might start to believe that all is forgiven.

“I need to lay down,” you mutter, peeling yourself off his chest. His scent consumes you once more, only it's wet. It’s in the air. It’s dripping from his shoulders, his torso, his pelvis, racing down his strong legs. It’s intoxicating, breath-taking, you stagger over your next inhale, nails piercing into his skin.

Chan shuts off the tap. He maintains a hand on your waist as he reaches some towels. He wraps his thick, grey robe around your shoulders.

You regrettably meet his gaze. He’s tilting his head down, attentively scanning your features for a sign of discomfort.

If he had bitten you, he’d be able to read your mind and know that you are struggling to contain yourself around him. He’d know that you’ve been gripping, by the fangs of your teeth, onto your anger, your disappointment, your heartbreaking realisation that he doesn't love you.

“I want a regular towel,” you whisper as if hoping he won’t hear it.

Chan bends down to properly meet your tearful eyes. “Are you sure?” he gently asks. “You like how comfy my robe is.”

Correction: you adore how comfy it is. It’s like being wrapped in a cloud of Chan. You would often dream about that robe when trying to fall asleep some nights when you’re particularly missing him. You’ve stolen it all of three times, cuddling into it before he would come over and take it back.

“How am I supposed to get clean?” he’d ask.

“I like you dirty.”

You’re about to ask for a towel again but find yourself already stuffing your arms into the robe. You curse the muscle memory of being in this position countless times before. His scent completely engulfs you and you stop trying to fight it. If this is going to be the last time you wear his robe, or let him dote on you, then you might as well enjoy it, at least while you still can.

Chan ties it tight around you, letting you lean into him as he reaches for another towel to wrap about his waist. You make it a point not to look down, feign interest in the wall tiles.

You expected him to help you out of the shower. You just didn’t think he’d lift you again. The strength of his wolf makes it effortless, but you thought he’d be exhausted after cumming as aggressively as he did. You can still feel the vibrations of his growls echoing in your bones.

“I’m gonna ruin your sheet,” you try to warn as he lays you back on his bed.

Chan smirks, “Promise?”

You can’t fight off the heat that rushes to your cheeks. You sink down into his soft pillows, remembering their comfort on stormy nights when he’d sneak you in and you’d cuddle to sleep. Things were so simple then. A secret was just a secret. Sex was just sex.

Now, as you lay on his bed, drenched in his scent with him lying beside you, you wish you could return to those moments where loving you was not a burden.

It was easy once, wasn’t it? You remember that it was easy for him to sneak glances at you across the room, and risk teasing you in front of the others. His eyes would light up when you enter a room. You always thought that gesture alone would get you caught. When did being yours become so hard for him?

How many times do I have to tell you I love you for you to believe me?

The question echoes, distant yet loud.

Did he mean it? Was it just another symptom of the blue moon?

Hints of vanilla body wash fuse with his musky cedar scent. The spice of the peppercorn and freshness of linens soothe you out of your anxiety. For a moment, eyes fluttering shut, you pretend this is normal. You pretend that you spent the night here, that the guys are in the other room trying to stay quiet while you sleep in after an eventful night with Chan. You pretend that you always wake up in his bed, stretch out his clothes, and flirt shamelessly in front of your friends.

For a moment, you were never a secret. You hold hands, share food, go on dates within the county lines and kiss in supermarket aisles. It’s just you and Chan. No one else matters.

Thump.

The front door shuts.

You rub an eye open, sitting up. The room is illuminated pink and blue by the triangle lights above Chan’s bed. A blanket drapes over your robe-wrapped body.

You look through the gape of the door to find Chan, in black briefs, pacing around the kitchen. You’re about to push the blanket off you, curious to see what’s going on, when he quietly enters the room.

“Oh, you’re up,” he says, offering a gentle smile. Handing you a bottle of vitamin water, he adds, “Did I wake you?”

You accept, careful not to touch his hand.

“How long was I out for?”

Chan shrugs, “About two hours.”

As you open the bottle and take timid sips, the robe that was once securely tightened around you, begins to drape off your right shoulder. You notice Chan staring over the rim of the bottle. He tongues his cheeks, eyes becoming distant in his usual unidentifiable stare.

His heat must still have a tight grip on him.

“You alright?” you ask as you cap the bottle.

Chan nods slowly. He then circles the bed to lay down beside you.

You settle back against the pillows.

“You always smell like jasmine, sandalwood, and honey,” Chan announces. “It bothered me so much when we first met. I would get so nervous around you. I thought it was my wolf protecting me, like it was trying to warn me against you or something.”

You remember that first week in the apartment. Chan always sat farthest from you. He avoided your gaze. He talked to you only when he had to and usually used your friends as messengers.

“Jisung told me you have trouble trusting people.”

“Jisung needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,” Chan jokes, tucking an arm under his head.

You resist the urge to laugh. None of this changes the fact that he hurt you, that he couldn’t even promise to tell your friends about your relationship. Even if he sees how wrong he is now, even if he apologises, it does not change anything.

You are still a secret. He is still ashamed.

Your wolf whimpers deep in your chest. You roll your eyes at it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Chan sighs. You hear him swallow before he asks, “Do you remember when you started dating Jeremy?”

You cast him a sidelong glance, brows knitted in confusion. “You hated Jeremy.”

“I hated Jeremy,” he agrees. “I hated it when you laughed at his jokes, I hated it when he held your hand, when you hugged, when you kissed, even when you touched. It made me sick. I hated him so much, Changbin had to ask me not to go bowling with you anymore because I made him too uncomfortable. Do you remember that?”

“God,” you smile at the reminder, falling back into your memories, “Friday night bowling was insane.”

Jisung and Hyunjin bickered. Minho kept trying to do trick-shots, which never worked and always mildly injured anyone who made the mistake of standing too close. Changbin shouted, Felix danced, Seungmin playfully mocked anyone in sight, and Jeongin always missed his turn, too distracted by his friends’ antics.

Chan always sulked. He lingered behind Jeremy, watching him bowl and then made a comment about his form. You noticed that Jeremy always stiffened around him, but you thought that was a normal interaction when it came to Chan. It was how you often reacted to his presence. You always stiffened when he entered a room or deigned to share a few words with you. When he bowled, however, you froze and gawked at how he sucked his cheeks as he pondered or rolled his shoulders back before finally taking his turn. You hadn’t realised that you were reacting to the bond or that Jeremy was threatened by Chan’s overbearing behaviour.

One Friday, Jemery bowled his first strike and Chan flipped him off.

“He’s just competitive,” Changbin had to reassure Jeremy.

You coddled his ego all week, repeating time and again that Chan was just a protective friend.

“Friday night bowling was torture,” Chan affirms through a little chuckle, pulling you out of your memories.

You turn to him. He’s already looking at you.

“Chan—”

“I didn’t realise how much I liked you until I fucked my pillow, thinking about you,” he confesses. “I watched Jeremy take you home one night and couldn’t stop thinking about walking over there and just pulling you into my arms instead. I wanted to kiss you in front of him. I wanted to bend you over the nearest table and show him how to properly fuck you. I knew from the way you talked back, he had no idea what he was doing.”

You bite your lip, pulling your legs closer towards your body.

Chan spares a glance at the gesture. A notion of a smirk tugs on a corner of his lips.

“I realised that all I ever thought about was you. You’re the only person I wanted to see. I would ask Changbin to check on you and stand nearby just to hear about your day. I felt pathetic. I even followed you around the apartment whenever you came over because I couldn’t get enough of your scent.”

You lick your lips, turning to look back up at the ceiling. “What do you want me to do with this information?” you ask, voice level, tone distant.

“I…” he trails off. “I just thought—”

“This won’t change my mind.”

“I’m not trying to!”

“It’s over!” you shout, sitting up as you look towards him.

He doesn’t move, jaw tight.

You sigh and dig the heel of your palms into your eyes.

“It doesn’t hav—”

“It does,” you cut off, sparing a glance at him over your shoulder. You rest your hands back in your lap, repeating, “We’re done, Chan.”

There is a beat of silence before he asks, voice raspy, “So, this is it? This is our last heat together? Are we even friends after this?”

Of course, we are, you want to say. You’re my best friend.

No one sees you like Chan does. He silences a room when you want to speak, he memorises your favourite colours, scents, textures and randomly gifts them to you. He’d send you things that remind him of you, once sharing a playlist he curated with songs he’d know you enjoy. Even before you started dating, he’d buy your favourite drinks and leave them in the fridge for you. He’d make sure you’re eating and even offer to drive you places. Though still standoffish, he’d let you corner him and talk his ears off about whatever bothered you that day.

“We will never stop being mates,” he adds in a faint whisper, as if thinking aloud to himself.

That sounds like your problem– the words are on the tip of your tongue, fuelled by rage from the injustice of it all. You’re the one who let me down first!

However, heartbreak arrests your voice.

Do you even have the strength to be in the same room after this? Will you be able to look at him without your legs giving out?

Maybe you can try distracting yourself with someone else instead.

The thought leaves a foul taste in your mouth. You’re not sure you can stomach the scent of someone else.

Oh god… what if he finds someone else….

You tremble, clenching tightly onto the blanket. How quickly will he move on after this? Do his parents already have another girl picked out for him? They’ve already tried to set up blind dates multiple times before. You’ve overheard enough phone calls between him and his parents to be sure.

“I see,” Chan whispers, taking your silence as an answer.

You swallow thickly as your eyes water. Shoulders slumped, head hanging, you draw in a deep breath, inhaling the comfort of his scent. The bed shifts with your exhale.

Chan sits up beside you. He brings a gentle hand to the small of your back. You feel the tips of his fingers trace delicate circles up and down, round and around your skin. And you hate how it makes your wolf flutter. You try and fail to fight the desire to lean back into his touch.

You meet his gaze, parting your lips to say something— anything, only to find tears gathering in his eyes as well. Skin flushed, lips full, wet and ears pink-tipped, he’s devastatingly beautiful. You wrestle every last nerve in your body to not take back what you said.

“I love you,” Chan whispers. His voice wavers with sincerity and regret.

Leaning in, you meant to only kiss him goodbye. You meant for your lips to momentarily press, and your parting to be official.

But those soft lips taste of his salty tears and your heart can’t help soaring from the bittersweetness of them. You break the kiss to lick at those tears again and again. You don’t realise you’re moaning until Chan pulls you onto his lap.

You straddle him because it’s muscle memory and nothing more, you tell yourself. You straddle him because you will never straddle him again after this. You straddle him to hold him close one last time, to feel his heart hammer against yours as your fated blood courses through your veins as one.

His tongue draws yours back into a kiss. You run your hands through his damp hair, gently tugging on his half-curled strands. He moans into your mouth like he did during the blue moon. His fingers press against the fat of your ass, pulling your hips down against his.

Hard, thick, his clothed erection rubs between your folds. You clench, instantly dampening the soft cotton of his briefs. He quivers with you. A deep growl crawls from the base of his chest and resonates against your tongue.

You can’t help your moan. You can’t help the jut of your hips towards him, again and again, chasing the opportunity to hear that growl one more time, to feel it.

He only groans, however.

Wolf determined, you pull off your robe. Chan breaks the kiss at the wave of your freed scent, now unobscured by the thick robe. He buries his face in your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin before grazing it with his teeth. His hands find a place on your breasts, cupping and squeezing them as you continue to rhythmically dry hump him. Cradling his head with one hand, your other drags along his back, leaving jagged, reddish lines in their wake. You then dig your long nails into his shoulder and steady yourself for a forceful thrust, putting your wolf’s strength into it.

Chan whines. He shudders under you, whining your name in a croaky voice that unravels something primal deep in your gut.

Your hips halt.

Looking down at Chan, you expect to find pride in his eyes. It took him a while to submit to you at the gym last night. He challenged every order, attempted to hide every shiver. Egotistic and cocky, he teased you for as long as he could. You expected him to be chewing on his lip to hold back a smirk, to be regarding you carefully, silently cautioning you from mentioning this again.

Brown eyes, big and round, sparkle as he peers up at you. His chin glistens from your spit, lips blotchy from your kiss. His ears flame red, shoulders slump as you graze them with your nails. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer against him.

Defeated? Regretful?

You’re not sure what causes such a shameless surrender. And with his cock throbbing beneath you, you don’t have time to find out right now.

Lifting your hips, you order, “Take’em off.”

His hands tremble as he lets go of you. Confusion creases his features.

“What?”

“Now.”

Chan attempts to maintain your severe stare while looping his thumbs around the waistband to wiggle his briefs off. His breath hitches before he can kick them off his ankles, attention now consumed by your hand wrapping around his throbbing erection.

You thumb his oozing tip; Chan gasps.

You squeeze his shaft; Chan crumbles, breathlessly moaning your name.

He grabs onto your thick thighs, nail-beds whitening from the pressure of his grip, and cranks his neck back to let your lips hover over his.

The suggestion of putting him in this position, at the mercy of your whims, was non-negotiable before tonight. He would have spanked you for it. He would have cuffed your limbs to the four corners of the bedposts and held a vibrator against your clit, teasing you closer and closer to your orgasm only to take it away when you were ready to let go. He wouldn’t have stopped until you were sobbing, promising never to bring it up again.

In truth, you would have only brought it up to receive a punishment that severe. You love the way Chan dictates order, commands control, especially when he wields it over you. The sheer thought has you biting your lip.

However, the Chan under you, allowing himself to remain locked under the cage of your thighs, fosters alpha tendencies buried deep within your gut. A pleased growl festers in your chest at the sight of him so willing, so broken.

“Where is the hard-headed alpha who wouldn’t let me tie him up?”

You don’t recognise your own voice, yet resist the urge to blink your surprise. You are well aware that it belongs to your alpha, but have never heard it sound so steady, so sure. While dark, the femininity of your voice cuts through like shattered glass— sharp and faintly lethal if injected in the bloodstream.

A trail of saliva leaks from the corner of his lips. You’re not sure he notices, or perhaps he just doesn’t care. He gawks at you, throat bobbing as he thickly swallows.

You run your free hand through his hair, softly scratching his scalp. You watch those big brown eyes flutter at the gentle gesture. Core clenching, you bite your lip to force back a moan.

Chan’s eyes snap open as you tug on his short strands. Astonished pride swims within his gaze as you stare him down.

“I-I just want whatever you w-want,” he finally answers in a breathy whisper.

“You’re the one in heat.”

“Not anymore,” he replies, shaking his head. “I don’t think so anyway.”

You hold his shaft between your folds, grinding against his length. Chan shivers, brushing his nose with yours.

“You don’t have the overwhelming urge to fuck me anymore?” You tease, pointedly nudging your nose with his. “Should I stop—”

“No!”

You remember that voice, that degree of pathetic desperation. You bite down on his bottom lips and pull as you align his length with your needy hole.

“Please,” he attempts to utter as you suck on his lip. You let go of it with a ‘pop.’ Eager to taste your tongue, he pulls the swollen lip into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut.

You tsk at him, lightly shaking his head with the grip on his hair. “There’ll be none of that,” you chastise. “Open your eyes.”

He wordlessly follows orders.

Because he’s been so forthcoming, and you really cannot deny your desires for much longer, you sink down on his cock. Exchanging breaths, you gasp into each other’s mouths.

Chan lets out a throaty moan when you completely seat yourself on his lap again. You can tell from the way his shoulders tremble, he’s doing his best to resist the urge to jut his hips up into yours.

As the neon lights in his room cast a reddish glow, the realisation of his beauty hits you all over again. His eyes sparkle with adoration, hot face flushes with desire. From his lips down to his chin, his skin glistens with unquenched hunger.

You tease a roll of your hips.

He sets his jaw, rasping moans.

You brush a section of his hair back towards his ear, the same way he often does to you. I love you too, you want to tell him. I love you so much, I’m debating on being your secret for eternity if it means I get to always be yours.

Instead you still your hips, resisting the urge to smirk when he quietly whines, and ask, “Did I ever tell you why he broke up with me?”

Chan furrows his brows. “Jer—”

“Yes,” you quickly cut him off. “Did I ever tell you what happened?”

Chan shakes his head. He wraps his arms around your waist, smothering your breasts against his chest. He pecks the point of your chin and asks, “What happened?” like his needy cock isn’t buried deep within you.

You kiss his temple, petting back his hair before resting your arms on his broad shoulders. Then you rest your forehead against his, noses brushing, lips grazing as you confess, “I moaned your name.”

Chan blinks.

“I was trying to cum. He’s really sloppy and it was hard. My eyes were closed the whole time I guess,” you explain, voice shaking as his cock throbs against your walls. “I-I tried but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It only felt bearable when I thought about you.”

His hips shift and you reactively clench around him. Chan groans, throwing his head back.

You whimper at the fullness, at the sudden onslaught of his scent seeping from his neck. Hands steady on his shoulders, you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He complies, unravelling himself from you to lay back onto his pillows. A smirk finds its way on his lips and he looks up at you.

“We should’ve done this more often,” he muses, tucking both arms under his head. “You look so pretty on top.”

Maybe it’s the overwhelming wave after wave of his scent, or that reawakened egotistic voice of his, but you decide that the time for words is over.

Gripping onto his waist, you lean forward and arch your back. Up and down, you bounce on his cock. Your ass smack, smack, smacks down on his thighs, pussy clenching around his thickness with each brush of friction.

“Oh my god,” you whine, letting go of his wrists to shift your grip up to his chest. “You’re so fucking b-big!”

Chan, hands freed from your hold, grab onto your ass, helping you find a steady pace.

“S-slow down,” he says, trailing his grip up to your hips. “I don’t want this to end.”

If you cum, you’d have to leave, you realise. Because this is over, this fuck will be your last. You’ll never get to revel at his size anymore, never get to whine his name or dig your nails into his skin.

You stop your thrusts and roll your hips around his.

Chan sits back up, pressing himself against you again. He hugs your waists and peppers kisses along your cheek and down your jaw. You write out his name with your hips as he licks at your neck.

“You misspelt my name,” he teases.

“Did not!”

“It’s a-n not u-n,” he corrects.

Putting your wolf’s strength into it, you grind harder onto him, respelling his name again and again. His legs tremble beneath you, growls turning into low chuckles.

Peeling himself from the crook of your neck, Chan gazes up at you, eyes gleaming with that unidentifiable emotion as he declares, “I am pathetically in love with you.”

You stop.

Chan holds you tighter. “I know it’s over,” he rushes to add. “I don’t deserve you, ____. I should have told them sooner. I should have told them when we found out that we’re mates. You shouldn’t have had to threaten me.”

You furrow your brows. “Wait,” you push his hair back to properly search his eyes. “What do you mean ‘told them sooner?’ Di-did you tell your parents about us?”

Chan swallows thickly.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” you shout, slightly leaning back.

The gesture causes his tip to hit a new angle. You cannot fight the strained moan that tears through your throat from the jolt of pleasure. You can hear him fight back a chuckle as he tries to keep you still.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” He asks.

Breathless, you ignore his question to pose your own. “When did you tell them?”

His cock pulsates at the new angle, making you tremble. This really isn’t the time for this conversation, but you don’t think you’ll be able to cum without this information.

Here you are, sitting on his cock for the first time, believing that it will also be your last. You are freely dictating your desires, allowing yourself to completely lose all inhibitions if it means you get to experience his cock before walking away from this forever. You’ve been wondering how to be friends, how to be around him after this and this entire time his parents knew.

You can’t continue without knowing how long they have known. Why did he let you believe they haven’t? Does he resent you for forcing him to tell them? Does he regret it?

“I called them after you left last night,” he confesses. “You were right about everything and I couldn’t live with myself knowing I have been treating you like shit.”

Tears gather in your eyes.

“I was gonna go after you but I got so sick out of nowhere. I wanted to throw up and eat my weight in chicken at the same time. Then I got so hot and cold. I couldn’t even move!”

You nod, knowing that feeling all too well. The tingle of your nerves, numbing your limbs the moment you lay down. Nausea overwhelms you and cannot possibly eat but you’re famished all the time. Clothes seem heavy but you’re too cold to lounge around naked. You usually become extremely active before becoming completely immobilised by your desperation to be filled though.

“That’s how it starts,” you confirm. The first week of your heat was jammed into a few hours for him. “You should have called me.”

Chan shakes his head. “I didn’t want you thinking I only told them because of the heat. You deserve more than that. You always have. ”

Swallowing thickly, your lips quiver as you ask, “Why did you let me end this? Why didn’t you tell me this when I told you it was over?”

“You were exhausted with me,” he shrugs, “and I wasn’t going to force you into something you didn’t want.”

His eyes water and, as he allows a smile to tug on the corners of his lips, you finally realise what that look in his gaze is. Once unidentifiable, you see it clearly for what it has always been: devotion, passion, worship.

You cup his face as tears fall down your cheeks. Chan leans in with you, eager to collide your lips. Your stomach flutters with delicate petals of heat. They bloom up into your chest, warming your body with a sense of comfort, familiarity and security. His tender kiss is a promise of protection, a declaration of devotion as his tongue glides along yours. You exchange breaths, share moans and grasp onto each other’s limbs.

Chan keeps one arm around you while the other rubs your thigh. You trail your hands from his face down to his back. As your hips begin to grind once more, you scratch at his back.

He hisses into the kiss.

You fight off a smile, arching your back to recreate that previous angle that made you breathless. Lifting your hips, you resume your shallow bounces on his desperately throbbing cock. His tip pushes against that soft spot deep within your core.

“F-fuck!” You whine, breaking the kiss to throw your head back.

Chan groans his pleasure and amusement. He drags his hands over the valley of your breasts before cupping your right one as he continues to support your back with his other arm. Despite his soft touch, he squeezes it firmly and sucks on your taut nipple.

His name trickles out of your mouth in a breathless moan. You sneak a glance down at him to find he is already looking up to you, the impressions of a smile on the corners of his lips. You push back his hair and he moans, vibrating his contentment against your sensitive nub.

“D-do you still want me to go-o slow?”

Chan releases your nipple with a wet pop. You tremble against him.

“I want you to bite me.”

You pause.

Chan tsks, and puts his hands on your hips. He moves your hips back up and down against himself. “If you stop again, I’m putting you on your back,” he threatens as he juts his own his up to meet yours.

Too stunned by his previous statement, you let him bounce you on his cock. You grip onto his shoulders, brows furrowed as you whine from the delicate friction.

“I can’t t-think—” you try to tell him.

“You don’t need to think,” he grunts as your breast brushes up on his tear-streaked cheeks from the force of every thrust. “Just bite me.”

You shake your head.

Those brown eyes are gleaming with notions of red. He’s drunk off the pheromones, possibly relieved by the fact that, based on your kiss, you are reconsidering the break up. He might even still be coming down from his heat. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“You don’t mean it.”

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking into a croaky rasp. “Please bite me, ____.”

Your breath hitches. You can feel his cock twitching. Is he just saying this because he wants to cum?

“Do it on my bicep,” he then adds, silencing your doubts, “I want it where everyone can see.”

You don’t remember summoning your fangs. However, judging by the way Chan doesn’t seem too surprised to see them, you assume your own eyes have been glowing red for a while.

“You’re sure?” You find yourself asking, gaze dancing between his left bicep and his face.

“A hundred percent,” he smiles.

You move your hair to one side, out of your way. Chan lays back down onto the mattress. You cease your thrusts to grind against him, recalling his previous threat. Grabbing a hold of his wrists, you hold his arms over his head.

Chan patiently watches you lean over him. Your heavy breasts jiggle against his face with every roll of your pelvis. The sight, the sensation of his thick girth pulsing against your walls for as long as it has, makes your toes curl. Remnants of the heat must be the only thing extending your stamina and endurance enough not to have cum yet.

As your teeth sink into his skin, a pang of euphoric anguish emits from your fangs. It resonates deep in your flesh, down to the marrow of your bones like the droning ding of a clock bell. All you hear is the hammering of hearts; all you see is the collision of veins, the entanglement of souls. You don’t mean to draw blood, you’re not sure if you’re even supposed to, but the taste of it solidifies authority over the foreign sensation coursing within your system.

Chan’s loud howl suddenly cuts through the powerful fog. His consistent withering beneath you pulls you out whatever trace you’ve fallen into. You retract your fangs to suck on the wound, licking away the blood as his wolfish genes quickly heal the area.

When you pull away, you find that you have stopped moving your hips, but you must admit that you are too consumed by the sight of the bite to care. Even healing, you can precisely make out your fangs between the other teeth marks now embedded in his flesh like a tattoo. It’s a pinkish red against his pale skin, blotching into a deep maroon as it attempts to heal.

His chest rises and falls steadily as you sit back on his lap. The jolt of friction between your hips snaps his eyes open. Red eyes meet your own.

Chan turns you over in a breath. He has you on your stomach in a blink. You don’t even feel him pull out of you. He just perks your ass up and shoves himself back in again.

“What did I fucking say,” he growls smacking your ass, “about stopping, you little slut?”

You whimper, wolfish nails tearing through his sheets. I was biting you, you want to shout. You were making sure he didn't bleed out. You don’t even remember stopping.

However, his thrusts are too forceful. He’s fucking the words right out of your mind.

Eyes rolling back, your body quakes. The knot in the base of your stomach, twisting and gnawing at you with every grind you previously rolled now becomes undeniably prominent. It grows as you moan, as he groans, craving—

“More please,” you weep, cheek smothered into the mess of pillows beneath you. “I-I need more!”

Chan tangles his fist in your hair. He uses his new grip to pull your back into his chest. One arm wraps around your middle, keeping you steady as he continues to pound into you. His other hand gathers your hair away from your shoulder. Lips soft, he kisses the nape of your neck.

You whimper, fangs poking out from your lips.

Maybe it's the smack of your ass against his hips, the wet squelch of your wetness, the thick scent of your sex, the heat of his breath on your sweaty skin. Maybe it’s the way he growls your name like a pitiful worshipper, thanking their lord for a blessing.

Whatever it may be, it manifests something primitive and carnal within him to snap.

And then you feel it— the blissful sting of a bite.

In the crook of where your neck meets your shoulder, Chan sinks his fangs into your skin. Where biting invoked sovereignty, being bitten provokes subjugation. An ache of euphoric agony pulsates from the infected area. Your muscles contract and relax with every breath Chan takes, your body submitting to the will of his. Your system almost resets as if a wave of ice water has splashed over your nerves. Heartbeat hammers, blood rushes to his pace, fogging your senses with him, him, him.

Chan retracts his fangs, licking the wound as you whimper in his arms.

You don’t realise you’re falling face first back into the bed until Chan readjusts his grip around your waist. He kisses the stinging bite wound, shushing you between your tremors and whines.

You wonder if you just came, the high of your climax rushing to your head and smothering your senses. You grip onto the rails of the bed frame, which were once knocking against the wall from the force of his hips, and sob his name between moans.

“It will hurt more if you don’t stay still,” Chan whispers, pulling you back into his chest.

The fullness of your core finally registers. You didn’t cum once, but twice. Chan had already cum with you, perhaps while he was biting you. And now you are locked in this position, both exhausted and weak, because he’s knotting.

You’ve never knotted, not with Chan, not with anyone. You thought it was as rare as finding a mate, knowing it does not occur unless both wolves are deeply connected and in the throes of their most primal instincts.

“H-how long—”

“Just started,” he cuts you off, lips pressed against your neck.

“Is it supposed to hurt this much?” You ask, voice frail.

You feel Chan nod behind you as he inhales breath-fulls of your scent.

“I think so,” he groans. He rubs around your breasts to help soothe your trembles. “Just relax, baby.”

“You first,” you joke.

Chan breathes a laugh, summoning a smile to your lips.

A comfortable silence settles over you. You want to turn to look at him, to press your forehead against his and stare into those dark, maroon eyes as he throbs and throbs and throbs against your sensitive walls. But even breathing sends sparks of lightning pain through your pelvis. All you can do is lean back into him as he licks and kisses your bite wound.

“It already looks so pretty,” he whispers between wet kisses.

You quietly moan before replying, “You didn’t let me get a good look at yours.”

“Yeah, well you edged me last night,” he argues, “and warmed my cock for nearly fifteen minutes just now.”

“You were being cryptic,” you chuckle, only to quietly hiss at another pang of pain.

Though he’s smiling against you, Chan attempts to soothe you. He kisses behind your ear, tightens his grip around your waist, and gently rubs his thumbs against your skin.

You allow his scent lull you into steady, full breathes, and distract you from the faint stimulation of his pulsating cock deep inside you. Eventually, the twisting pressure against your walls gradually relaxes. A relieved sigh escapes you as your shoulders slump.

Chan swallows thickly. He takes his time pulling himself out of you and guiding you back onto the bed.

You clutch onto the soft comforter, curling your knees into your chest. Your bones still tremble, muscles still stiff and worn. The bed shifts behind you. You hear a shuffle of the sheets before a blanket drapes over your shaking frame.

Chan wraps his arm around you, pulling himself closer. “I will love you for eternity,” he sighs, kissing the bite wound. Then, in a near whisper, he promises, “I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

There is no room for doubt in his tone, words definitive.

You rest your hand over his. Chests raising and falling in tandem, you reply, “That’s all I ever wanted.”

— — —

It smells of coffee and brunt blueberry pancakes. You wrinkle your nose, eyes squinting open.

Bright sunlight peaks into the room. A light breeze blows through the curtains. Sitting up, you look around at the torn mattress and sheets beside you. Despite the state of the bed, however, the room is tidy with your clothes folded neatly on Chan’s desk chair. A little smile plays on your lips. It’s just like him to clean up after a rough night.

Heavy breathes, hasty touches and whispered confessions, last night resurfaces to the forefront of your mind. You drift between contentment and relief at the memories. Reaching back, you graze your fingers over the wound. The indents of his teeth are still prominent and slightly tender to the touch. There is an obvious dip where his fangs pierced through skin. A part of you thought it must have been a dream, so you brush your fingers over the bite again and again.

Still, it remains, faintly painful and heavy with promise.

You stand up, despite your stiff muscles and sore legs, to examine it through the mirror.

“I don’t want to discuss this anymore,” you hear Chan sigh in the other room.

Rubbing your eyes, you reach over to the chair for your clothes. You open the bedroom door while putting on your hoodie, expecting to be greeted with light notions of your chaotic scents from last night. However, with every window in the apartment open, candles lit and the smell of breakfast on the stove, you can barely make out Chan’s scent alone.

“Whatever,” Chan mutters as you shuffle down the hallway.

His bare back greets you, standing over the stove. He hangs up his phone, tossing it aside as he tends to his over cooked pancakes.

Though you are sure you know, you still ask, “Who was that?”

Chan turns to face you, a sweet smile hovering over his lips once he takes in your dishevelled frame. “Not important,” he shrugs.

You chew on your lip, twirling the hem of your shirt, before asking, “How upset are they?”

He lets out a little sigh. Turning back to the stove, he flips the last of the blueberry pancakes onto their plate then switches the stove off. You watch his back flex with each tense movement as he tries to gather his thoughts. You know this is serious, but you can’t help getting lost in his muscles.

Then you notice it– the fanged wound on his bicep. Your knees buckle, breath hitches at the sight.

Chan snaps his attention back to you at the fraught sound, brows furrowed. It takes him a minute, but his eyes soon lock on the crook of your neck. A little knowing smile tugs on his lips. Exhaling deeply, he then confesses, “They’re furious,” he slides the finished plate on the kitchen island, “but I think it’s mostly because I avoided their calls yesterday.”

You’re not so sure that’s true.

You don’t know Chan’s parents very well, but remember running into his mother for the first time a couple of years ago. She was dropping off a box of his old swim medals, chatting with him and Changbin in the living room. You came over to borrow Changbin’s foam roller. Your muscles had been particularly stiff that weekend and he told you to come by and grab it when you had time. It took all over two minutes but felt so much longer. The moment you walked in, Chris stopped talking mid-sentence and stared at you.

“Oh, sorry,” you nervously chuckled. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“What did I tell you about apologising?” Chan asked, voice strained but firm.

His mother blinked at him.

Changbin rolled his eyes. He, like that rest of your friends, has gotten used to Chan’s abruptness with you. If anything, that was Chan being polite.

“It’s in my room,” he said, nodding towards the hall. “Please don’t touch anything else.”

You hurried to grab the roller, the muted shuffles of your steps so loud against the silence of the living room. When you emerged from the hall again, Chan was already staring, as if he followed your frame to and from Changbin’s room.

His mother was less than pleased.

“They just need time to adjust,” Chan reassures, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“They never liked me,” you say with a slight shake of your head.

Chan sighs. “They suspected that I had a crush on you. My mom always thought I acted weird whenever you were around.”

You smirk. “You did act weird.”

“And you’re going to stand there, smelling like me, and tell me that you didn’t act weird around me too? Which one of us was caught sniffing laundry?”

Your face burns, blood rushing to your cheeks. The memory of Chan finding you in his room, gripping onto a hoodie from his dirty hamper that was drenched in his sweaty scent flashes before your eyes. You tried to explain it away by saying that there was a terrible smell around his apartment and you were just hunting it down. The truth was you were about a week away from being in heat and he just smelled so fucking delicious.

Your knees wobble under the fixation of his darkening gaze at the reminder. Practically diving for the stool, you take a seat in front of the island and stare at the plates of food to avoid his cocky gaze. Eggs, waffles, jams, cheeses, and three types of pancakes clutter on the counter.

Desperate to change the subject you ask, “Feeding an army?”

Chan, ever so merciful, lets it slide, tonguing his cheek. “Something like that,” he jokes, reaching for the coffee pot. “Bin, Lix, Minho,” he lists as he grabs your favourite mug, “I got like six missed calls from Jeongin asking to see us when my heat’s over.”

Only now, as you watch Chan pour the coffee and splash in some creamer, do you realise that you told your friends you’d be right back hours ago and never returned. True, your excuse was weak and maybe a part of you did want them suspecting something out of spite for the way Chan had been treating you. But, you did not want them knowing that you left to have sex with him across the hall.

“Do you think they know?” you ask as he sets the cup in front of you.

Chan scratches the back of his neck.

Shit, you think at the sight of his nervous look. “Please tell me they didn’t hear—”

You’re cut off by the front door opening. Jisung marches in with his chest puffed out and brows furrowed. He looks around as if inspecting the area before his gaze falls on the display of food. His eyes sparkle with intrigue, stern persona falling as he announces, “There’s breakfast!”

“Is everyone decent?” you hear Changbin ask.

Jisung seats himself beside you, already fixing himself a plate as he hums his confirmation.

Your friends spill in, attention consumed by the food. You get up from your spot to give them more space and linger beside Chan. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

It takes a minute, but Minho is the first to notice, rolling his eyes. Seungmin catches the gesture and looks over at you. He suppresses a disgusted snarl, muttering, “You’re both sickening.”

You sip from your coffee to keep from laughing as Chan shifts his weight beside you. There’s no doubt in your mind, from the exasperated sigh that escapes his lips, he’s glaring at the pair of them.

Felix bounces his brows at Chan, much to his embarrassment and your amusement. Jeongin lets out a nervous chuckle and shakes his head, commenting something about how you’re both more dramatic than Hyunjin.

Jisung looks between you, takes another big bite of his eggs and mumbles, “I’m trying to eat.”

Hyunjin flickers his attention between the pancakes and waffles, completely oblivious to Chan’s gesture or your friends’ reactions.

Changbin sets his plate down. He stands before both of you with his arms crossed. “Which one of you ruined my bed?” He asks, glare bouncing between you.

You untangle yourself from Chan, burying your face in your cup as you walk towards Minho. Chan shifts his weight. He scratches the back of his head and lets out a little, uneasy chuckle. “So listen—” he starts, only for Changbin to cut him off, diving into a long lecture about respecting others' property and owing him the cost of a new bed.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” Minho whispers, pulling you away from Changbin’s theatrics.

You turn to find hints of betrayal swimming in his eyes.

“I didn’t like lying to you,” you reassure, “He just wasn’t ready.”

Minho nods. He averts his gaze to his plate before finding a place at the dining table by Hyunjin and Felix.

You furrow your brows, sensing his disappointment. He always makes sure you’re the first to know anything that happens in his life. Guilt festers in your chest. You make a mental note to talk to him about it later, you owe him that much at least.

“And if I catch you in my room again,” Changbin threatens. He points at you as well, tearing your attention away from Minho. “I will kill you.”

You roll your eyes. “Grow up, Binnie. It’s not like you were using it right.”

His face falls as your friends laugh. Clenching his jaw, he replies, “It’s my room.”

“Not that night, it wasn’t,” Jeongin jokes.

As laughter fills the apartment, you catch Chan’s gaze. There’s that look again— pure admiration and devotion.

Get over here.

You blink as his voice echoes in your mind like the chime of a fateful bell, ringing, howling.

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