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hyprfixate · 23 days ago

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

read on AO3

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

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

pairing: bang chan x reader

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

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

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

word count: 21.6k

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

Chan was acting weird.

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

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

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

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

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

The guy you're secretly in love with.

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

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

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

Right. Your appointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's Chan.

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

something came up.

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

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

Something is definitely wrong.

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

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

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

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

Channie: i'm so sorry.

Channie: i can explain. i promise.

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

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

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

As usual.

You: breathe, Chan. it's ok.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

Channie: had plans?

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

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

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

Channie: give me some creditt

Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned

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

A win-win.

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

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

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

Channie: i'm here babygirl

Channie: coming up to help w ur bags

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”

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

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

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

“You're in pain.”

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

“Yes, I am, but how did you–”

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

Hm. He caught you there.

“How bad is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

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

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

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

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

No biggie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're just happy to have answers.”

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

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

“Maybe a six,” you breathe.

“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”

“It did, it's just wearing off.”

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

“What do you need, babygirl?”

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

“‘Course it is. Here.”

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

“Is that your couch blanket?”

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

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

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

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

“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”

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

This is home.

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

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

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

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

“Is it supposed to rain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

"You okay, babygirl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is not the protein bar box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.

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

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

And Chan happened to be one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still Chan.”

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

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

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

It does not frighten you the way it should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you pawsitive?”

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

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

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

"What is it?" you ask softly.

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

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

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

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

Your brain short circuits as the request processes.

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

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

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

Fuck it.

“Of course, Channie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ignore the heat in your stomach.

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

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

“Your hip,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“This good, babygirl?”

“Mmf.”

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

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

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

Things seem less charged in the morning.

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

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

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

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

You pause in the archway of the kitchen.

Food is… an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"It's going to rain?"

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

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

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

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

“During the full moon?” You supply.

He nods quickly. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

It's fine.

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

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

“My hands.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

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

“Try again.”

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

“It's a seven,” you breathe.

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

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

“Which bottle is it?”

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

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

Wow. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comfy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You repeat your mantra in your mind:

Everything is fine.

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.

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

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

You are immediately invested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.

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

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

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

Chan.

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Okay. Okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worst Cooks in America?”

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

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably.

… Maybe.

Everything is not fine.

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

Or pretending to.

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

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

You weren't sure what to do.

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

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

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

“Chan,” you start.

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

He's not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop on a thread that catches your attention:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's the one,” he grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.

Chan is not asleep.

Chan is very much awake.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

You can't look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His pupils blow.

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

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

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

You take another step closer.

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

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

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

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

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

Then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, there's silence.

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

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

You almost choke.

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

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

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

"Please?”

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

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

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

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

"Use your words babygirl."

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

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

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

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

Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you breathe.

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

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

"Oh god," you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh shit.

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

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

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

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

Typical stuff. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello?" You breathe.

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

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

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

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

The floor falls from under your feet.

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

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

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

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

You need to move. You need to get out.

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

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

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

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

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

But Chan…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's been crying.

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

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

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

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

Your heart breaks in two.

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

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

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

“Tell me what I did.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask me why,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan,” you breathe.

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

The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy.

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

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

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

To you he is just Chan.

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

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

It feels like home. It feels like safety.

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

It feels like perfection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, Alpha?" you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you not love all that he is?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bites you then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His everything.

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

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ssahotchnerr · 3 months ago

Note

begging for nanny!reader x hotch

aka aaron discovers reader is going on a date, our man gets a bit mean and jealous, things get a bit steamy and it ends with him begging reader not to go🙈🙈

right now

🤭 cw; fem nanny!reader, jealous and some possessive!aaron 😵‍💫, slight bratty reader?, heavy suggestion - minors dni wc; 1.2k

"Homework is done. Soccer bag is packed for tomorrow, but uniform is finishing up in the dryer now." You relayed everything on your internal to-do list, mentally checking off each box. "Oh, he has a permission slip for a class trip in his folder that needs signing. I reminded Jack to remind you, but just so you're aware, too. He's eating at his friend's, so you don't have to worry about dinner."

Aaron nodded along to your instructions. You looked throughout the kitchen, as if something would pounce out and remind you of something you'd potentially forgotten.

When nothing availed, "Okay, that should cover it."

"You're amazing, per usual." Aaron complimented, exhaling an at-eased breath. He glanced around the clean apartment, before discreetly admiring you. "I can't tell you how nice it is knowing things are taken care of here. I'm able to come home and breathe. Jack adores you. Seriously, what would we do without you?"

You blushed at his praise, warmth sweeping through you. "Happy to help."

"How was he today?" He asked, swiftly grabbing the mail from the table, beginning to poke through it.

"Perfect. Per usual." You shared, tossing Aaron a grin. Jack made your job tremendously easy - he was cooperative, kind mannered, overall the sweetest kid. "Although, I did have to remind him to stop leaving his shoes in the middle of the entryway." You added jokingly, as if it could be an inconvenience.

Aaron chuckled. His eyes squinted humorously as he quipped in return, "I'll have a chat with him."

Your smile lingered, fading away gradually as you began packing yourself up. "And thanks for relieving me early. I know how busy you are, so I really do appreciate it."

Nervousness pumped through your veins at the thought of your evening plans. You've been in the Hotchners' lives for a few months now, so casually discussing your plans should've come naturally, easily, but it didn't. Not with all things considered.

"No problem, happy to accommodate. You deserve to relax too." His eyebrows furrowed, tossing aside unimportant, junk mail. "If you don't mind me asking, what're you up to tonight?"

"I, um," Your gaze dropped, grabbing ahold of your bag. Your cheeks flushed, suddenly feeling very guilty. You took your time answering, "I have a date, actually."

He stopped stifling through the mail at once, his gaze lifting. "A date?"

"Yeah." You continued to pack up, throwing your bag over your shoulder and avoiding his eyes altogether. "A date."

"With who?" Aaron's words were harsher than he anticipated, causing you to freeze this time. He didn't like the concept of you seeing someone, not a bit.

Your eyes finally met his - his hardened stare. The expression awakened something in you, and you reciprocated back, your words equally as blunt. "Nobody you know."

You've never witnessed Aaron like this, and likewise, it brought something out in you as well; a newfound attitude. You wanted to disobey, solely to see how he reacted. He clearly wasn't happy, and you were entranced to find out more; curious as to what he would do, and hoping it was what you had in mind.

Aaron stood there rigidly, silently seething. The atmosphere had changed completely. No longer was it a light, witty one - but filled with the utmost tension.

"Well, thanks again-" Your hand found the doorknob, pulling the door open a few inches. You didn't make it far; Aaron's hand found the door above your head, pushing it shut.

"What's he like?"

You always caught whiffs of Aaron's cologne all throughout the apartment, whether he was in the residence or not. It was spicy, yet subtly sweet; suitable for him.

But now with his close proximity, mumbling into your ear, it was dizzying. You couldn't think straight even if you tried. You turned, coming face to face with his chest. His button-up was stretched tight against his torso, adding to the illusion of the strong muscle he possessed underneath. His arm had also stayed put, to the right of your temple.

You were caged in, and not complaining.

It had a notable effect it had on you. You wanted to be all consumed by him; you needed him to take charge, and you'd willingly allow it.

Your back met the door, as well as your head as you gazed up at him. You were lost with words, your heart thumping wildly in your chest, restricting any normal breathing.

"What's he like?" He repeated, urging you to answer. While his voice remained taut, it was joined by a condensing tone. As if he knew better. Knew you better, and you weren't the one to object.

Needless to say, he was enjoying this: making you noticeably squirm, and the fact it didn't take much to do so.

Your breath hitched, going fuzzy at the edges. "I don't know. A friend set us up."

"I think you should cancel it."

"Excuse me?'

"By all means, you can go. Only," His eyes flicked up and down your body, slotting a thigh between your legs. "What you're exhibiting tells me you'd rather not."

You resisted the urge to grind down on his leg, attempting to remain as neutral as possible. "Are you profiling me?"

"Maybe." Aaron smirked softly. His eyes were dark, a deep contrast to the glow you had witnessed earlier. "Maybe I have been for a while."

"Okay." You challenged him, forcing yourself to speak up. With an arch of your eyebrow, "What have you noticed?"

A delightful little laugh escaped him. As stern as he was portraying, there was still a gentleness to him. "You want me to touch you right now."

"What?" You squeaked out. He wasn't wrong.

"Don't interrupt. Let me finish." He leaned in closer, his hands itching to make contact with your waist - to firmly hold you - to dig his fingertips just enough into your hips to leave marks. "I see the way you look at me. I always have. Similar to now, only your pupils are dilated. Your breath has picked up so dramatically, it's almost amusing."

You remained silent, holding your gaze, while he continued.

"This is the closest we've ever been to each other, and by no means are you trying to move away. You have the space to." He relaxed his stance, to emphasize his point. "You're in no hurry."

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to squirm. You were getting worked up, arousal pooling in you - it didn't help with your need for friction.

"I haven't done anything yet, and just look at you."

A soft whimper left you as you forced your posture to straighten, slowly perching up on your tiptoes. Your lip ached to meet his. The gap between the two of you was maddening; you needed him on you, you on him, you didn't care. As long as the contact was there.

"Do you want me to? I need a yes, sweetheart." He inched closer, his lips dangerously close, centimeters apart.

And with that, you succumbed to him completely, scrambling to throw your arms over his neck and pulling his body to yours.

"Yes."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut

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dreamescapeswriting · 2 months ago

Text

Exposed ~ BC

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 3.4

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅PAIRING: Chan x reader

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅GENRE: established relationship, angst, soft ending, chan being protective boyfriend, your relationship is leaked,

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2024

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

It started off like any other day. Everything felt normal when you woke up, you and Chan had kissed goodbye like you did every single day before work and everything had been as it should have.

The usual hum of the office buzzed around you, and you sat at your desk with a smile, still laughing with your colleagues about a ridiculous moment that happened during the morning meeting.

“I can’t believe he actually said that,” you chuckled, glancing at your friend across the desk. You couldn't believe one of the interns had taken over the meeting after your boss had left, acting as though he'd know exactly what he was talking about... newsflash...he didn't.

“Does he even know what ‘synergy’ means?” you giggled a little and your friend, Sarah, shook her head, trying to keep her laughter under control.

“He’s just throwing words around to sound smart. I thought we were all going to lose it when he started talking about optimizing our optimized optimizations.” The two of you burst into laughter again, drawing curious glances from the people nearby, glares soon followed and you rolled your eyes. It was one of those lighthearted mornings—work felt manageable, and the little stresses of life were nowhere to be found.

Even your secret life with Chan didn’t feel overwhelming today, sometimes it felt hard to hide that part of your life from everyone you knew at work. But for nearly four years, you had both kept your relationship perfectly hidden, enjoying your time together away from prying eyes. You didn't care that you had to hide it, you understood why since life with an idol wasn't going to be all it was made out to be in the fanfictions you sometimes found yourself reading.

"Poor thing, maybe we should invite him to lunch though, just so we don't make him feel isolated," you told her as she nodded along with you. The last thing you wanted was to be mean to someone who clearly was trying his best here.

Soon the laughter died down, and you leaned back in your chair, reaching for your coffee. It was still warm—just the way you liked it. Everything felt routine. Normal.

But normal didn’t last.

Your phone, sitting innocuously beside your keyboard, buzzed once. Then again. And again. It wasn't like you to get so many notifications unless your friend was off from work and spammed you with reels so you bit down on your lip. You weren't exactly allowed your phone out so you glanced at it briefly, expecting a couple of messages from Chan or maybe a group chat blowing up. But the notifications were relentless.

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the phone. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the flood of messages—dozens of notifications on social media, texts from unknown numbers, and even missed calls. Confusion turned to panic as you scrolled through the chaos, trying to make sense of it all.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, noticing the sudden change in your expression. Before you could answer, another notification popped up on your screen—a tagged post from one of Chan’s members. Your stomach dropped as you read the caption:

CHANGBIN(jutdwae): "Congratulations on four years! You two deserve all the happiness."

You blinked, reading it again to make sure you weren’t imagining things. Not only was there the captain and tag of your Instagram there were countless images of you and Chan together.

No, this couldn’t be happening. It had to be a mistake. But the fans knew. They had pieced it together. The relationship you had kept under wraps for years was now out there for the world to see.

Your phone was going insane and there was no way you were going to be able to get into contact with Chan at this rate so you slid the phone into DND mode.

“I—uh, I have to go,” you mumbled, standing up from your desk, but your legs felt weak, your mind racing. There was no way this was happening, Changbin was usually more careful than this. What was he thinking?!

Your coworkers had started to murmur, glancing at their own phones, probably seeing the same posts and comments. Some of them gave you sympathetic looks, others were confused, staring at you to make sure that you were the person you claimed to be.

"Yn, wait." Sarah sounded panicked as she walked with you, holding your lower back as she shook her head at you,

"What's wrong-" That’s when you noticed it. Outside, through the wide office windows, a crowd had gathered. A large one. The people were holding their phones, taking pictures, pointing. You could hear the muffled sounds of their voices growing louder.

Oh no.

“Y/N, talk to me...What’s going on?” Sarah asked, standing beside you, worry etched into her features. You swallowed the lump in your throat, Sarah knew you were seeing someone you couldn't talk about...someone well-known in the media but she'd respected you when you couldn't tell her who.

“Fans,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away from the window. You had no idea how you were even going to get out of there with that mess building up outside.

“They know. About me and Chan.” Sarah’s eyes widened in shock at the name. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words were drowned out by the sudden realization that the fans weren’t just outside—they were here for you and clearly weren't just going to walk away anytime soon.

Your phone rang suddenly, startling you out of your daze. It was Chan. Thanks to him being in your favourites he was the only number able to get through to you,

“Y/N! Are you okay? I’m so, so sorry. I swear we’re trying to fix this,” his voice was panicked, almost breathless. You knew his management were going to do everything that they could to make this all go away but you were still stuck,

“I’m at work, Chan,” you whispered, struggling to stay calm. You knew how crazy people seemed to be when it came to idols but you had no idea it was going to end up like this,

“There are fans outside. How do they even know where I am?” He cursed under his breath, and you could hear the tension in his voice. He said something to someone in the room before he bit down on his lap,

“Stay inside. Don’t go near them. I’m coming to get you.” He told you but you heard arguing on the other end of the line, Chan's voice raising as he yelled back at whoever was yelling at him.

"Chan..." you whispered, you already knew what he was going to say next. There was no way JYP was going to let him walk out of that building to come and save you.

“I’m at the company, but they’re not letting me leave. There’s media everywhere outside, and they won’t let me out,” he sounded helpless, something you weren’t used to hearing from him. Chan was always calm and composed, but now he was frantic, desperate to fix this. You hated that he was in this mess right now and you weren't right there to support him throughout it.

“I know you've got shit to deal with...B-But Chan, I don’t know what to do,” you admitted quietly, your hand shaking as you pressed the phone to your ear. Tears were building up in your eyes at the thought of walking outside and being mobbed...What if one of them hurt you? You were sure STAY wouldn't but there were some fans just crazy enough to try,

“It’s really bad, Chan.” You whispered as you saw people banging on the windows and screaming. There were police doing what they could to disburse the crowd but it wasn't exactly something that was just going to go away with a snap of their fingers.

You could hear him pacing on the other end, muttering to himself, trying to figure out a solution.

“I’ll call someone. I’ll get you out of there. Just... just stay away from the windows. I’ll figure this out.” At that moment, your boss appeared beside you, his expression serious as he glanced out at the growing crowd outside the building.

"Chan, my boss is here..." You kept your eyes on your boss who seemed worried about all of this,

"Baby, I promise you I'm going to fix this...T-Text me...or something, please...Please," The desperation dripping from Chan's voice made your chest tighten,

"Sure...I will, baby, I gotta go...I'll be okay."You promised before ending the phone call. Your boss straightened his tie, Jason wasn't usually known for being overly caring about his employees but right now he looked worried for you. As did a lot of other people inside of the office,

“Y/N, we need to get you out of here. Follow me,” he said softly, motioning toward a side exit. You looked back at your desk—at the normalcy you had only moments ago—and then at the chaos outside. Your heart pounded as you nodded at your boss.

Your boss led you through a hallway toward the back exit, shielding you from the chaos outside.

"Sarah is going to go outside with a hood up, she'll distract them long enough for you to make it to the car." Your boss explained as he walked with you hurriedly toward the parking lot. A lot of the focus was on the front doors as screams erupted.

When you finally reached your car and made it home you figured all of this mess would be over. That you could hold up inside of the house and forget this whole thing had happened but as you pulled up it was clear that wasn't on the agenda for the night. You froze at the sight in front of you. Your apartment was swarming with people—fans, stalkers, media. They were everywhere. Cameras were shoved in your windows as people scrambled to get the smallest information about you from them.

You couldn’t go home. Your home was overtaken by fans who luckily hadn't noticed your car yet so you started driving and with trembling fingers, you called Chan again.

“I can’t go home,” you told him as you did your best not to cry. There was no way you could drive if you were crying. Chan's silence was deafening. You knew he felt responsible, that he was desperate to fix this, but there was nothing he could do right now.

“I’m getting you a hotel, no one will know okay?” Chan finally said. You could hear him typing on his laptop and you bit down on your lip at the thought of it. You were never going to have your normal life again,

“Stay there tonight. I’ll come to you first thing in the morning, I promise.” You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. You trusted him—he would fix this. But for now, all you could do was hide away, waiting for the storm to pass.

"I love you, Channie." You whispered as you continued to drive aimlessly until he gave you the directions.

"I love you too, I'm going to sort this...I'm not going to let you get dragged down." He promised before sending you all of the details you were going to need.

"I've booked it under Patricia Kennedy, no one will trace it to us," He said as you smiled softly at the thought of using a fake name, like some kind of spy.

Hours had passed, and even though the hotel room was silent, your mind was anything but. The dark curtains were drawn tight, shutting out the world outside, but it didn’t stop the gnawing anxiety in your chest. You had blocked the door with a chair, even though you knew it was overkill, but after everything that had happened today, you couldn’t help it. The thought of anyone else finding you made your skin crawl.

Your phone was still on DND and didn't dare try to see if you had phone calls from friends. All you knew was that your phone was close to death thanks to it overloading with numbers. You'd managed to private all of your social media accounts and uninstalled them to stop some of the notifications, and you'd tried to call your phone provider to block unknown numbers but there was too much for them to handle.

You sat curled up on the bed, your phone clutched tightly in your hand as you waited for Chan, he had called to tell you he was on his way, but time seemed to stretch, each minute dragging slower than the last. Even in the safety of the hotel, the fear refused to let go.

A knock came at the door, sharp and sudden.

Your heart jumped to your throat, and your grip tightened on the phone as you stared at the door. It was just a knock, but your body froze. What if it wasn’t him? What if someone had followed him here? What if—

“It’s me, baby. It’s Chan.” His voice came through the door, soft but certain.

“Please open the door.” You hesitated, your hand hovering over the door handle. A part of you was still scared, irrational thoughts swirling in your head. You couldn’t help it—the day had been too overwhelming, with too many eyes on you, and too much chaos.

"Yn, I promise, it’s just me. Please,” Chan’s voice was gentle but urgent, trying to calm your panic from the other side. He tapped on the door once again and you stared at the handle.

“I’m here now.” You exhaled shakily and, after a long pause, slowly removed the chair from the door and unlatched the lock. With trembling hands, you cracked the door open, just enough to peek out. The sight of Chan’s concerned face melted away some of your fear. He looked stressed and exhausted, his hair was in all kinds of directions and he looked unkept which wasn't like him at all,

“Hey,” he said softly, offering a small, reassuring smile. You stepped back and let him in, closing the door quickly behind him. As soon as the door shut, Chan’s arms were around you, pulling you into a tight, protective embrace. His familiar warmth was the only thing grounding you, and for the first time since the day started, you felt a tiny bit of safety. You hid your head in his neck and did your best not to cry, you didn't want to make him feel any worse than he already did about all of this,

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his chest, your voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t know if it was you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. He stroked your back softly, he would have done the same thing if he was in your position.

“You’ve had a terrible day. I’m just glad I’m here now.” He gently pulled back to take a look around the room. His eyes landed on the tightly shut curtains, the chair you had used to block the door. His brow furrowed slightly, and you could see the worry etched in his face.

“You blocked the door?” he asked softly, though there was no judgment in his tone, only concern. You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed, you scratched the back of your neck as you glanced over at him.

“I didn’t want anyone getting in.” Chan reached out, pulling you back into his arms as if he could protect you from everything. There were already plans in motion to get a guard for you, there were some stationed all over the hotel as he stood there.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he whispered. “No one’s getting in here but me. I promise.” You leaned into him, letting out a shaky breath.

“I feel like I can’t breathe. Every time I think it’s over, it’s just... not.”

“I know,” Chan said softly, rubbing gentle circles on your back. The two of you had hidden for four years, and this was something you'd talked about but nothing could have prepared you for it,

“But we’re going to fix this. I’m going to fix this. You shouldn’t have to go through this, not because of me.” You pulled back slightly to look up at him, his expression filled with guilt. You shook your head at him and touched his face softly, running your thumb along his skin.

“It’s not your fault, Chan.” He shook his head, his jaw clenched. He'd already fought with Changbin about it and apologised for it, he knew that accidents happened but he'd been stressed and took it out on the younger member.

“I should’ve been more careful. We’ve kept this a secret for so long, and now—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “This isn’t on you. It’s just... an accident. It’s no one’s fault.” Chan’s eyes softened as he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right,” he promised.

“I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll protect you, okay? I’ll keep you safe.” Tears welled in your eyes, but they weren’t from fear anymore. You knew Chan would do everything within his power - and more - to protect you, you had no doubt in your mind.

“I know,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “I trust you.” Chan pulled you into another hug, holding you close as if he could shield you from the world outside. And for now, in the quiet of the hotel room, that was enough.

Days passed after the chaos of the leak, and things slowly began to settle. The initial frenzy had been overwhelming, but JYP Entertainment had stepped in, issuing a statement about the mistake, and calling for fans to respect your privacy. The company took legal action against those who crossed the line, and while the attention hadn’t completely disappeared, it was manageable now. Your numbers had been changed and you'd managed to delete most of the followers who were fans in your social media accounts.

Chan had kept his promise. He had stayed with you every step of the way, ensuring you were never left alone to deal with the aftermath. You spent a few days holed up in the hotel together, the world feeling small but safe as long as you were by his side. You mostly lived in his shirts and off room-serive which had been more fun than you'd been expecting.

One morning, you both sat on the hotel room bed, the soft glow of sunlight peeking through the curtains. The two of you were quiet, sipping on coffee, the stillness a welcome change from the chaos you had endured. It almost felt normal again.

“Are you ready to go home today?” Chan asked, glancing at you with a hopeful smile. You nodded, taking a deep breath, you'd been wanting to stay longer but only because you were enjoying being so close to him.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

“Good,” he said softly.

“I know it's been a lot, but we made it through. I knew we would...” He ran his fingers over your skin softly and you smiled. You looked at him, really looked at him—his face filled with determination and love, he looked better than he did when he first arrived here. Even though things had spiralled out of control, you couldn’t imagine going through this without him by your side.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” you admitted. “You kept me sane.” Chan smiled warmly, setting his coffee cup down before reaching out to take your hand in his.

“We’re in this together, always. Nothing’s going to change that.” You squeezed his hand, feeling the truth in his words. After everything, you knew your relationship was stronger than ever. The world might have learned your secret, but it hadn’t broken what you had—it had only made you closer.

As the two of you stood, getting ready to head back home, Chan paused and turned to face you.

"I love you...okay? Them knowing, changes nothing. I promise you that we'll get into a routine," He told you as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you softly.

"I know baby, I love you too." You wrapped your arms around him and he backed you up toward the bed again making you giggle.

"Maybe we can spend a few more hours locked away though," He whispered in your ear.

#skz #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagine #bang chan imagines #chan #chan x reader #chan imaigne #chan imagines

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ncis-nerd · 8 months ago

Text

Our Princess

princess reader x servants!wandanat

warnings: cheating, pevert wandanat, jealousy, innocence kink, smut, pet names, slight non-con, dubious consent, oral (r receiving), dom!wandanat.

marvel masterlist

They knew what they were doing from the first moment they laid eyes on you. Fuck you were so perfect, the way your eyes widen when you giggled. How your dress rode up when you were watching TV. How innocent you were.

Your first interaction was when the two ladies were cleaning up. Wanda was washing the dishes in the kitchen with her apron on, Natasha sweeping the floors. That's when you wandered in, barefooted in a pink nightgown.

"Oh! Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you guys!" you exclaimed, backing out of the kitchen. Natasha shot Wanda a smirk. Wanda met her gaze, they both were thinking the same thing- how fun messing with you would be.

Wanda bowed in your presence, "Don't mind us, princess." She purred. You, oblivious to their tactics, hummed in response. Making your way to a cabinet that was a bit too high for you. You stood on your tippy toes, your hand attempting to grasp the handle. In the process, your nightgown begins to ride up, giving the two women a view of your flowery underwear.

Fuck you looked so good like that, Natasha bit her lip. Wanda smacked Nat's arm, you were dating Maria and were their boss. You could ruin their lives with the flick of the wrist. But you were so addicting, they couldn't resist.

From that moment on, they'd try everything to be in your path but you suspected nothing. They were just trying their jobs, that's why you caught Wanda folding your underwear and Natasha sweeping the living room floor while you were trying to watch TV.

---

You hummed, reading a book in your little sundress. You were tanning in your backyard by the pool. Maria, your girlfriend, was coming over to hang out with you. The sun was particularly hot today so you figured why not spend the day outside.

You had sunglasses on, that protected your eyes and a towel draped over your chair. You couldn't wait to play with her in the pool. Maria is your girlfriend and she's the same age as you. You guys went to school together and Maria admitted her love for you so the logical thing to do was to get together. At first you were hesitant but not for the reasons Maria thought. No, it wasn't internal homophobia, it was the fact that you hadn't been with anyone before. But Maria didn't mind your lack of experience.

"Hey hun, your girlfriend is here." Natasha spoke, ratherly harshly but nonetheless drawing your attention. Wonder what must of gotten her upset.. Your eyes followed her as she went back into the house. The door opened behind her, your girlfriend came out.

"Mar!!!" You squealed, running into her arms. She smiled and picked you up, "Hey princess!!" She chuckled, carrying you bridal style, to the seats. "Missed you" you mumbled in her arms.

Wanda and Natasha watched from the windows. A feeling of jealousy sprang from this. It should be them out there with you. For you to run into Wanda's arms and Natasha to be the one carrying you.

For it to be their bodies against you, not that girl who couldn't care for you like they did. You needed real women to teach a delicate thing like you.

Natasha bit her lip as she watched Maria's hand rest on your ass. The way a innocent kiss from you, turned into Maria climbing onto of you. She began to leave kisses on your skin, marking you up. Maria looked up for a second, making eye contact with the two servants. She knew they were watching and was testing them. Daring them to try and stop this, to try and take her girl.

You whimpered softly, you couldn't believe this was happening. Maria straddled you and began to bite and suck on your skin, leaving hickeys all over you. "Mar, that hurts" you mumbled against her. "Let me have my way with you doll, I promise you'll be satisfied by the end." She pushed,

The two women watched this interaction and saw it unfold. The way you were pushing back against Maria, how she ignored your protests and just dismissed you. They had enough.

"Maria your parents called, they said it was an emgerncy and they need you home" Wanda spoke. Maria jumped off of y/n and hurried out after giving her a little peck on the forehead and a quick "goodbye".

After a moment of silence, Wanda made her way to you. You were sitting on the chair, your chest covered in marks from your girlfriend. A slight pout on your face. "What's the matter, dear?" Wanda cooed, Natasha coming up behind you with the same faux concern. "Yeah darling, what's got you all frowny? Hm?" Natasha hummed.

"Maria" you mumbled sadly, you didn't know why your girlfriend was suddenly acting like that. She said she'd take things slowly for you, but maybe it was going too slow for her liking.

"Awe, princess." Wanda whispered, stroking your back gently. "You know honey, we saw what happened. I think the problem is that you are such a delicate thing and your girlfriend doesn't understand that. A little thing liek you needs a real, mature woman fo help you navigate." She purred.

"I think she might be ready for us Wanda, this seems like the perfect timing." Natasha whispered in the hall, trying not to let you hear the conversation between the two of them. "I don't know Nat, she seems like she isn't interested. You saw how things went down with Maria. A simple kiss turned her off." Wanda protested.

Your face turned red, you were still thinking about what Natasha said earlier. How they'd treat you right, that you needed a mature woman teach you.

You began to feel an ache between your thighs. It was so wet and sticky, you didn't know what to do, so the only logical thing to do was to go ask the pair.

Your pillow bumps your clit as you make your way off your bed. You jolt in response, that feels weird but a good kind of weird. You attempt to gain that feeling back, of course not knowing what you're doing due to a lack of experience. Your hips rut against your pillow. You sigh gently, biting your lip to stiffle any sounds. A moan escapes your lips when suddenly you hear a voice hum in amusement.

You turn around to be greeted with Natasha's eyes which focused on the wet spot of your pillow and Wanda who was only smirking at you. Her eyes on your chest. Your nipples were hard and peeked through your thin tank top.

"H-How long have you been standing there?” you froze.

"Mhm" you cried out. Fuck, you looked so good like this, they just wanted to take you but they restricted themselves. A fragile little thing like you needs to be treated like a princess. Natasha's tongue circled your clit, your hips buckled against her. "She's so responsive." Natasha mumbled against you, the comment directed towards the other servant.

Wanda had you against her, your back to her front. She held your hips in place for Natasha. "There, there, it's okay princess. If it's too much just let me or Natty know" She whispered softly.

inspired by @esouliie

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doromoni · 26 days ago

Text

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Smau

A/N : I missed u all 🫶

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Warning : Just a reminder that this is all fiction!! nothing in this ever happened in real life, so don’t hate on the people referenced ok??

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 16 | Next >

*Incoming call from Zak Brown

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

- Oscar what do you think you’re doing?-

- I’m celebrating my success with my friends… because apparently my team planned to have one without me -

- You were informed by your team, Oscar. Don’t act as if everything is our fault.-

- Informed? your team emailed Mark, not me. Mark, my manager who’s also in Australia a day before the event are you fucking kidding?-

- Don’t talk to me like that kid I’m your boss.-

- Yeah. not for long-

- what did you just say to me!?-

- I said not for long -

- I gave you the chance to drive for my team. Be grateful brat! -

- Yeah, thanks for the British bias bullshit you run in your team -

- I-

Call ended

Notification : a voice message from Zak Brown*

-Get your ass back to England. NOW!-

Notification: a massage from Norris*

f1news

liked by user1 and user2

f1news Problem in the Papaya garage? Oscar Piastri was spotted in the MTC today! Rumors are spreading about internal issues inside Mclaren as insider tips are saying that Oscar Piastri will be facing disciplinary actions, while the reason wasn’t said — fans speculate that it was because of the party Oscar threw with other drivers and his girlfriend during his stay in Australia.

user1 Dude this is wild! I’m sat for the drama.

user2 Oscar making another issue for his team… Lando can’t relate

user3 dude @user2 are you for real? Lando is far from innocent.

user4 Bro I’m starting to hate Oscar lowkey. He’s talented for sure but he doesn’t know the first thing about team integrity

user5 First Alpine then Mclaren 🤦‍♀️

user6 Mclaren to drop Oscar please

user7 Lando gave him his 1st win and he acts like this

user8 Dude deserved!

user9 These fans are wild… if it were Max or Charles doing what Oscar did they’d support it or turn a blind eye.

user10 Well Max and Charles are both 1st drivers of their teams. Oscar is just 2nd to Lando

user11 Oscar is hardly a second driver and that’s with Mclaren’s bias towards Lando

user12 What bias?? They have the same car

user13 Fake fan spotted! Lando always gets the upgrades first.

user14 That’s because he’s the first driver!

user15 Lando >>> Oscar

mclaren

liked by user1 and user2

mclaren PATO O’ WARD will be driving in Brazil! Pato will be driving for the practice session in Sau Paulo Don’t miss him drive!

landonorris Good luck Mate!!

patoo’ward thank dude

user1 let me guess, he’s using Oscar’s car.

user2 are they using this to punish Oscar?

user3 let’s go Pato!!!

user4 McLaren what are you trying to do??

user5 this shit is not gonna end well

f1news

liked by user1 and user2

f1news Mclaren had Pato O’ward fill in for Oscar Piastri all throughout 3 practice sessions. Oscar is reportedly cleared for driving and is healthy as told by the FIA.

Even without putting in time and practicing Oscar will be driving for qualifying and the main race.

Everyone is now questioning what exactly is going on inside Mclaren and is what they’re doing ethical and safe not only for their driver but also for the whole grid.

user1 YO WHAT?!! THEY DID WHAT??!

user2 I get that Oscar is under disciplinary action but this is so not it!! bro FIA DO SMTH

user3 Not only is this unfair to Oscar but this is so fucking unsafe for everyone on that grid

user4 What is McLaren thinking?!!!

user5 Please tell me this is a joke.

user6 Oscar looks livid and I cant blame the dude, his own team is fucking him over.

f1news

liked by user1 and user2

f1news BREAKING 🚨: Lando Norris wins pole while teammate Oscar Piastri crashes out in Q1 and qualifies P17.

user1 i’m not even McLaren fan and even I know what they did to Oscar was disgusting

user2 Mclaren should be fined and face the consequences of their actions… they did that to their own driver

user3 Just what the fuck

user4 I’m speechless. They made Pato drive all practice and they made Oscar qualify without a single practice lap?!! who tf let Mclaren do that

user5 the FIA failed Oscar

user6 this is sickening, what has become of this sport.

user7 Oscar needs to get out of that team!! are they trying to kill him?!

user8 Oscar risked his life and crashed out … where tf is McLaren’s med team?!! not even a proper radio call to ask if Oscar was ok?!!

user9 this is so not right.

Y/N. 10 mins

*story replies are disabled

charles_leclerc 9 mins

*story replies are disabled

maxverstappen1 8mins

*story replies are disabled

danielricciardo

*story replies are disabled

logansargeant

*story replies are disabled

f1news

liked by user1 and user2

f1news Mark Webber found approaching the RedBull motorhome! Is this for old time’s sake or is his visit something more?

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : closed for now

special thanks to @sam123456789987654321 ; thanks for always checking up on me luv!

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ye4gerz · 8 days ago

Text

my game, your rules. — ldh part two

‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x afab reader 18+MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: brothers best friend au! fake dating! friends to lovers! humor! fluff! angst! smut! adult life au! jenos sister! flirty hc! ‧˚⭒ word count: 6.5k+ ‧˚⭒ cw: lots of smut towards the end. dirty talking, raw sex, reader has to talk on the phone while getting railed lmao. drinking. spitting. hyuck turns into a dom. ‧˚⭒ summary: you’re fed up with your family constantly telling you how to live your life, but what would they think if you showed up with your brother’s best friend as your new boyfriend? even worse—what happens when you realize you’re actually falling for him?

‧˚⭒ a/n: thank you for your patience guys! if you haven’t already, pls comment to let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist for the rest of the series. enjoy!

previous | next

You sat at your desk, staring blankly at the computer screen in front of you. The spreadsheet was a mess of numbers that no longer made sense, blurring together like static.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You blinked and looked up to see Renjun leaning against the edge of your desk, an incredulous expression on his face.

“What’s got you so distracted today?”

You shot him a glare and grabbed your coffee, taking a deliberate sip. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

“Sure,” he teased, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “Well, whoever he is, he’s doing a great job living in your head rent-free.”

You choked mid-sip, nearly spilling the coffee in the process. “There’s no he! I told you—I’m just tired!”

Renjun’s chuckle echoed through the office as you slumped back in your chair, muttering curses under your breath.

That was just the kind of work relationship you had with Renjun—teasing, sarcastic, and occasionally helpful, though you’d never admit that last part. He’d been a mutual friend of Karina’s, and luckily for you, she’d used her connections to get you into the company.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with our marketing proposals, feel free to keep daydreaming,” he said with a shake of his head, clearly amused.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. The last thing you needed was to get distracted at work. The past few weeks had been a relentless cycle of trying to prove yourself, dragging your name into meetings, and praying the higher-ups would finally take you seriously.

Renjun had already managed to make himself known. Despite being in the same intern program, he’d been invited to several major meetings while you were stuck at your desk, double-checking numbers and responding to emails no one cared about.

So when your boss finally invited you to sit in on a big meeting tomorrow, you knew you couldn’t mess this up. This was it. This was everything you’d been hoping for—a chance to prove yourself, to show that you were capable of more than spreadsheets and inbox cleanup.

And yet, here you were, staring at your monitor while your thoughts drifted elsewhere. To Haechan.

You and Haechan had officially planned a day for him to meet your family—as your boyfriend, that is. They were already familiar with him, given all the times he’d tagged along with Jeno. Now they were curious, eager to see this new side of him.

The closer the day came, the more nervous you grew. As if sensing your anxiety, Haechan spent more time with you, lingering around whenever you got home from work.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you grumbled, half-heartedly trying to shoo him away as he lounged on your couch.

He didn’t budge, grinning up at you. “I’ve got a couple of ideas in mind, but you’d probably kill me.” His gaze flickered up and down, far too obvious for your liking.

Your face immediately warmed. “You’re getting ahead of yourself now,” you snapped, your voice rising an octave.

Haechan shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “So what’s the game plan? We show up for dinner, gush about how madly in love we are, and then dip?”

You rolled your eyes. “Something like that.”

But his teasing faltered when he noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor—the way your shoulders tensed, your fingers fidgeting at your sides. His tone softened. “What’s on your mind right now?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the floor. “I have this really important meeting at work tomorrow—it could make or break everything for me,” you admitted, biting your lip. “Then there’s the dinner we need to plan, and after that, I have to come up with a way for us to pretend–break up. I’m still giving Jeno updates on this whole mess while trying to find my own place in case he actually does want me to leave. I haven’t even seen Karina since the arcade, and on top of all that, my coworker is depending on me not to screw up this presentation.”

You paused, exhaling heavily. “So why does it feel like all I keep doing is ruining things for myself?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself. You froze mid-rant, shaking your head. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be unloading all of this on you.”

Haechan’s expression softened, concern replacing his usual playfulness. “Hey,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’m your best friend—well, besides Karina, of course—but you can always open up to me.”

Before you could protest, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a gentle hug. He swayed you slightly, one hand rubbing the top of your head in a soothing rhythm.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” he said quietly, his voice steady and warm. “It’s okay to be worried. Just remember to take small steps before you try to jump ahead of yourself. Don’t stress about the dinner—leave that all to me, okay? Same goes for Jeno and everything that comes after. Let me take that burden off your shoulders.”

You looked up at him, your chin resting against his chest. “Are you sure? I’m the one who put you in this position in the first place.”

“Nonsense,” he chuckled, his gaze meeting yours. “This was my idea, remember? We do this, and you get to live an easier life. I’ll make sure of that.” He leaned down slightly, the corners of his lips lifting into a soft, reassuring smile. “I promise to make this life less of a burden for you, pretty girl.”

Your breath caught, the words hitting you harder than you expected. Suddenly, you became acutely aware of everything—the closeness, the warmth of his embrace, the faint brush of his breath against your skin.

You gulped, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest. What are you doing?

For a moment, neither of you moved. His eyes lingered on yours, unreadable but intense, and it sent a wave of nervous energy rushing through you. You couldn’t fall for this. You wouldn’t.

Pulling back ever so slightly, you cleared your throat, breaking the moment. “Thanks, Hyuck. I mean it.”

“Anytime,” he replied softly, his hands lingering at your sides before he finally let you go.

As he stepped back, you busied yourself with brushing imaginary lint off your clothes, anything to distract yourself from the fact that you’d just felt safe in his arms and that it scared you more than anything else.

“I have an idea,” he proposed, leaning slightly closer with that familiar spark in his eyes.

You sighed lightheartedly, already wary. “You and your ideas.”

He only grinned, unfazed. “This one’s a real one, I promise. How does this sound? I’ll order us takeout, and I’ll help you practice for your presentation.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his offer, and you paused, caught off guard. He noticed it too, his gaze softening as he watched you process your thoughts.

“No silliness, I swear,” he added quickly, raising one hand in mock oath while the other rested dramatically over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

You looked at him then—really looked at him. His playful smirk had faded just enough to reveal something else underneath; a quiet determination to make sure you were okay, to make sure this went smoothly for you.

And just like that, you couldn’t resist.

“Fine,” you relented with a small smile. “But you’re paying for the takeout.”

He grinned triumphantly. “Deal. You get to choose what we’re ordering, by the way. I’m generous like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny it; takeout did sound good, and maybe, just maybe, his help wouldn’t be so bad. Even if he did goof around here and there.

By the time the takeout arrived, you were already seated on the couch, laptop open and presentation slides pulled up. Haechan set the food on the coffee table, making himself comfortable beside you.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” he said, handing you a pair of chopsticks. “We eat, you present, and I give you my expert-level feedback.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Expert-level?”

“Hey, I’ve sat through enough of Jeno’s late-night study sessions to know how these things work,” he replied, smirking as he unwrapped his food. “Besides, I’m a very tough crowd.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, but you better be serious about this.”

“I’m always serious when it counts,” he shot back, and something about the way he said it made your heart flutter just a little.

With your nerves settling slightly, you took a deep breath and began walking through your presentation. As you spoke, pointing at graphs and summarizing your key points, Haechan listened intently, nodding in all the right places. It was a side of him you didn’t see often—focused, attentive, and surprisingly serious.

“Okay, pause,” he said after you finished your first run-through, leaning forward with an earnest expression. “First off, you sounded confident, which is good, but here—” he gestured to one of the slides—“you lost me a little. The numbers are strong, but you need to explain why they matter. Connect them to your main point more clearly.”

You blinked at him, genuinely surprised. “That’s… actually really helpful.”

“I told you I’m good at this,” he teased, but his tone remained gentle. “Let’s go over that section again, and this time, think of it as telling a story. Hook them in.”

For the next hour, you practiced, tweaking your phrasing and pacing as Haechan offered thoughtful critiques between bites of food. He was playful enough to keep you relaxed but serious when it mattered, pointing out where you could improve and hyping you up when you nailed a section. It also helped mid way when Jeno came home to find you two together, he kept his distance and comments to himself, but couldn’t help to smile as he made his way to his room.

“See?” Haechan said finally, sitting back with a proud grin. “You’re gonna kill it tomorrow.”

You let out a deep breath, smiling despite yourself. “Thanks, Hyuck. I mean it.”

“Anytime, pretty girl,” he replied softly, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long before he stood to clean up. “Now go get some rest. You’ve got this.”

The next morning, you walked into the conference room with your laptop tucked under your arm and your heart pounding in your chest. The senior executives were already seated at the long table, their expressions unreadable as they greeted you politely.

Renjun shot you a reassuring smile from the corner of the room, mouthing a quick “Good luck.”

Taking a deep breath, you set up your presentation, your fingers shaking slightly as you clicked to the first slide. You can do this, you reminded yourself.

Haechan’s voice echoed in your mind: “Hook them in. Tell a story.”

And so you did.

You began strong, your voice steady as you introduced the proposal. You outlined the key strategies you and Renjun had developed, seamlessly weaving data into a clear narrative. As you reached the section where you’d stumbled the night before, you found yourself explaining the numbers with confidence, emphasizing their relevance with ease.

The executives nodded along, some even jotting down notes as you spoke. You caught glimpses of interest in their expressions—raised brows, subtle nods—little victories that spurred you on.

By the time you reached the conclusion, your pulse had slowed, your confidence solid.

“And that concludes our proposal,” you finished, meeting the eyes of the room. “Thank you for your time.”

For a beat, there was silence, and the anxiety you’d pushed down began to creep back up—until the senior manager at the head of the table smiled.

“Well done,” she said, closing her folder. “That was clear, concise, and well-executed. This has real potential. We’ll discuss further details and get back to you.”

You blinked, stunned for a moment, before nodding. “Thank you,” you managed, relief washing over you.

Renjun met you at the door once the meeting ended, grinning from ear to ear. “You nailed it!”

“Really?” you breathed, a smile breaking across your face.

“Really,” he confirmed. “They looked impressed.”

As you made your way back to your desk, you couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. You’d done it. The meeting you’d stressed over for weeks—you’d nailed it.

You pulled out your phone under your desk, typing out a quick message.

You: killed the meeting. you’re the best fake boyfriend ever.

Seconds later, your phone buzzed with a reply.

HC: i’m not surprised. told you you’d kill it. go ahead, admit that i’m your good luck charm ;)

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head, deciding to give in to his antics.

You: fine, you’re the best fake boyfriend and greatest good luck charm i could ever ask for. does that sound better?

HC: that’s what i like to hear, baby.

“Here’s to being a full-time marketing assistant!” you cheered, clinking your shot glass against Haechan’s, the two of you seated in the cozy corner of a dimly lit restaurant.

It hadn’t been long since the presentation day and you were pulled into the senior manager’s office alongside Renjun. The memory still felt surreal—her sharp, confident voice replaying in your head as if it had just happened.

“You two have something the team can really benefit from,” she had said, smiling as if she already knew how much this meant to you. “We incorporated some of your ideas from the previous presentation into the current project, and the feedback has been astonishing. We’d like to offer both of you full-time entry positions and officially put you in charge of strategies moving forward.”

Joy didn’t even begin to cover it. Renjun and yourself had accepted immediately, emotions bubbling over as you practically floated out of her office, and then she called you back.

“Your growth here since you first started has been remarkable,” she’d said, her words lingering with unexpected warmth. “Continue to keep up the good work.”

The encouragement had sent you over the moon. The grin on your face hadn’t faded since.

Now, here you were—celebrating over dinner with Haechan. It was his idea, of course. He’d texted you the moment you told him the news, insisting you couldn’t let something this big slide by without a proper celebration.

Prior to the dinner, you had grabbed your coat and prepared to meet Haechan, your phone buzzed. It was Karina.

Karina: CONGRATULATIONS ON THE PROMO BABE!! how are we celebrating tonight?!

You sighed, leaning against the wall as you typed back quickly, realizing you’ve been so busy with Haechan, you never got around to telling her what’s really going on.

You: thank you babe!!! and about that… i’m actually going out to dinner.. with haechan lmao.

The three dots appeared immediately.

Karina: HAECHAN?! as in jeno’s best friend haechan?? the same guy who’s always flirting with you, haechan???

Biting your lip, you debated what to tell her. For a brief moment, you considered lying, but Karina was your best friend. If anyone deserved the truth, it was her.

You hit the call button instead, knowing a text wouldn’t do it justice.

“I swear, it’s not what you think,” you started the moment she picked up.

“What?! I was just starting to get excited!” Karina replied, her voice sharp with curiosity. “Explain yourself.”

“It’s… complicated,” you admitted, chewing on your bottom lip. “Haechan and I are fake dating. Just for a while.”

There was silence on the other end. Then: “You’re WHAT?”

“It’s a long story,” you rushed on before she could interrupt. “My family’s been nagging me to get my life together, so Haechan offered to pretend to be my boyfriend. It’s nothing real—we’re just buying me some time until they get off my back.” you lower your tone, thanking God, Jeno was gaming in the other room, unable to hear you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said flatly. “This is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.”

“I know,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But it’s working. Sort of.”

Karina sighed dramatically, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Okay, but if you catch feelings, I’m saying ‘I told you so’ first. Good luck surviving a fake relationship with someone who’s totally into you.”

After hanging up and adjusting your coat, you took one final look at yourself in the mirror. If there was anyone who would tell it like it is, it was Karina. As much as she swore Haechan was into you, a small voice in the back of your mind insisted you were overthinking it. Maybe he just wanted some fun.

You couldn’t ignore the facts. Based on his past relationships, Haechan had always jumped from one person to another, or things simply didn’t work out at all. He’d brushed it off before, claiming those weren’t real relationships—just distractions to keep him occupied, but that was years ago, before the two of you had grown closer as friends.

Since then, he’d been single. So what if this “fake relationship” was just his way of chasing the thrill he used to have? A perfect opportunity for fun without the mess of commitment.

The thought settled uncomfortably in your chest, but you pushed it away, letting out one last sigh before stepping out to meet him.

You’d briefly considered telling Jeno about your big news—maybe even inviting him out to celebrate—but the thought quickly passed. The last thing you wanted was to hear yet another lecture or feel the weight of someone else rushing your success. Tonight was about you, and for once, you wanted peace.

If there was anyone you’d rather spend the night celebrating with, it was Haechan. That alone felt like more than enough.

“You didn’t have to go all out like this,” you said, gesturing toward the table, where your favorite dishes sat alongside the drinks he’d ordered for both of you.

“I absolutely did,” Haechan replied, pouring you another shot, his grin smug but genuine. “You’re a big shot now, Miss Genius Full-Timer. I figured it’s only fair to treat you like one.”

You snorted, shaking your head, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “A genius, huh? I’ll remind you of that next time you call me boring for working late.”

He laughed, leaning back in his seat. “Fair enough, but seriously, I’m proud of you. You worked your ass off for this, you deserve it.”

His words caught you off guard. It wasn’t just what he said, but the way he said it—softly, earnestly, without a hint of his usual teasing tone. You stared at him for a moment, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in your chest.

“Thanks, Hyuck,” you said quietly, and for a second, you let yourself sit in the moment.

Of course, Haechan couldn’t let things stay serious for too long. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now,” he teased, raising his shot glass with a wink. “To the coolest, smartest, and prettiest girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

The verbiage caught you off guard, wondering if he meant to say it like that. You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re the one drinking with me, so what does that say about you?”

You shook your head, raising your glass anyway. “To me, I guess.”

“To you,” he echoed, clinking his glass against yours once more.

The two of you lingered at the restaurant longer than you expected, your conversations flowing easily between teasing banter and genuine moments of reflection. Haechan had a way of making you forget about the pressure—of making even the most overwhelming days feel a little less heavy.

When the bill arrived, you instinctively reached for your purse, but he waved you off with a look of mock offense. “Put that away. I told you this was my treat.”

“Haechan, you really don’t have to—”

“I’ll start a tab and make Jeno pay if you keep arguing,” he cut in smoothly, flashing that infuriating grin of his. “Let me have my moment.”

You sighed but relented, tucking your wallet back into your bag. “Okay… but I’m paying next time.”

“We’ll see about that,” he replied, standing up and holding your coat out for you like a gentleman.

As the two of you walked out into the crisp night air, you couldn��t help but smile to yourself. Haechan noticed immediately. It could be the buzz from the drinks you two shared but something about being in his presence was better than anything else.

“What’s that look for?” he asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, though you couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. “It’s just… tonight was really nice. I needed it.”

His teasing expression softened into something warmer. “Anytime, beautiful.”

You looked away, suddenly too aware of how close he was as you walked side by side. Your heart fluttered for reasons you refused to admit to yourself, and you cursed the way he always managed to affect you without even trying.

It’s just Hyuck, you reminded yourself. This is just part of the plan.

As your hands brushed against each other, his fingers found yours. For a moment, you blamed it on the alcohol, but when neither of you pulled away, your fingers interlocked naturally. Haechan smiled at you—soft, content, and just a little smug. At that moment, you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince anymore.

“Wanna come over to my place?” he asked casually, though there was a playful glint in his eyes.

“Sure,” you replied with a soft grin, “as long as it’s clean this time.”

He groaned dramatically. “That was one time! I’ll have you know my place is spotless these days.” He paused, grinning smugly. “If you don’t believe me, I can show you how clean my bed is.”

“Nice try,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you nudged him playfully. “Good luck with that.”

Even as you teased him, you didn’t let go of his hand, and neither did he.

His place was definitely a lot cleaner than you remembered—actually, it felt more spacious too. Haechan took your coat from you with a small smile, letting you bask in the warmth and comfort of his apartment.

“Told you so,” he said smugly as he hung your coat up.

“You planned this out, didn’t you?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him.

He chuckled, the sound low and easy. “Yeah, sure, baby.”

There he went again, throwing out those pet names when they were completely unnecessary. You rolled your eyes, pretending it didn’t affect you as much as it did.

You made your way to the couch, settling in as Haechan returned with two glasses of wine, setting them carefully on the coffee table. “More alcohol to celebrate,” he announced, flashing you a grin as he sat down beside you.

“So what show are you feeling?” he asked, his arm draping over the back of the couch, close but not quite touching you.

You glanced around his apartment, your eyes catching on his speakers. Bringing the glass to your lips for a small sip, you made a suggestion instead. “How about we just listen to music and talk?”

Haechan paused for a moment before nodding, a smirk pulling at his lips. “That’s why you’re the genius—you come up with all the good ideas.” He shot you a wink before moving to connect his phone to the speaker.

Soft R&B melted into the room, filling the air with an atmosphere that felt too intimate, too comfortable. Haechan returned to his spot next to you, a little closer this time, the space between you barely there. His arm slid along the back of the couch, and you could feel the warmth of him radiating beside you.

“What’s on your mind tonight?” he asked softly, his voice so casual yet so deliberate.

Him.

If you were being honest, it was all him—the tension that had been building between you two, the countless hours spent together that made the line between friendship and something more blurrier by the day. You’d felt it in the way his teasing turned softer, in the glances that lingered a beat too long.

Now, sitting here with his deep brown eyes meeting yours, you couldn’t deny it. The way his lips looked so… desirable. The way his hair fell perfectly against his forehead, sometimes parting in that effortlessly cute way. Or the fact that half the time, you forgot what he was saying because you’d gotten distracted staring at the faint moles scattered across his face.

You swallowed thickly and told yourself it was just the alcohol talking.

You licked your lips nervously, unable to stop your gaze from flickering to his mouth as you shifted on the couch. “Can I ask you something?” you murmured.

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation, his stare deepening as he looked at you.

You exhaled softly, your fingers tightening around your wine glass. “Why all the pet names? I mean, Jeno’s not here, so who are we trying to fool?” Your voice was steady, but your eyes betrayed you—they lingered on his lips, no matter how much you fought it.

Haechan noticed. Of course he noticed.

He shifted closer, the arm behind you dipping lower until you could feel his presence surrounding you. “Who said anything about wanting to fool around?” he asked, his voice dropping to something almost husky.

You blinked at him, breath hitching as the room suddenly felt much smaller.

“What if I like it?” he continued, his lips a breath away from yours now. “What if I mean all of it? Would that be a problem, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t look away—couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Your gaze fell to his mouth as your pulse raced, and then you felt it; the careful weight of his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers light but deliberate.

Your breath stuttered, and you looked down, hyper aware of every single point of contact between the two of you.

This wasn’t really happening, was it? But as Haechan tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours, you weren’t so sure anymore.

"I asked you a question," he murmured, his voice low and dripping with intent. His hands slid slowly toward your waist, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that left you breathless.

"But.. we’re just friends—shit—Donghyuck..." you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a plea as his hands gripped your waist firmly, his breath hot against the sensitive curve of your neck.

"Just tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll stop," he whispered, his tone soft but urgent. "Baby, can I touch you? Is this okay?"

His pleading eyes never left yours, and the vulnerability in them sent your heart racing.

The goosebumps on your skin were undeniable, and any lingering sense of shame had long since dissolved.

Your mind felt like a chaotic blur, thoughts sprinting faster than you could keep up. One moment, the two of you had been laughing over dinner, and now you were practically under him, struggling to remember how to breathe.

"Yes," you confessed. your voice is small, shaky but sure. "Please... continue," you begged, your words barely above a whisper.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his lips just before he leaned in, capturing your mouth with his.

The kiss started slow, deep but measured, like he was savoring every second, every taste, as if this might be his last chance. His hands explored your body with an intensity that made your skin burn, like his touch was the only thing grounding him to this moment.

Your body felt alive, every nerve ending ignited as desire pulsed through you. You didn't care that this was the same Haechan you had sworn weeks ago was just a friend.

Right now, all you cared about was the way he made you feel-the way you wanted him, desperately and without hesitation.

As the kiss grew heavier, your confidence swelled. You pushed him back slightly, straddling his lap, your hands finding the hem of your shirt. In one quick motion, you tugged it off, tossing it aside before glancing down at him breathless.

His dark, hungry gaze roamed over your newly exposed skin, his lips parting as his chest rose and fell heavily. "Fuck, baby," he muttered, his voice thick with desire. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamt of this."

His eyes lingered on every curve, taking you in like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Heat rushed to your face, a flush rising from a combination of the wine and the shy vulnerability creeping back in. Instinctively, you shifted to hide yourself, but his hands shot up, gripping your wrists gently but firmly.

"No, no, baby," he said, shaking his head. His voice softened, his gaze steady and filled with adoration. "Don't hide from me. Don't ever be shy about a body this beautiful."

Before you could protest, his lips descended on your skin, planting slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of your shoulder, down your collarbone, and across the sensitive expanse of your chest.

The contact was electrifying. Every kiss, every graze of his lips sent a spark of pleasure shooting through your veins. His tongue flicked against your skin, and as he tugged your bra off with a practiced ease, tossing it somewhere out of sight, the rest of your inhibitions melted away.

"God," he groaned against your skin, his voice muffled but filled with need.

His arms wrapped around you, lifting you with ease. The sudden movement made you gasp, your legs instinctively tightening around him.

Haechan carried you to his room, his lips never straying far from yours as he kicked the door open. He placed you down on the bed with care, hovering over you as his hands worked swiftly to rid you of the rest of your clothes.

His gaze darkened as he drank in the sight of you, bare and vulnerable beneath him.

"You're perfect," he said, almost to himself, as he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours again with an urgency that left you breathless.

His hands roamed your body, his touch igniting every inch of your skin, and as his own clothes joined the pile on the floor, all you could think was how badly you needed him.

“You’re always trying to deny me, but look at this,” he proceeds to hold your legs apart, his fingers slowly grazing against your core, covering them in your wetness as you let out a groan.

He hovers over you once more—shoving his fingers in your mouth. “So fucking wet for me and I haven’t even fucked you yet. Go ahead baby, taste yourself for me.”

You ran your tongue along his soaked fingers, savoring every trace of yourself before sucking on them greedily. When your taste was no longer there, all you could think about was wanting to taste him instead.

“Fuck,” he curses out, his eyes watching as you take his fingers between your lips. His cock starts twitching when your tongue starts lapping against them.

“Please, Hyuck..” you pleaded, your voice trembling with need.

“Speak up,” he grabs you by your thighs and yanks you closer to his mouth. “Tell me what you want and how you want it.”

“I... I want to feel your mouth please. Please, Hyuck, I want you to fuck me,” you look down and find his eyes locked on you, looking nearly possessed.

You felt his breath against your cunt as he let out a low laugh laced with something dark. Before you could say anything— he laps his tongue slowly against your entrance, making sure to savor every part of you.

“Holy fuck…” you gasped, the pressure and intensity building as his pace quickened. Who would’ve guessed your best friend had such a way with his mouth?

The lewd sounds of your cunt get louder as he shoves two fingers inside of you, and he begins sucking on your clit. He gave you no time to catch your breath, keeping his relentless pace until he finally found your sweet spot, making you squirm.

“Tastes so fucking good—I should’ve done this the first time I laid eyes on you. Look at you, my pretty girl is going crazy while I fuck you with just my fingers,” he fastens his pace against your spot and starts attacking your swollen clit with his tongue again.

You swore on your life you saw stars—and you hadn’t even finished yet. Your body was teetering on the edge, the feeling overwhelming, when suddenly he stopped.

Your head snapped towards his bedside table, the moment interrupted by the buzz of your phone vibrating against the wood. The flashing light of the screen read: Incoming Call: Jeno (Brother).

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your face, but before you could even process the situation, Haechan was already looking at you, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Hyuck, I’m so close. Just ignore it.”

But instead of obliging, he pulled his fingers out of you with maddening precision, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. His other hand reached for your phone, and before you could protest, he handed it to you.

“Pick it up,” he said firmly, his tone low and serious, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“What—” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he cut you off.

Without warning, he answered the call for you, setting it on speaker.

“Where are you? You’ve been out all night, and you’re not answering my texts. Are you okay?” Jeno’s familiar voice rang out, concern laced with irritation.

Your breath hitched, shame and annoyance flashing across your face as you met Haechan’s gaze. His lips curved into the faintest smirk, his hand now resting possessively on your thigh, fingers tracing patterns.

As you open your mouth to answer, Haechan holds his cock against your folds, slowly gliding it against the mess he caused, leaving you breathless once again.

“I-I’m okay. I’m with Karina.” You bite your lip trying to suppress a moan as you watch Haechan start to insert himself into you slowly.

“Okay, that’s fine. Are you going to sleep over at her place tonight or do you need me to come and get you?” He asked, completely unaware of the situation.

You can’t do this. The feeling of his length stretching you— filling you up slowly was too much for you to handle. You started to feel your eyes rolling back.

“Hello?? I asked you a question,” Jeno’s voice snapped through the speaker.

Your eyes flew open, and you were met with Haechan’s piercing gaze. His expression was dangerously calm, but the slow, deliberate way he began to withdraw from you sent a clear message, answer him.

“No!” you yelled abruptly, your voice shaky and desperate. “No, don’t pick me up! I—I’m sleeping over at Karina’s. I’ll text you in the morning, bye!”

“Um, okay, but—”

You hung up on him before he could finish, tossing the phone onto the table and turning to Haechan with a pout.

He snickers at you, shoving his length deeper into you. “Good girl. Since you did so well for me, I’ll let you cum around my cock. Huh baby, is that what you want?” He teases as his hips start moving faster.

“Yes, fuck” you moan. “Please Donghyuck, don’t stop—don’t stop!” You move your hips, bringing yourself closer to him. You take in every inch of feeling as his tip continues hitting the same spot from earlier—and his balls slapping against your lips with each thrust.

“You just couldn’t wait for this, hm? Years of teasing me and you could’ve had this all along, shit—“ he seethes as he feels your walls clench around him.

“This sweet pussy is all mine, right baby?” Haechan grabs your chin and holds your face, locking eye contact.

His eyes burned with an intensity you’d never seen before, locking onto you with an unwavering focus that made your breath catch. Your mouth was dry, parted slightly, but no sound escaped—and he noticed. The way his gaze flicked to your lips, sharp and deliberate, sent a shiver down your spine.

He spits into your mouth and pounds harder, “answer me now.”

“It’s all yours, Donghyuck!” You scream, then swallow, gaining your voice back and your walls squeezing against him again as you're about to reach your high.

He smirks and to finish you off he attaches his lips to your hardened nipples, playing with them as he focuses on your walls clenching around him.

“Donghyuck!” You scream one last time as you cum around him, your body giving in and your nails practically clawing down his back as you cling onto him for your sanity.

He lets out a high pitched moan, music to your ears as he caught up to his release shortly after, dumping his load onto your stomach. He slumps himself right beside you as you both catch your breath.

What. Just. Happened.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. A whirlwind of thoughts raced through your mind as you kept asking yourself the same questions. You wanted to wish for regret, to muster the energy to question him—or maybe even sneak away. But your body was too drained, and a bigger part of you didn’t want to leave.

“Are you okay?” Haechan’s voice broke the silence, soft yet laced with concern as the two of you began to recover.

“Yeah, I’m good. Um… are you okay?” you asked awkwardly, your voice quieter than you intended.

You heard the smallest chuckle escape his lips, warm and teasing in a way that made your cheeks flush. “A thousand times more than just okay,” he murmured, his words sending a strange mix of comfort and flustered warmth through you.

He sat up, reaching over to the side table to grab a tissue. Gently, he cleaned you up, his touch careful and deliberate, as if he were handling something precious.

“What… what was that?” you asked carefully, your voice soft and unsure, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Call it your congratulations present,” he replied, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “We can talk more about it in the morning, yeah? For now, let me take care of you and get you to sleep before Jeno starts figuring out you’re not actually at Karina’s.”

You let out a small shriek, covering your face with your hands. “What did you make me do?!”

He laughed, pulling you into his arms as he tugged the quilt over the both of you. “Relax,” he said, his voice warm and amused. “You played it off really well.”

Groaning into his chest, you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, but it was quickly replaced by something deeper—a warmth, a sense of safety you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

His arms tightened around you, and he kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering just enough to make your heart flutter. As his steady breaths surrounded you, you found yourself growing drowsy, your body relaxing in the comfort of his embrace.

And just for tonight, you allowed yourself to believe that this wasn’t just pretend.

‧˚⭒ taglist: @jaeminnanaaa17 @scoobysnackszoo @1800-jigglemywiggle @karmasbestie @cathamada @yoursyuno @oneeew @serenedreamscape @moryymor @yesohhsehun @dnihyuck

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heartsfromia · 3 months ago

Text

knight in shining armor — j. wonwoo

pairing: non-idol! wonwoo x f!reader

word count: 7,350

genre: fluff, angst, mild crack, college setting

warnings: cheating (not wonwoo tho our boy is sweet, it's reader's shitty ex), curse words, implicit violence (black eyes, cuts on lips mentioned)

author's notes: y'all pray that one day i have the energy to proofread my works ;_____; BRO I STG I WORKED ON THIS FOR OVER THREE MONTHS AND IDK HOW IT GOT SOOO LONG T___________T

“Hey, I’m planning on finishing my paper for International Law in Holly’s, come with me?”

With your hands intertwined with your boyfriend, Hanwoo, the two of you walked towards the parking lot by your university, just having finished a class together. You were hoping to spend some time together since Hanwoo had been preoccupied with the major association he’s a member in, as the collegial organization is holding its elections in the next week and he had been approached to help out as a committee member. Since the two of you have the same classes together, and the paper was due next Monday (it being a Thursday now), you thought you could get, at least the introduction down, while having some quality time in the 24 hour café with your boyfriend of six months.

“We’ll be there all night and you can distract me from my paper and I will do the same to you, and then we can down a ton of caffeine before passing out on the bean bags they have,” you tried to convince him, leaning into his side as you two approached his car. “And then we can go home and talk about how we should’ve finished our paper, plan another night in Holly’s and do it all over again!”

“Although that does sound tempting,” Hanwoo began, releasing your hand to reach for the car keys and unlocked the doors. He leaned down to be eye-level with you, as his hand reached for the door handle of the passenger seat, he uttered, “But, I have a meeting later tonight.” Pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he pulled your door open and stepped aside enter the car. A pout found its way to your lips, pulling your favorite move to get what you want, but he wasn’t budging and only nodded his head for you to climb in.

“What meeting?” You asked once he climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling the car out of the parking lot and on your way to your house to drop you off.

“The election, since Monday evening will be the debate between president and vice president candidates, so we need to discuss the topics of the debate, all the technical stuff tonight,” he explained, “we’re planning on pushing a lot we need done between today and tomorrow, so we can have the weekends free and do finishing touches on Monday.”

“Ahh, being Event Organizer really isn’t easy… so you’ll be busy today, and tomorrow?” He only nodded, briefly sending a small smile her direction. “Alright, then, I’ll just see if Wonwoo is free tonight.”

Hanwoo threw his head back, asking, “Isn’t Wonwoo a Computer Science major?”

“Yeah, but he’s really good at research so I think he can help.” Hanwoo didn’t bother asking more, turning the music up to let it fill the silence as you arrived by the driveway of your house. “Good luck on your paper, yeah? Don’t drink too much coffee.”

“No promises,” you responded before kissing his cheek and climbing out his car. You waved him off, watching as the car disappeared in the distance before turning to head inside and up to your room just left of the entryway. Tossing your bag on your chair, you flopped on to your bed, too mentally exhausted from the three lectures today to even change your clothes, feeling sleep begin to fog your head. You were on the edge of dreamland when you heard a clink, then a few seconds later another one, and then another one, and it seemed to be never ending before you pulled yourself out of your drowsiness and headed to your window—which just so happened to be adjacent to your next door neighbor, Wonwoo’s window.

“You seriously need to reconsider throwing rocks at my window before you shatter it, Wonwoo.” Your neighbor only chuckled, so you took this as an opportunity. “Hey, can you come with to Holly’s? I’m planning to stay overnight there.”

“What for?”

“I’m holding an executive meeting for us to discuss a ten-step plan to overthrow our government,” you grinned, and he pondered, tapping his chin lightly before shaking his head.

“I can’t overthrow the government yet, I have a quiz tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. You could always count Wonwoo to go along with your poor attempts at sarcasm. “I have a paper to work on and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Where’s your boyfriend? What’s his name? Yohan?”

“So close! It’s Hanwoo,” you retorted with a deadpan as you reminded him of your boyfriend’s name. Wonwoo hasn’t been discreet in his distaste towards your boyfriend—it’s been six months since he asked you out, and it’s been six months of Wonwoo never remembering his name. “He has a meeting today since the upcoming election debate for my major’s organization.”

“Is he running or…?” Wonwoo asked, despite his lack of interest with the topic.

“No, he’s the EO, and will be occupied for the next couple of days.”

“Aah, so I’m a back-up to you? Got it.” You knew he was being sarcastic, it was a running joke between the two of you since splitting when choosing college majors—you had done the same when he asked you to accompany him to watch a movie he really wanted to see, only to find out he came to you because friends from his major were busy.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” You asked again, “you don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

“What time?” Wonwoo asked, not hesitating. “Eomma is making dinner tonight, and asked me to ask you to join in case your parents are working late.”

You turn briefly, listening in to your parent’s room across from yours and can hear the muffle conversation behind the walls. “I think they’re home, but knowing my dad, he won’t be cooking so I think all three of us can head over to your place for dinner?”

“Sure, I’ll tell Eomma,” Wonwoo informed, “so after dinner then, we can go? Did you ask your parents for permission to spend the night working on the assignment.”

Dread immediately washed over you, colour draining from your face and to your feet as you remembered you haven’t asked permission from your parents, especially your dad who isn’t fond of you working long hours for an assignment you could’ve finished from when it was assigned. Force habit, dad, it’s not my fault you raised a chronic procrastinator, you couldn’t help but think. An innocent chuckle left your lips as you pulled your signature puppy-dog eyes to Wonwoo, who—without you having to utter a single word—understood what you were doing.

He heaved a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’ll ask them.”

“You are the best! Did you know that you’re the best person I’ve ever met? You’re absolutely awesome, smart and so, so, so kind, Wonwoo!” You blew a kiss in his direction, like how you watched Sunjae in Lovely Runner do so. “Love you!”

He waved your exaggerated gestures off, ignoring the heat forming in his cheeks and spreading to his ears, as he turned away, yelling back at you, “Yeah, yeah, just hurry up, I want to get this over with.”

“When do you think International Humanitarian Law is applicable?” You turned to Wonwoo after reading (re: skimming) a journal regarding the topic for your paper. Despite having only been studying the material for about twenty minutes, you could feel yourself losing it by the second. You didn’t hate International Law, but you always thought that the professor assigned too much reading, and is so strict about the entire paper itself—specifically using APA style, it has to only be footnotes (no in-line citations, despite that being the easiest in your opinion and you always preferred Chicago over any other reference style).

Oh, and the International Law professor is biased and lowkey a bitch.

So, being reluctant to work on an assignment given by your major’s most disliked professor wasn’t a priority even with the deadline closing in.

“During world conflicts?” You and Wonwoo stared at each other briefly, before you nodded, “That is true.” Wonwoo stifled a laugh. Seeing you look so drained and empty every single time you worked on an assignment, never failed to make him laugh. He enjoyed accompanying you, and despite the different majors and study programs you both have, he always tried to make sure he is more help than company. Even though you never really wanted to help you work on the assignment, knowing he has his own to deal with as a Computer Science major, but he’s well aware of your habits that even if the due date is Monday and you are working on it right now, you won’t completely finish it until Sunday, if not with Wonwoo’s aid.

“What’s the paper about?”

“The application of International Humanitarian Law in a specific study case,” you responded, tone flat. The more you talked about it, the more your soul was being sucked into the void. “I chose the Femicides in El Salvador.”

“Alright.” Was all Wonwoo said before he opened Google Scholar and began his own little research.

“Wonwoo, you don’t have to—”

“Y/N?” Cut off mid-sentence, you and Wonwoo turned to find Joy approaching your table, her hair tied and a lanyard around her neck, she must’ve just gotten back from campus.

“Joy? Hi, what are you doing here?” You smiled, internally sighing in relief because you had a reason to not look at the journal you were reading of femicide reports in the past decade.

“I just came back from an internal meeting with the EO’s for the upcoming debate,” Joy responded, noticing Wonwoo and waving at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m working on Michelle’s paper,” you answered, exaggerating the slouch in your shoulders and pout in your lips. You then realized, sitting up straight, head cocked to the side with your brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re an EO for the debate?”

Joy pulled a chair to sit across from you, resting her arms on the table and nodded.

“So you were with Hanwoo?”

It was her turn to furrow her brows. “Your boyfriend?” You nodded, and she shook her head. “No I wasn’t.”

“What? But he told me he was having a meeting with the EO’s for the debate, maybe you didn’t see them?”

The crease between your friend’s brow only deepened. “Y/N, the EO’s are only four people, not including the PIC—I’ve also met them all, and Hanwoo isn’t a part of us.”

“That’s weird,” you muttered. Did your boyfriend lie?

“Maybe he got his position switched? Maybe he’s not an EO? You could try asking tomorrow,” Joy tried to reason, and you only nodded. Hanwoo had been telling you that he was an EO for the past couple of weeks, ever since the announcement of election was released for the major association. He explained to you in great detail what the position would entail, and well, frankly speaking, you trusted him. It tugged at your chest at the possibility he might’ve lied to you.

And Wonwoo can see it. The deep glare in your eyes as you stared at the article you were reading, but you weren’t actually reading the reports from representatives of the El Salvadoran government, instead you were reading into the situation with your boyfriend. Gears were turning in your head, making connections, coming up with excuses as to why he had chosen to lie to you about something as trifling as his position in a collegial committee. He could tell that no matter how many paragraphs you read, how many relative research articles you pulled up from the internet, nothing will allow you to progress in your paper until the nagging feeling of your fibbing boyfriend is at ease.

“Y/N, do you want to head back home, call it a night?” Wonwoo asked, before quickly raising his phone, “My brother just sent me a text, that he needs the car early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, yeah sure, let me just pay—”

“You pack up, I’ll pay for our food.”

You knew that he knew. Your lips pressed into a tight smile, “Thanks, Won.” He nodded, returning your smile before heading to the counter.

“Should we continue tomorrow night, then?” Joy asked. You nodded. “Sure,” then added, “depends though.”

On whether or not your boyfriend is lying.

“Wonwoo, do you have notes from Beom’s class? Last weeks’?” Seungcheol sat across from Wonwoo in the cafeteria, picking up a fry from Wonwoo’s plate and tossing it into his mouth. Wonwoo merely stared at his friend, unamused by his lack of manners, causing Seungcheol to chuckle.

“You know I do, Cheol, but why should I give it to you?” Wonwoo asked, his baritone voice holding a twinge of sarcasm, still upset by Seungcheol’s unwarranted act of property theft.

“Who says I want them?” Seungcheol turns away, flustered that Wonwoo caught on too quickly to his motive.

Wonwoo shrugs, and continues eating his lunch. “Alright then.”

“Can you email them to me?” An innocent, close-lipped smile etched across Seungcheol’s face, his dimple deepening as he clasped his hands together, pulling the same trick as Y/N usually does to get what they want.

“Stop that, I already get enough of puppy-eyes from Y/N,” grunted Wonwoo, rolling his eyes. “I’ll send them tonight, just send me a reminder.”

“Great, thanks, man.” Wonwoo expected him to leave, allowing for Wonwoo to spend the rest of his lunch alone before he heads to his next class, but Seungcheol stayed put, eyes on his phone. Not feeling like making any conversation, Wonwoo shrugged it off and continued eating. That is, until Seungcheol spoke up again, asking, “Hey, doesn’t Y/N have a boyfriend?”

Wonwoo couldn’t help the heat that rose at the back of his neck. “Yeah, why?”

“Isn’t it that Hanwoo guy?” Wonwoo nodded, but Seungcheol only looked even more perplexed. “They’re still going out?”

“Yeah…” Wonwoo confirmed, but the question only made his curiosity grow. Why did Seungcheol look so surprised? “Why?”

“It’s just… I mean, if you say they’re still together then it might not be- I must’ve made a mistake,” Seungcheol tried to change the subject but Wonwoo wasn’t going to let him do so.

“Tell me what you’re talking about or you won’t get Beom’s notes,” Wonwoo threatened, earning a look of genuine offense from Seungcheol, whom briefly rose a brow, a bit unconvinced. “I’m serious, Cheol.”

“Ass,” he muttered, before shaking his head, “Nah, it’s just… last night I saw a guy pick up my neighbor from across the courtyard, and I thought he looked a lot like Hanwoo.” Wonwoo’s eyebrow rose in suspicion, Seungcheol spotting it. “But if you say they’re still going out, then it must’ve been someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any guy would be stupid to cheat on Y/N, especially since she’s your best friend and all.”

That only made him more confused. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not like you’d let anyone hurt her, Won,” Seungcheol retorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (it was), “and Hanwoo would be a huge dumbass if he even thought of cheating on her.”

Even though Seungcheol was right, Wonwoo wasn’t convinced—Hanwoo had a meeting last night when they were at Holly’s but Joy confirmed that he wasn’t even a part of the EO committee.

“Are you sure it wasn’t him?” He tried to make sure.

“I mean, it was dark and I wasn’t wearing my glasses so it was a bit blurry—all-in-all I would say 50%, either he was or he wasn’t,” Seungcheol explained, being no help to Wonwoo’s growing suspicion of your boyfriend.

“I’ve gotta go,” Wonwoo uttered, standing and packing his things, tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where are you go- class is that way!” Wonwoo paid no mind to his friend as he continued walking towards the parking lot. However, he could hear Seungcheol as he was almost out of earshot, “Y/N, your knight in shining armor is on his way.”

The corner of Wonwoo’s lips quirked up. “I’m not sending the notes then!”

“Oh, come on, man!”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Suspicions and of course, anger, only grew the more steps he took towards his car, knowing the destination was you. If what Seungcheol said is true and he did, in fact, see Hanwoo with another girl, then that means he’s openly seeing someone else behind your back.

His hand reached for his phone, sparing quick glances between the screen and where he was walking as his fingers swiped for your contact, immediately dialing. Pressing the phone to his ear, he let his other hand pull out his car keys and unlock the door just as the line started ringing.

You picked up after two rings.

“Wonwoo? What’s with the sudden phone call?”

“Where are you?” He waited in the front seat, keys dangling from the ignition. Your answer would decide whether he starts the car or not.

“In the cafeteria near the engineering majors, why?”

“Are you with Hanwoo?” You were taken aback by his question, not because of what he asked, but by the fact that he got your boyfriend’s name right.

“Yeah, I am… Why?”

His shoulders sunk with your confirmation. “Just… just checking, sorry to bother you guys.” You muttered something that he didn’t catch before he hung up, exhaling a heavy sigh. Maybe it was paranoia. He had known you since you both were in middle school, of course he was protective over you, like every friend out there, he never wants you to get hurt.

Little did he know that as you put down your phone, a grimace had taken over your features as you looked at Joy.

“What did Wonwoo ask?”

You wanted to tell her the truth, but even you couldn’t wrap your head around the obvious that was happening. Wonwoo thinks you’re with Hanwoo, but you’re not and Joy’s tip about your boyfriend never having been involved in the election committee—you knew, and if your best friend had asked and even remembered Hanwoo’s name, then that must mean he knows, too.

“If I was with you,” you answered before her suspicion grew. “He wanted to check if I was up for lunch with him, but I’m with you already.”

“Ah… I think it’s good that he isn’t here,” Joy prefaced, pulling her phone out. “Do you remember I use to be a student supervisor for our major’s freshman camp?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So, I follow most of the kids that were in my group, right? And I was scrolling through my Instagram stories when you were buying lunch, and then—“ Joy scrolled through the following list of her account, stopping her explanation as she found who she was looking for. “—I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

She slid her phone face-up to you, an Instagram story of a junior you didn’t know of was opened. The picture wasn’t revealing much of anything that seemed of significance to you, just a photo of her holding hands with a guy and it was posted in her Close Friends—most likely an attempt at soft-launching her boyfriend.

For a moment you were confused, then you spotted it—the username. It was Hanwoo's Instagram account. Dread grew at the back of your head as your brain couldn't grasp on to this fact, even exiting out of the story and searching for his username, hoping it was one letter off and your suspicions would be wrong, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and both the username in the girl’s post and his username were the same.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” Joy uttered, in hopes to break the silence and tension that was building, but it was to no avail. Your throat tightened, and tears burned in your eyes, but you knew they weren’t from sadness, or heartbreak even, you were furious.

The audacity this piece of shit has to think he can cheat on me? You locked Joy’s phone, sliding it back to her before picking up your things and standing from the table.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes were filled with genuine concern, worried that you were a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow up at the worse time.

You sent her a reassuring smile, and shrugged. “Where else? To plan my revenge on him, of course.”

Wonwoo thought he was hearing things. As he paused his game, he waited and listened for a moment before shrugging, chalking it off to probably a feature in the game he never noticed.

Clink!

That couldn’t have been a feature in the game, he was breaking wood—a clinking sound against glass doesn’t seem like something you’d hear while hitting a tree repeatedly in Minecraft.

He removed his earphones this time, waiting for the sound again, and when he did, he stood and walked to his window, finding you standing outside his window.

“Finally, oh my God!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Do you know how many pebbles I had to look for to throw at your window?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows bunched together as he stared at you dumbfounded. “Why did you need to throw pebbles, we’re ground level. You could’ve just knocked.”

“That wouldn’t be so romantic, now would it?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he heaved a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to stop sneaking around like this, though, people are going to think you’re a burglar.”

“Whatever, Won,” you waved him off. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I—“ You paused. The fact that Hanwoo is actively cheating on you, probably even at this very moment, felt almost surreal to you, but ever since Joy showed you the picture, you’ve (to some extent) came to terms with it—there were signs after all, signs you chose to ignore or were so subtle, they flew over your head. However, coming to the realization that you’ve been cheated on felt easier than to utter it out loud—it felt more like a confirmation, that once the words were spoken out into the universe, it confirmed you were too blind in love to see the fact that he played you like a violin.

And it felt worse to admit to Wonwoo that his suspicions of your boyfr— ex-boyfriend being a douchebag were right.

“I need your help to trash Hanwoo’s car tonight, he’s at a friend’s house and left his car by his apartment.” Might as well hold off telling the truth until after you’ve released your anger.

Wonwoo could see you were holding something back, and by your proposition, making a guess as to why you did so, was easy.

“I’m not going to ask, but I will need you to explain later.” You subconsciously thanked him for not asking for a reason to your borderline act of vandalism. “Come around to the garage, I think I have a baseball bat from when I played little league.”

Ignoring the last bit of Wonwoo’s childhood anecdote, you watched as he left his room before taking the route to circle towards the front of his house where the garage was. You heard a lock turn and a bar slide before door opened, revealing Wonwoo, nodding his head to follow him.

“Do you, like, a Swiss Army knife or something sharp?”

“I think my dad has one his tool box, let me check,” he says, then points to shelf behind the car. “You can check there for the baseball bat.”

“Alright.”

Once the equipments were prepared—consisting of Wonwoo’s baseball ball, his dad’s Swiss Army knife, and your dad’s spray paint from one of his furniture restoration projects—you were all set to get back at Hanwoo. You both tossed them into the back of his car, climbing in and Wonwoo started up for Hanwoo’s apartment.

“And how do you know he left his car?” Wonwoo asked after three minutes of complete silence (AUX cord was broken and nothing that could fit a drive to vandalize your ex’s car was on the radio).

“Because I texted him earlier, asking if he could drive me to the store because there was a book I needed to get, and he explained to me that he was at a friend’s house and left his car,” you explained, your tone flat throughout as you mindlessly played with the zipper of your hoodie.

“And you’re sure he’s with friends?” He asked, his tone cautious, as he watched you freeze briefly.

You weren’t sure. Instead of admitting that, you chuckled, “He wouldn’t be with his girlfriend without a car.”

Despite your efforts at breaking the ice, Wonwoo wasn’t able to laugh at your joke, and only you could muster a dry chuckle before leaning back, turning to face the window.

You seemed to float throughout—as if watching yourself in a third person point of view, almost numb to the fact that you were on your way to ruin your ex’s car. It wasn’t that you were in denial that he is cheating on you, you refused to believe it was happening to you. You always felt that you were doing so much, showing him so much love, prioritizing him when he needed, never doubting that you felt the same way for you.

What did I do wrong? What about me wasn’t enough?

You hated those thoughts that began flooding your head. You hated those doubts. You hated that because of what he did, you’re blaming yourself—making it seem that you were the one that wasn’t doing enough.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo’s baritone voice pulled you out of your self-loathing. “We’re here.”

“Oh, you remembered the way,” you finally took note of him never asking you directions throughout the drive.

“Unfortunately.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his snide comment. Looking out to his side of the window, you see Hanwoo’s white range rover. You knew he cherished it—making sure to get the oil changed routinely, weekly car washes and having it waxed monthly. In retrospect, he probably loved the car more than he did you.

Maybe destroying he loved could make you feel less shitty.

“Let’s go—“ Before you could climb out, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?”

Again, the truth choked you. As you stared at Wonwoo, the concern laced all over his features, it felt the question should’ve triggered a flood gate to open, but alas, you persist. I need to not use poor humor as a coping mechanism. You cocked your head to the side, the corner of your lips lifted. “Why? I honestly thought you’d be the most excited of us to trash his car, Won?”

Of course, being your best friend since middle school, he saw right through your façade.

His hand moved from your wrist to clasp your hands, wrapping his fingers around yours. “Just promise you’ll talk to me, yeah?”

The bile rose, once again, urging you to cough out the truth. Knowing well enough you wouldn’t be able to utter anything without your words breaking, you nodded and sent a stiff smile.

As you stood near Hanwoo’s car, looking through the window of his vehicle, memories of the two of you seated side-by-side there came flooding in. How when you would go to a drive-thru for late night snack runs, the way you reached over the console with a fry and feeding it to him as his eyes focused on the road. When you’d pull over into a parking lot, your legs stretched over to rest over his lap as the two of you talked about everything and nothing at all, or when he would purposely make wrong turns just so you would spend more time with each other when he was supposed to drop you home.

Moments that you held so close to your heart, now worth nothing in a blink of an eye.

You squeezed your eyes shut, urging the tears to fall back and return to their sockets, inhaling a deep breath and pushing it out almost immediately as you flipped the knife to one of its sharpest options and pressing the point to the driver’s door. There’s no backing out now. You let the knife drag itself across the paint, a ragged line following your hand as you made your lap around his car.

Now, there really wasn’t going back now.

Before you could hold yourself back, your arm extended back and punctured one of the tyres—then one became two, and then three. Air spewing out of three of the tyres filled the tension around you, and you found yourself breathless. Breathless because you were angry. Breathless because you were hurt. The tears had escaped, creating warm trails down your cheeks.

“Give me the bat,” you urged, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks.

“Y/N—“

“Wonwoo,” you pressed, “it’s either you give me the bat, or you go home—I’m going to do this whether you agree with it or not.”

Wonwoo shouldn’t even be against what you’re doing right now. He’s obviously on your side when it comes to this, Hanwoo deserves getting his car destroyed for hurting, manipulating and thinking he could go behind your back this way. However, the more logical and law-abiding side of him is reluctant—especially since you’ve already slashed his tyres and ruined the paintwork, so breaking the windows seemed to cross the line.

“If we get arrested, just tell them I did it, alright?” Wonwoo uttered, handing you the bat and taking the knife with him. You smiled for the first time tonight, a genuine smile that reached your eyes as he said that. He then added, “I’ll get the spray paint—you do your thing.”

And after a bashed in windshield, a very poorly written “FUCKING CHEATER” was spray painted on all sides of the car and on the hood. You and Wonwoo drove away from the scene of the crime, driving to a nearest convenient store where Wonwoo hopped out, buying instant ramen, drinks and snacks, deciding to make a last-minute picnic in his car because in his words: “Vandalism works up an appetite.”

“They didn’t have the carbonara one, so I got you cheese.” Wonwoo returned in less than ten minutes, the noodles already boiled, only needing the seasonings. You smiled at him, mumbling a thanks as you took the cup noodles from him, tearing the seasoning and busying yourself with stirring, and continuously stirring, your eyes dazed off at the curly noodles as they spun in a faint orange mix.

“Y/N, I’m sure your noodles are well stirred,” Wonwoo commented, hoping to divert your attention. The leather beneath him squeaked as he adjusted his position, leaning his back against the door as he folded his knee under him, fully facing you at this point.

He called, “Hey.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, and immediately, Wonwoo straightened up, his jaws clenched and shoulders tensed. Tear stricken cheeks, bloodshot eyes and everso present frown evident in between your eyebrows and downturned lips.

“Y/N…” Wonwoo took the noodles from your hands, placing it on the dashboard and pulling you by the wrists, engulfing you into his arms, then there goes the floodgates—the emotions you locked away throughout the evening, released in that very second your face was against his shoulder.

While you were bawling, grieving the relationship that reigned to be good to be true, Wonwoo was hatching up his own revenge plan on the piece of shit.

The incessant ringing of your phone pulled you out of your slumber, and you knew for a fact it wasn’t your alarm, because one; you snoozed that ten times already, and two; it wasn’t your usual Radar tone.

Sliding the screen with one eye open, you placed it by your ear without seeing who it was.

“Hello—“

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR, Y/N?!”

Well that was one way of waking you up. You sat up, slowly, taking your time with adjusting your position while Hanwoo was screaming on the other line. Once you were sitting up, you glanced at the screen—the name you had changed last night once you got back home displayed as ‘IGNORE’, in hopes that you would do so when he called you. But then again, you thought he’d call you when you were conscious.

“—Y/N FUCKING ANSWER ME!” Rolling your eyes, you heaved a sigh before placing the phone back by your ear.

“And to what do I owe—“

“You were you even fucking listening to me?“ Hanwoo snapped.

“No.” Your answer was simple, honest, and obviously uninterested with whatever he wanted to say. Was the modification that you made to his beloved vehicle not enough of an announcement that you knew what he was up to all this time?

“I was asking what the hell did you to my car?”

“Can’t you tell?” you teased, “I gave it a makeover.”

“You ruined my paint job and popped my tyres, what kind of makeover is this?”

“The kind that fits a cheater like you.” Silence. Complete silence came from the other side and if you listened closely, you could hear the static along with his ragged breathing knowing well enough he was caught. “Cat got your tongue, dude?”

“Y/N…”

“Save the sob story, we’re not dating, I don’t see why you’re fucking calling me other than to cry about your stupid car—“

“How about the fact that your fucker of a dog punched me?” He interjected.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean, Y/N,” he scoffed, “it wasn’t enough to ruin my car, you had to send your dog to ruin my face too.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Wonwoo, which means that Wonwoo had punched his face.

Wonwoo punching someone in the face? That wasn’t something you had heard before, nor expected. The image itself was enough to cause you to burst out laughing, your phone falling from your hands, leaving Hanwoo confused and annoyed.

The idea that Wonwoo would go as far as to punch someone was such an unrealistic accusation Hanwoo had made, but nonetheless, had successfully made you laugh after a long night of crying yourself to sleep.

“Are you done?” Hanwoo asked once you placed the phone back to your ear after your laughing fit.

“Wasn’t enough for you to lie about your relationship all this time, now you want to lie and accuse Wonwoo of something he’d never do,” you defended, scoffing at his poor attempt.

“I’m not lying about this, Y/N!”

“So, you admit that you were lying about our relationship?” This time you interjected, wanting to hear him confirm it. It was mostly due to that nagging voice at the back of your head that still doubted what Joy had shown you, that the picture was friendly and not romantic.

It was so pathetic how even after everything, there was a sliver in you that hoped he would deny it.

“Y/N- let me explain—“ In other words: ‘I was, but you haven’t heard my reason’.

“Fuck off, Hanwoo, don’t ever call me again,” you warned, “and if I hear you spread bullshit about Wonwoo like you did just now, it’ll be more than just your car that I ruin. Bye.”

He managed to slip something before you got the chance to hang up. “What about my fucking eye, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you ask Gia to help you with that?” Grateful to have the last word, you hung up immediately, tossing your phone to the side. The phone call wasn’t closure, but it was enough to put those indenial thoughts to rest.

Wonwoo punched him? The thought wouldn’t leave your head as you got ready for the day. Trying to imagine Wonwoo walking up to Hanwoo and giving him a black eye wasn’t something you could see him doing. Besides that, when did Wonwoo get the time to punch Hanwoo if he did? He ended up driving you home around three in the morning, and it was past six now, meaning he had a three hour window.

Unless…

No, that would mean after dropping you off, he had stormed straight to wherever Hanwoo was just to punch him.

You had to make sure, even if it was hard to believe, you had to make sure Wonwoo was okay. As long as you’ve been friends, you’ve never seen him get into any physical altercations with anyone, and if it did happen, it might be possible that Hanwoo wouldn’t have let him walk away unscathed.

Your legs carried you to his house, to his front door and after greeting his parents, to his bedroom door. You knocked, listening in to hear rummaging noises, as if he was panicking.

“Wait, Eomma, I just finished showering—“ He called out from the other side, which you found odd because you knew him, he wouldn’t even be awake at this hour.

“Wonwoo, it’s me.”

The noise on the other side of the door paused for a moment, before Wonwoo called out. “Y/N?”

“Yes, can you open the door?” You asked, waiting for it to swing open but it didn’t.

“No, I’m- uh, I’m watching something, you don’t need to see it,” Wonwoo tried to think of an excuse but cursed at himself because why the hell did that come out instead? You, on the other hand, found his obvious panic hilarious, his excuse eliciting a chuckle.

“I know you met with Hanwoo,” you informed him, making sure to keep your voice down so his parents wouldn’t hear. “So, can you please open the door and let me check the damage?”

You waited a few minutes, hearing him toss a few things away, the noise causing your brows to furrow. The lock turned and the door swung enough for you to squeeze yourself in, knowing well enough that Wonwoo wasn’t about to reveal himself in fear his parents would see (they wouldn’t have, they were on the other side of the house, he was just paranoid). Once you were in, he pushed the door closed, his back against it and you could see what damage Hanwoo had done to your next door neighbour.

It wasn’t bad, admittedly you thought it’d be worse considering his lack of experience.

It was a scratch and bruising surrounding his left cheek, that was most caused by a ring Hanwoo was wearing, but other than that, and a tear in his lip, that was all he took.

“I honestly thought you’d look worse,” you thought out loud, Wonwoo’s brows furrowing at the comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, lightly laughing. “Nothing, do you have anything I can use to clean that?”

“Uh… I do, actually.” He dips to look on his bedside table. “Stopped by a drugstore after because I saw the blood.”

“And when did you get the time to pull it all off?”

“Well, after I dropped you off, I asked Seungcheol since he knows—“ Wonwoo stopped, realizing that this information wasn’t ever supposed to reach you. “Uhm… How did you know I was hurt?”

“Because a psychopath told me,” you informed, and his eyes darkened for a moment, rolling in annoyance.

“I told him to never bother you again,” he groaned, before his gaze softened as he turned to you. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

“He just called my phone, I’m alright,” you reassured him. Taking a step towards him, your fingers gently touched the wound on his cheek, inspecting it. You could see that he didn’t tend to it once it started bleeding, evidence of dried blood surrounding the wound and there wasn’t any antiseptic used either to ensure an infection didn’t happen.

While you were playing nurse, Wonwoo became very aware of the lack of space between your face and his, and he had to hold his breath. It only worsened when your eyes darted to his, the two of you holding eye contact for what he thought was an eternity.

“Let me clean it up for you, Won,” you uttered, breaking the silence and eventually the tension as you turned to walk into his ensuite bathroom. He followed after trying to calm his heartbeat, finding you on top of his sink, soaking a cotton pad with antiseptic and tearing a bandaid from its package.

“Come here,” you urged. Wonwoo stood between your thighs, not wanting to meet your eyes, but you didn’t mind—almost finding him being flustered cute.

“Ow,” he winced when the antiseptic touched the wound after you had wiped it clean of the dried blood.

“It’s a small sting, stop being a baby,” you teased, earning a glare from him. “How come you only came out with this?”

“Got me at the last minute,” he answered.

“And how was he?” Your question was responded with an eyebrow raise instead, causing you to roll your eyes. “I don’t care about him, Won, I just want to know if it was worth it—if you, at least, are satisfied with this decision.”

The corner of his lips turned up, a smug look etched across his face as he answered, “It was. I hurt him enough to send the message and keep it with him for the next couple of weeks.”

“I never knew you could fight,” you said honestly.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Y/N,” he mumbled, but because of your close proximity, you heard it loud and clear. Before you ask further, he spoke up, “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“After this we can have breakfast, I think my mom made doenjang jjigae,” he informed. You smiled, nodding, “Sure.” You finished tending to his wound by plastering on the Kuromi bandaid, teasing him about it, to which he used the ‘there wasn’t anything else’ excuse.

He grabbed your elbow as you hopped off his sink, the action caused you to stumble out of balance instead of helping, made you bump closer to him, his free arm automatically holding your waist.

Cue the eye contact and pink-tinted cheeks, the move could’ve made you laugh as if it was straight out of a cheesy rom-com, but you were too occupied with trying to think that you couldn’t do so. I’m heartbroken, I’m vulnerable and haven’t been feeling loved for the past week, this is just a fluke, you tried to rationalize the thoughts and your racing heart, knowing well what could work to get out of this.

You tapped his chest, gently pushing him. “Go shower, Wonwoo, you reek.”

“Shut up, I do not,” he protested, laughing to cover his shaky voice. He then added, “Thanks, Y/N, although you didn’t have to do all this.”

“And let you get an affection?” You retorted.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, and without thinking he uttered, “A kiss would’ve sufficed.” It was too late for him to take back his words, noting your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, his cheeks flushed when he realized what he had said. “Y/N, I wasn’t thinking—“

You pressed a kiss against cheek, beneath his bandage, shutting him completely. “Take it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

It took him a second to compose himself, grinning, “I am your knight in shining armor, after all.”

You threw your head back in laughter. “Are you riding a horse, my knight?”

“Yes, a pink horse,” he answered, smiling endearingly down at you.

You frowned at his choice of color, “But you hate pink?”

“And you love pink.”

“Gosh, Wonwoo,” you flushed red, taking a step away from him, finding his comment both cringey and touching at the same time—it was shocking you could feel those two simultaneously. “When did you get so cheesy?”

He merely shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips. “I told you there was a lot you don’t know about me.”

#seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo svt #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #heartsfromia writes

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yuwuta · 10 months ago

Text

YUUTA OKKOTSU’S DECLASSIFIED JUJUTSU TECH SURVIVAL GUIDE (AN APPETITE HAUNTING THE HEART)

❝i know this tastes too good to be healthy. the more it melts, the sweeter it gets, so take my heart out because i need all of you.

*this is yuuta okkotsu’s fool-reviewed plan for navigating all things curses, sorcery, and love.

pairings. okkotsu/reader

content, warnings. canon-adjacent, reader has a cursed technique, friends to lovers, smut (uhh... no triggers i think? other than implied virginity loss on yuuta’s part), mentions of violence/curses, possessive/intrusive thoughts... he starts of kinda sweet and weird and then just gets... weirder and worse lol, so mostly yuuta being... yuuta <2

notes. jujustu tech is a college not a highschool, yes i brought naruto in this, i believe in sasuke slander only from a place of pure love, real sasuke ridicule will not be accepted xoxo

word count. 12k i told you i could yap about him all day

playing. candy/baekhyun, untouched/the veronicas, cream soda/exo, lacy/olivia rodrigo, pure honey/beyoncé

#1 — Do NOT touch Maki Zenin’s tools (but if you do, the cute girl who hangs around Inumaki might help to patch you up).

Yuuta hadn’t meant to piss off Maki. He was trying to be helpful, but Yuuta learned the hard way today: do not touch Maki’s cursed tools, at all, for any reason whatsoever. He intended to hand it back to her, but she was prompt in assuming that was part of an attack, snatching it from under his grasp and giving him a jab on the wrist with the dull end of the stick. If the beatdown he’d endured during training put Yuuta on his deathbed, then that hit was the final nail in the coffin.

The crack! sound of his bones made everyone pause their sparring, and Gojo winced the loudest, “Ouch! That one had to hurt, kid!” It was also Gojo who gathered everyone to stand around and look down at him clutching his wrist in pain, before making the executive decision to appoint you as Yuuta’s caretaker.

“This is definitely something you can handle!” he cheered, patting the top of your head, “Take our dearest Yuuta to the infirmary and patch him up, please and thank you! With the way Maki’s been kicking him into the ground, those cuts are sure to get infected sooner rather than later. The two of you can join us for dinner when you’re finished!”

Yuuta tried to refute, on the grounds of “No—no! I—ouch—this really isn’t worth using any kind of cursed energy over!” Which was quickly met with a mischievous raised eyebrow from his teacher, “Oh? Are you insinuating that my precious student doesn’t have the skill to fix a simple fracture?” That prompted Yuuta to spill a flurry of apologies, none of which were coherent, and ended up with him trailing behind you sheepishly to the infirmary with a broken wrist, several bleeding wounds, and probably early heart failure.

Now, Yuuta sits with his feet dangling off of the edge of the examination chair, shivering from the chilliness of the room, and all of his nerve endings rattling at the realization that this is the first time that he’s been alone in a room with you since you’ve met. He winces, first at the sting of disinfectant into his wound, and then internally—mostly out of embarrassment—because his outward reaction made you pause your actions to question if he’s okay.

Okay is relative, he thinks. In the grand scheme of things, he’s okay. Concerning his current injuries, he’ll be okay eventually. Concerning this… whatever this is he feels for you… maybe not so okay.

“Sorry,” he stutters, too loud for the atmosphere and proximity of your bodies to each other, and, so, he winces again, cheeks staining red to match his embarrassment, as if he or you needed any confirmation of it. He doesn’t mean to be a difficult patient, but he has an adversity surrounding hospitals and medical care, and that alcohol really does burn, and you’re really close to his face, and—and you giggle a little, but Yuuta hears a chorus, instead; warm, spring-like, with violins and a piano and cellos strumming in perfect harmony, and the buzz of bees and butterfly wings flapping the melody.

“You apologize a lot,” you tell him, a kind smile on your lips. You step forward, just a bit, as you peel off the band-aid adhesive and gently press it over the bridge of Yuuta’s nose. It’s Hello Kitty themed. It makes him want to scream.

“Yeah, uh—sorry about that!” Yuuta apologizes, once again too loudly. He scratches at the back of his neck with his left hand, and his eyes go wide after a few beats, “No, wait—I didn’t mean to apologize again. I just... I, uh... thank you. That’s what I wanted to say. For helping me, you have my sincerest thank you.”

Yuuta dips his head to bow, and when he raises it again, you’re blinking at him owlishly, and he thinks he’s really done it now. You must think he’s a freak, if you didn’t already. He thinks you’re gonna tell him off for being pathetic and a weakling, but instead you laugh again—that precious sound that pauses Yuuta’s world for the better.

“You’re awfully formal. There’s no need for that, or to thank me. We’re friends, afterall,” you reassure him, “Even if Gojo did force you to be my practice dummy.”

It’s his turn to reassure you, his uninjured hand moving from his neck to shake frantically in front of him, “It’s completely okay,” he does his best to give you a smile as warm as the one you give him. It probably doesn’t work, but he tries anyway—he’s always been an awkward smiler, too wide-mouthed and toothy, “You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you.”

Your face seems almost solemn at his declaration, and the panic instantly kicks in again. Yuuta scrambles when his words play back in his head, “I’m sorry, was that weird? I meant that I trust your judgment. You can, uh, fix me up however you best see fit—or just leave it! I’m sure it’ll heal on—”

“You’re awfully self-sacrificing, too,” you cut him off with a laugh, your usual warm nature clicking back. Yuuta shrugs, feeble; you smile wider, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I keep staring, and I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all! You don’t... make me uncomfortable, I mean. You could never,” Yuuta rushes, curling back into himself after his outburst, “You... it always feels really nice when you’re around. I can’t explain it, but everything is calmer.”

Your eyes flutter across his face, before you turn away from him, “I can tell it makes you nervous—I can hear the changes in your heartbeat,” you tell him, opening the cabinet to return the alcohol to its rightful place. You must also be able to hear his thoughts, chiming in just as Yuuta continues to wonder if his heartbeat is really that loud, “It’s part of my technique. I don’t mean to intrude on your heart.”

Is it an intrusion if Yuuta left room for you? If he wanted you to be there? Was it crazy to think that he’d give you his heart to hold and trust you to take care of it, even though you’d only met a few months ago? Maybe it would be easier if he let you squeeze tight enough to put him out of his misery already.

Luckily, you keep talking before he can say something stupid like that out-loud again.

“It’s just that... you remind me of somebody that I used to know. You’re kind like him, and you both share a well-intentioned recklessness, too. I see so much of him in you that it’s hard not to stare sometimes,” you admit, turning back to face him, and gingerly taking his wrist between your hands. When your hands start to glow, Yuuta can feel it—your reversed cursed technique is warm on the surface, but chilly underneath, like a heated blanket on top of perfectly cool sheets.

“I don’t mean to say that you’re just a replacement,” you continue, slowly rotating your hands over his injury. It stings a little, then soothes, “I’m just still in awe of how nice it feels being around you. It feels strangely—”

“Familiar,” Yuuta interjects, “I understand. You feel that way, too. I think... that’s what I meant before.” He understands your words perfectly because you remind him of someone precious to him, too; someone he used to and still loves alot. “You—it makes me happy, that’s why I seem so nervous.”

It seems as though you understand him, too. His heart sings, and you can probably hear it, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind so much now. What he feels for you is consuming, maybe concerning, but knowing that you know what it’s like to love like him brings him an odd sense of comfort. Maybe he should be jealous that you’ve had someone to love that much before, but he’s not exactly in a position to talk. What matters is that you can hear him and feel him—his heart and his love and his sad and his happy, and it doesn’t push you away.

It makes him want to burst. He owes you a thank you for putting something so precious in his life. He owes you an apology, for ever doubting that you couldn’t handle his symptoms. He should have realized that you can handle his love.

“You feel really warm, too,” he blushes, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand, “And, uh, not just because you’re holding my hand.”

The twinkle in your eyes turns into confusion, then surprise when you look down to see that the hand below his wrist had moved to rest underneath his palm instead. His wrist was well healed by now, and you’d been, effectively, massaging his skin and muscles with your technique for the latter duration of your conversation without realizing it.

Yuuta couldn’t tell when it went from healing to hand holding, but he’s not complaining—and he doesn’t think he could have stopped it either. Another quality to your technique that he couldn’t understand was how your energy felt sticky, flowed like honey; how it managed to run into broken crevices and bruised dents with a mind of its own. Even if he’d wanted to pull his hand away—and he didn’t, he absolutely did not—he wouldn’t have gotten far from you. He never wanted to be.

“You already have calluses on your palm,” you note, dispelling your healing energy, holding onto Yuuta’s hand only by want now, “You train hard. You’ll catch up to Maki and Toge, quickly, but not if you don’t take care of yourself.”

Yuuta almost chokes when you rotate your wrist so that your fingers are aligned. Your hand is so much softer than his, warmer than his, and maybe he’s idealistic, but your fingers seem to slot perfectly between his when you curl them.

“I’m not always going to be around to fix you up,” you warn him, “So don’t go around pissing Maki off too much, alright?”

Yuuta can feel the heat from your body flow through him. From his palm, up his arm, down into his chest, and everywhere else. It doesn’t feel real. You’re holding his hand, you’re smiling at him, you’re right there and you’re so bright and beautiful, so Yuuta doesn’t know why his thoughts are so gray and dangerous; you wouldn’t hurt him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, so why can’t he stop thinking about keeping you like this—of stitching your hands together forever to keep you by his side, or letting this heat consume and burn you both.

Yuuta shakes his head to wiggle those thoughts away, but to you it seems like he’s saying no to staying off of Maki’s radar. When he realizes it, he nods too reverently to make up for it; surely looking like an idiot, and then to top it off, he squeaks, “I—yes, ma’am!”

Another foolish outburst on his end, perhaps, but it makes you giggle, fills the room with springtime for a moment, so to Yuuta, it was worth it. “Good,” you nod, release his hand and beckon him off of the chair, “Come on, we should go eat before Panda takes all the good sides for himself.”

Yuuta follows you back to the dorms with his stomach already full of love, love, love. He loves you, and you can hear, and see, and feel exactly what you do to him, and you don’t run. Yuuta thinks maybe you should, even though he doesn’t want you to. Surely you know what he did to Rika when he loved her.

Rika seems to like you, actually, if the humming of her voice in his head as he takes his seat at the table next to you is any indication. He can vaguely make out some of her words as you pass him the dumplings—warm, kind, loyal. He agrees. Pretty, too. No disagreement there.

In such a short amount of time, you’ve shifted Yuuta’s ethos for life. He wanted to die to be with the person he loved before, and never quite understood why Rika would stop him, why she would want him to suffer in this life alone; but maybe this is what Rika was always trying to tell him; that his love was not lost and buried with her, but flowing towards you, his heart, a beacon for you to locate.

You’d mentioned that he reminded you of someone you knew before, that you couldn’t see anymore. Yuuta doesn’t know what happened to your person before he came along; he can only hope that you’ll allow him and his heart to be a vessel for your love someday, too. He won’t disappoint you. He won’t let you let go of him.

It shouldn’t be hard. You already have his heart in your hands.

#2 — Gojo is more than a teacher. He is also the school event planner, once ranked Diamond in Overwatch, and is the only person blacklisted from any and all kitchens on campus. He also gives pretty good (sometimes questionable?) advice. His eyes are kind of scary.

You’re there when he and Toge are nearly decimated by the Grade 1 curse in the abandoned market. He still doesn’t understand much about sorcery at this point, so seeing people like you and Toge in action is awe-inspiring to say the least. Yuuta knows that Toge is nothing short of amazing, but he can’t help but to be drawn into you, you, you—your energy, your fighting style, the seemingly never-ending applications of your technique. Cursed energy in and of itself is still a foreign concept to him, so perhaps it’s that seeing you use the reverse of it so effortlessly is even more novel to him.

He can hear Rika strumming in the back of his mind, an indistinct itch and hum that sounds vaguely like laughter at his self-justification. He chooses to ignore her.

After, while he’s still buzzing with the tingly warm sensation of your technique after you’d patched him up, Gojo finds him, and Yuuta, unable to keep up a façade, pours all his anxious, worried, inquisitive feelings about his mission on the table.

“The way that (_____) can heal wounds... is that something I can learn?” Yuuta questions his teacher, eyes tired but genuine and earnest.

And Gojo, all knowing and absolutely singing at the implications, smiles so wide he’s certain his newest student could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, even through the dark tint of his glasses. “Maybe.”

He goes on, leaning back into the old loveseat, one leg crossed over his other knee, “You’ll probably be able to learn to heal yourself with reversed cursed technique, but using it to heal others is difficult and rare. Shoko and (_____) are the only people I know who can do it.”

“Is… did she get to learn it because she’s a Grade 1?” He remembers Maki explaining the ranking system for Jujutsu sorcerers. You and Toge were ranked the highest in the class, and amongst the other Kyoto students; it would make sense that you two have learned more applications of your techniques due to your higher placements.

Gojo chuckles, much to Yuuta’s confusion. “That’s not quite how it works—and if it were, then you’d already know because you’re a Special Grade. You don’t unlock new lessons as you move up, you move up because of how well you’ve learned to control and apply your own cursed technique.”

Right. That makes sense. Except Yuuta knows that his classification of Special Grade is a bit of a cheat because he can’t control or apply his cursed energy half as well as any of his classmates. He has Rika to thank for his immediate promotion, not himself or his own skills.

“In any case, if you do learn it, you’ll never be able to execute it like her, that’s for certain. Reversed cursed technique is complicated to learn and nearly impossible to teach. It’s one of those things you truly have to figure out for yourself when the timing is right—I only got it when I was on the brink of death. It’s 100% effective on the person doing it, but only 50% effective when applied to other people by the user,” Gojo says, “Except for (_____). She was born with reversed cursed energy, which is why she has an almost 100% output on herself and others, so she’s extra special. ”

Yuuta frowns. He never expected to do anything half as well as you, but knowing there’s only half a chance that he could, literally, only ever meet you half-way is frustrating. You can save him time and time and time again, as you already have, and all he can do is be a wound for you to stitch back together.

It must be difficult for you. A similar thought had crossed his mind when he first met Shoko-san, feeling bad for her having to carry the burden of healing others, knowing that she could never receive the same treatment in return. It’s worse for you, though, to be an angel amongst the men on this Earth—it’s not fair that you can give so much to help, and nobody can do the same for you. Yuuta wants to give something to you, he wants to devote himself to you, so at the very least, you have that. If he can’t give you anything else, he can give you himself.

Gojo laughs at Yuuta’s silence, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. “That’s hard for you to hear, huh? Ha! You truly are a lover, not a fighter, Yuuta.”

Yuuta blinks at him. “I, uh... thank you?” He says, even though he’s not so certain that those two things are discernable.

“Right now, the best thing for you to do is focus on controlling Rika and your cursed energy. That way, (_____) can also focus on fighting, and not healing, when you’re on missions together. The stronger you are, the less she’ll have to clean up after you,” Gojo advises.

He puts his feet back on the floor and uses the leverage to lean over, a bit too close for Yuuta’s comfort. “The only thing you can do for her is to learn to help yourself.”

Yuuta’s eyes go wide. He wants to—he wants to help you, wants to help himself, wants to help others, too. There’s a selfish twang for a moment, the thought of not needing you anymore tugging at his heart, but Rika reminds him that he’ll still want you.

Then an even scarier thought crosses his mind. “What happens if I don’t learn to control this? What happens if I curse her instead?”

Yuuta trembles at the thought, breathing and heartbeat erratic, his sensei moving back a bit. Rika is there again, reassuring him that he never hurt her, that his love never hurts, that the only person he’s ever truly harmed is himself by isolation of his own feelings. Trust her, Rika demands, she can handle this.

You can. Can you? You have, so far. You don’t run, you don’t push, you give, and give, and give to him; Rika was kind and playful and took and took and took Yuuta’s loneliness and sickness in stride and he still cursed her, seemingly for all eternity. He wants to love and be loved, but not if it means hurting you—isn’t it bad enough that he’s already inept at healing your wounds? Why should he risk giving you more?

“Yuuta,” Gojo calls him out of his thoughts, “I’m disappointed.”

That truly breaks Yuuta’s cyclical monologue. “I—disappointed?”

Gojo ticks his tongue, shakes his head and points a finger in accusation, “You should know your fellow classmates better by now. (_____) is not that weak or scared,” he chastises, “You’re so worried about cursing her that you haven’t realized that she is the only person so far to have effectively used her curse on you.”

Yuuta pauses, eyes wet with the awful realization that Gojo was right. You have already cursed him; your technique has already gotten past the barrier of his curse. You’ve cursed him. He never stopped to think that it was possible, worried only about himself. How selfish—he shares Gojo’s disappointment in himself.

He’s spent so much time loathing his jealous mind and decaying heart that he hasn’t opened his eyes to see you that you’ve found him. You can poison anything he does, and make the antidote with equal ease; how stupidly naive of Yuuta to think that he could be the one to diagnose or treat you better than you could him, or yourself.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Yuuta dips his head, and also spares you an internal apology, “I understand better, now.”

“Is that so?” Gojo muses, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes scan Yuuta’s when his head is raised again, that knowing grin creeping back up on his lips. “Well, if you still want to know more about reversed curse technique, or want help learning it, it’s not an entirely lost cause. I’m definitely not the person for this lesson, but, you know who is?”

Yuuta feels a sense of whiplash from the change in Gojo’s demeanor. Confusion clouds his mind again, and he shrugs, “Um... Shoko-sensei?”

Gojo makes a loud buzzer noise, complete with crossing his arms in front of his chest in a big ‘X.’ Yuuta frowns again. Is that where Toge learned to do that?

“Wrong! I’m talking about (_____), obviously!” Gojo claps his hands together, before lowering his glasses to wiggle his eyebrows, “Tutoring is a textbook way to get some alone time, kiddo. You want to spend more time with her outside of class and missions, right?”

“I want to spend all my time with her,” Yuuta confesses, mindlessly. And foolishly, he soon realizes, when he sees that Gojo’s grin has tripled; and he’s quick to flash his hands to correct himself, “No—not like that—not in a creepy way! I just... I want to get to know her better, like you said.”

Yuuta’s awkward chuckles fill the space, and he can feel his insides burning from his cheeks all the way down to his hands. Would he ever be able to think coherently or tactfully when it came to you?

“So, uh... I... it’s okay if I ask her about this stuff, too?”

“Some sorcerers don’t like talking about their cursed techniques. But (_____) might not mind. You won’t know until you try.”

Yuuta nods shallowly. Try. He can do that—if not for himself, then for you; he can try for you. All you need from him is to accept your course of treatment; to love you is to let you curse him, completely.

“I’m a firm believer that all’s fair in love and war,” Gojo stands, stretching into Yuuta’s space to ruffle his hair. He leans down further, giving him a glimpse of his glowing eyes before sparing him a wink, “So, be a little greedy, and give it your best shot.”

#3 — Social media is the most twisted curse out there. It makes you feel so close, yet is a stark reminder of just how far you are from the person on the other end of the screen.

Yuuta has never considered himself good with technology. Even before Rika’s incident, he often felt ostracized by his peers because he didn’t have the same interest in or experience with games and cartoons. He had no reason to have a computer or a phone until enrolling at Jujutsu Tech, and there was an evident learning curve in navigating the devices. Toge often snickered watching Yuuta use his smartphone with the dexterity of a senior citizen.

He only barely set up Instagram and TikTok accounts with Toge’s help, but he doesn’t really get the idea of followers—why would people who don’t know him want to follow him? Why would he follow them? He doesn’t know many memes or jokes and even after seeing them, he doesn’t think many are all that funny, but he laughs anyway.

He doesn’t have much time to perfect his social media and meme skills, anyway. He’s dedicated to training and gaining mission experience—which pays off when Geto declares war on the school by the end of the year. Yuuta remembers how you returned his phone to him the next day, a few cracks and black, dark spots on the screen, giggling that you’d found it in the rubble, but that even your reverse cursed technique couldn’t fix its scars.

He thinks he gets the hang of it in the end—the basics of communication and the appeal behind connection with others through it—even going so far as to trade selfies with Gojo sometimes, who always seemed happy to receive them, no matter how much post-exorcism curse gunk Yuuta was covered in.

He also frequently exchanges texts with you. He much prefers to see you in person, but when you’re stuck for long hours in the ER, or away from campus on your own missions, Yuuta has grown fond of receiving your messages. He always attempts to read them in your voice and imagine your facial expressions to match those of the emojis you send. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of those yet, doesn’t understand what Toge means when he says that not all smiley faces are created equally, so to save himself the trouble, and potential embarrassment, he’s opted to use emoticons instead. Which, if you asked him, has been working out in his favor, seeing as you call them cute.

Yuuta also uses the safety of his phone screen to implement some of Gojo’s advice; picking your brain about curses, sorcery, and healing via text message for just long enough for you to say it’s easier to explain in person to come to him and teach him in your spare time. Soon these study sessions turn into texts asking to hang out outside of class and missions and work, and Yuuta couldn’t be more elated. The screen he once scorned at seemed to be his one-way ticket to being able to talk to his favorite person constantly.

But Yuuta never thought it would become his only means of communication with you. He’s devastated when you break the news to him, over half-finished oolong tea and nervous finger-twiddling.

“You’re leaving?” He echoes, hoping he doesn’t sound too much like a heartbroken child, even though that’s exactly how he feels.

It’s quiet outside of the tea shop where you two sit, nearing seven in the evening; only the soft sounds of other customers conversing behind you two inside, distant cars on the main street, and the sound of Yuuta’s heart beating frantically.

“Not leaving leaving,” you clarify, pausing your finger twirling to place one of your hands over Yuuta’s on the table, “I’m still studying, but I’m being sent abroad for a bit.”

He should be focused on the fact that you’re touching his hand—Yuuta should be happy! Rika still cheers for you in his mind, but her voice is quieter now—but Yuuta can’t. He’s focused on everything else, spiraling about the implications of your words. You’re leaving... going away from him when things are going so well.

Yuuta was so happy when you taught him the reversed curse technique, even happier when he realized he did have the ability to heal others, knowing it also meant having the ability to help you relieve some of your burdens. That didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to give himself to you, he would if you’d have him—but now he wouldn’t have the chance.

“I haven’t told anyone else yet—Gojo only told me this morning,” you mumble, “I’m going to miss you all a lot, but we can still text every day! I don’t know how long the time difference will be, but we can FaceTime.”

It’s not lost on Yuuta that he is the first person that you’ve told about this. It’s another thing to be happy about, another little victory he never thought he’d achieve, but it’s still overpowered by the dread of you leaving him.

He blinks, placing his other hand atop yours, sandwiching them between his, “How long?” Yuuta can’t read the expression on your face, but you don’t pull your hand away. He’s glad. He didn’t think when he’d done it, but the lack of rejection feels good—your touch always feels good, reverse cursed energy or not.

“I’m… not sure—a few months at least, maybe until the end of the year,” you admit, squeezing his hand, “There are some cursed objects and scrolls they want me to help recover, and Gojo says I get to work with another Special Grade sorcerer, too.”

His hands feel so good, so warm, but everything else about Yuuta feels cold, icy with dread and fear. You’re going away for a long time, and he won’t get to see you or hear you laugh or feel your warmth while you’re gone. His sunny days are going away, and Yuuta honestly doesn’t know how many more overcast skies and rain clouds he can take.

And it’s selfish, he knows. He should be happy for you—you were chosen for this mission, for this training; you’re getting the chance to use your skills to help others, and train even further. So, why couldn’t he be happy for you? Why could he only feel a pit in his stomach about the thought of you leaving and meeting some other Special Grade who’s rightfully deserving of their title? Not only had he lost the thing that brought him to you in the first place, but you’re about to find another replacement. Sure, with or without Rika’s curse, Yuuta had become so much stronger, but what’s it worth if he couldn’t keep you by his side?

“Tsukumo is supposed to be really cool, but you’ll always be my favorite Special Grade, Yuuta,” you taunt with a smile.

Yuuta’s eyes go wide and watery with wobbly lips and flushed cheeked and sweaty palms to match. Favorite. Favorite, favorite, favorite. The word spoken in your voice rings in his head like a beautiful chime, the tones washing over him and erasing all his fear and doubt and insecurity.

You had called Yuuta your favorite. Sure, he’s still upset when he and the other first-years drop you off at the airport too weeks later, he still cries the first night you’re gone, still nearly breaks his knee trying to jump for his phone the first time that you call; but it’s okay because Yuuta is living off of the temporary high of being your favorite.

And also, because, in the end, your separation seems to have been inevitable. Not a month after everyone bids you farewell from Jujutsu Tech, Gojo tells him that he’s next on the docket to be sent abroad. He’s happy for a split second, thinking that he might get sent off to Europe where you’re still working with Tsukumo, but then Yuuta learns his true fate: studying under the tutelage of Miguel in Kenya; equal parts away from his classmates in Tokyo, and from you in Barcelona.

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was a liar and a bitch, because the favorite boy honeymoon comes to an end when Yuuta settles into his new room and makes his first call to you from Nairobi. The feeling and reality of being alone, and even further away from you finally hits him. Still, he relishes in the sound of your voice; fantasizes that when you reach for your phone to show him your new things, it’s you reaching for his hand; dreams of you laying next to him when you fall asleep on the call, and desperately wishes that he could touch you, hold you, kiss you.

He really wants to kiss you. He thinks he’s probably always wanted to kiss you, from the very moment his feelings for you started to grow; even if he couldn’t discern them at first, he knows now—Yuuta knows that he misses you like he’s never missed anyone before. The grief of losing part of Rika, and then losing his proximity to you merely weeks apart is finally catching up to him, and it’s morphing into a yearning that tugs on his heartstrings and rattles his brain.

He knows that the rate of growth of his feelings for you hasn’t been steady, but he blames you for that. You’re the reason he loves you so much, the reason he can’t sleep at night, the reason he learns how to bring Rika back—because he thinks of you, you, you, and how he lost Rika once, and he’d be a fool to lose you twice.

Yuuta thinks it’s no coincidence that your cursed technique has the ability to alter him in mind and body. You have so much ownership over him and you probably don’t even know that Yuuta has spent every single moment of his life living and breathing for you since you’ve met.

And you take his breath away yet again, when he gets to see you in Germany. Miguel is taking him to Switzerland on a classified mission, and you and Tsukumo are on your way to Austria, and by some great miracle, your layovers align. When he sees you waving to him down the long corridor in the airport, it feels like a scene straight out of his dreams. Yuuta spares no time trying to look cool or nonchalant; making a beeline to you, desperate to feel your touch after so long.

He’s breathless in those ten minutes that you’re reunited. Everything is too short, but he does his best to live in it all. He speaks a mile a minute, cramming in anything he hadn’t already revealed to you in your many late-night FaceTimes, and swallowing everything you tell him. He wants to believe that he’d made the best of what little time he had with you, but the truth is he didn’t. Because while you were smiling and hugging and telling him that you missed him, all Yuuta really wanted to do was kiss you—and if he were a smarter man, a better man, he would have.

He thinks, for a split second, that you might have wanted to kiss him too—when you rock back on your heels after saying good-bye, hesitating for just a moment, almost expectantly, before your eyes flutter away. He’ll never know, because he never asked, he never tried, he never said—only whispered, pathetically, to himself as he watches the silhouette of you and Tsukomo before you disappear for boarding, that he loves you.

He almost believes that you hear it when you turn over your shoulder after his quiet confession. Would it have been better that way—if he kissed you, or confessed in the heat of the moment—or would it be taking advantage of an otherwise beautiful moment? Yuuta will never know, and the what if tantalizes him.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens the thread of your messages. He starts typing, then stops. Backspace. Start typing. Pause. Read, re-read. Delete. Groan.

What’s the point? He can’t kiss you through the screen, and he’ll be damned if the first time he tells you that he’s in love with you is via phone call. He slumps his shoulders, and Miguel gives him a pity pat on the back. Yuuta goes to lock his phone when he sees the gray thought bubbles pop up below your last message and his entire body goes rigid in anticipation.

[received] 03:27 PM — [attachment: 1 image] — you should keep a closer eye on your things yuuta — i miss you already (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

Yuuta’s heart stops when he sees the picture of you in your seat, wearing his white uniform jacket. He doesn’t know when you snuck it away from him, but that doesn’t matter—like anything else, he would have willingly given it to you, and then some. It looks much better on you anyway, and Yuuta pinches his eyes shut for a brief moment, to swallow down the thoughts threatening to swarm his mind of you in his arms, in other clothes, in his bed.

He opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets the warm, gooey feeling settle into his veins, and moves his fingers to type.

[sent] 03:38 PM — keep it, you can have anything of mine you want — i miss you more (๑′ ᴗ ‵๑)♥

You heart his messages and let him know you’re taking off soon, and putting your phone on airplane mode until you land. He’s not so confident to send a picture in return, unless you ask for it. Maybe you will, when you’re in Austria. He’ll have to work on his selfies.

He takes another once over the picture you sent, committing the idea of you in his clothes to memory. He knows the messages won’t delete themselves, but he takes a screenshot for safekeeping anyway. Maybe phones aren’t so bad, afterall.

#4 — Do not kill Itadori Yuuji. Under any circumstances. Even if some days you really feel like it. Also, sign up for a Crunchyroll subscription.

Yuuta can confidently say that his training abroad was both the most difficult and fulfilling thing he’s ever experienced. He believes that the change he’s endured is mostly good—he’s physically stronger, emotionally wiser, and overall more confident in himself and his cursed technique. One year ago, he would have been content with dying, but now he has more than enough reasons to keep living. He has people who care about him, and who would miss him if he were gone; and he’s got someone he would miss a whole bunch, too, should anything happen to them.

By miss Yuuta means that he might burn down a small town, might level a city, might flip the entire world on its axis if something were to happen to you. In his defense, he’d go to extremes for most of his friends—but for you, there’s truly nothing he wouldn’t risk.

He figured that out in his time abroad, too; came to terms with the fact that he’s selfish with his love. He loves too much, too hard, too close, and he isn’t very willing to share. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, anymore, either—Yuuta knows now that the way he loves makes him who he is, and right now, he has the confidence to say that he likes that person, and that he loves you, undoubtedly.

So, forgive him if there’s a cloud of negative energy the size of a coach bus looming over him at the moment, because since you’ve returned to campus, Itadori Yuuji has been slobbering over you like a lovesick puppy.

Because apparently, you happen to know Itadori Yuuji—as in, since you were four and he was three, all the way up until your senior year of highschool, when you were scouted by Gojo, who, believes that you coming home from your study abroad trip would be the perfect time to reunite two best friends who hadn’t seen or heard from each other for the better part of two years—all while keeping this little reunion a secret from everybody, including you and Itadori.

A surprise, it certainly is, when the first time that Yuuta and the other second-years see you in months is on the dingy couch in the common room, under a cuddle pile of the first-years. Nobara’s arms wrapped around your left arm, body slumped against your side, Megumi’s long limbs stretching over Itadori’s torso, leaving the palm of his hand resting on your thigh. Far too close for Yuuta’s comfort. The only saving grace is that the jacket he loaned you is also spread across your lap, offering another layer between your body and his palm. And then there’s Itadori Yuuji, squished right between you and Megumi, with his head on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, and your free arm slung around his neck.

Yuuta should have been relishing in the fact that you were finally home, but all his focus is drawn to the way your position allows Itadori to cuddle right into you, to the way your arm is around his shoulder and your cheek pressed against the top of his head. You two might as well have been in your own little world, and Yuuta hates it. And, as if that’s not enough, the realization that he was not the first person to hug you or welcome you home clicks, and his anger bubbles deeper.

Next comes dread, that creeps in slowly when you and the first-years wake up, and you and Itadori go on and on and on about how surprised you were to see each other at the airport, how Itadori just assumed that when Gojo said he’d assigned them to “pick up something super special,” that he was messing with them, how you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of your precious, precious kouhai that you’d missed so dearly.

Childhood best friends brought back together through sorcery. Yuuta’s seen that one before, and he didn’t like the ending.

You and Itadori mend the gap in your friendship like two years of no contact was nothing, falling into a pattern that’s so easy and familiar, that it’s painful for Yuuta to watch. The assumption that you’d died, and the knowledge that Yuuji had actually died only served to strengthen your vows to protect each other in the name of your friendship from here on out.

Yuuta considers putting his own sword through his chest if it means you’ll swear your devotion to him. If he died, would you cry for him? Would you pray over his grave and beg for him to come back to you?—or would you find comfort in those who kept living, find solace in a friend who came back for you and can still hold you in his arms?

“Tsuna tsuna,” he hears from his left, followed by a mischievous giggle. Toge’s taunting is hardly enough to pull Yuuta out of his cloud of rage, but the blunt end of Maki’s staff is.

“Will you stop pining so damn hard?” she sneers, whipping the staff back to her side and placing a hand on her hip, “Not only is it pathetic, it’s gonna attract curses like flies to honey.”

“Why am I the only one getting hit?” He turns to his right to motion to Megumi, who seems to be brooding just as hard. Megumi respects you, but it was easy to see that he was reaching his limit on sharing his recently revived lover with someone else. Maki huffs, “Because he doesn’t have a literal cloud of darkness looming around him.”

Yuuta sighs, doing his best to reign in his feelings, but it’s pointless once he hears your laughter across the field—light and airy and sunshiney and all because of Itadori Yuuji.

What were you two talking about? If Itadori were out of the way, would you pledge yourself to Yuuta? Did he ever hold a space comparable to Itadori in your heart—would you let him?

A broken chord strikes Yuuta’s heart when he realizes that Itadori is the person you told him about last year; the person you missed so much, and you never thought you’d be able to see again; the person that Yuuta reminded you of; the person he was happy and eager to be for you. And now, in knowing Itadori, Yuuta thinks that his willingness was beautifully naive—to think that he could compare to someone like this. Itadori is light, where Yuuta is dark; he sees the best in people, where Yuuta manages to come off on the wrong foot always; he perseveres in faith and determination, where Yuuta is fueled by an anxious desire to prove, prove, prove himself to be worth something to anybody.

He can see how easy it is to love Itadori. It’s easy to cling to faith, to believe in something higher than yourself, to know that someone above can pull you up. Yuuta cannot compete where he cannot compare; he’s a shadow that engulfs you, takes you away from light, a dream that’s hard to wake up from. He could never be bright to you; his best attempt would probably drive you and him too close to the sun, martyred for love in burning flames.

Still, even in all his jealousy, Yuuta comes to the even more sobering realization that making Itadori disappear wouldn’t fix his problems. You told him he wasn’t Itadori’s replacement, but maybe that’s because he could never be him; maybe he doesn’t have to be. Yuuji could never be him, and he could never be Yuuji, but whether Yuuta likes it or not, he and Itadori are two sides of the same coin; and as such, Yuuta has, begrudgingly, grown to feel the same sense of responsibility over the younger boy that you do.

So, even though he never expected that they would both be at the mercy of your hand at the same time in this lifetime, he absolutely cannot kill Itadori Yuuji. Not only would it make you sad, but it would probably make Yuuta even sadder in the end, somehow. What a bother.

He’s about to get up—to leave, maybe go over there, he doesn’t know yet—but he stops when he hears a calm buzzing by his ear. Yuuta blinks, slowly, shoulders relaxing unconsciously, allowing the larger than normal honey-bee to land on him. He recognizes it as one of your shikigami—and even if he hadn’t, that familiar, cooling sensation that washes over him would have let him know—so, gently, he lifts a hand across his torso, allowing it to crawl onto his finger, and strum its tune.

Yuuta can feel a few more, hear them humming around him, and he closes his eyes, lets the small group of bees flutter around him and all that looming jealousy dissipates from his body.

Faintly, past the calm hum of the small swarm, Yuuta can hear the call of Yuuji’s voice, petulant, “Aw, no fair. Fushiguro, I want calming shikigami, too! Can you bring out the bunnies? Please.”

Beside him, Toge and Maki seem bemused by his newly calmed state, then amused when Megumi sighs, stands, and reluctantly pulls his hands together before a couple dozen white rabbits flood the field and hop onto Yuuji.

The buzzing grows softer, and then quiet. Briefly, Yuuta feels a bee land on his cheek, before it flies away, leaving the smell of fresh pollen in his wake, and when he blinks his eyes open again, you’re there, in front of him with a smile sweeter than anything he’s ever known.

“Hope they didn’t scare you,” you muse, waving a finger before the last bee hovering around you disappears, “You seemed upset, everything alright?”

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when he’s cut off by Itadori Yuuji once again, with one bunny on either shoulder, and three more cradled in his arms. “Hey, doesn’t (_____) totally remind you guys of Sakura!” 

Maki scoffs, albeit with amusement, as she points her staff at Yuuji’s hair. “If anyone bears resemblance to Sakura, it’s you, Itadori.” 

Yuuji actually makes an attempt to look at his own hair before chuckling. Yuuta flashes a look to Megumi, who looks equal parts exasperated and enchanted. Yuuta doesn’t get the reference, and when Inumaki starts making gestures about how Yuuji is like some Naruto guy and Yuuji screams about how Megumi resembles a Shikamaru, he becomes too afraid to ask. 

You seemed charmed at the end of the discussion, when everybody fundamentally agrees that you’re the Sakura of the group. Yuuta is far less charmed by these comparisons (and it has nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t get one). He doubts that this Sakura person can do what you can do, doubts that Sakura is even worthy enough to be compared to you, whoever she may be. 

And maybe Yuuta goes back to his room to watch several compilation videos about ships in Naruto later that day, but nobody has to know that. From what he’s gathered, Sakura is pretty cool, and even though Yuuji bears the most physical resemblance to her, he can see why everyone agrees that your healing abilities compare well to hers. Yuuta thinks you’re better, and he’s still holding out hope that there’s some other character equivalent for you that Itadori didn’t think of, that Yuuta can, just to prove that he knows you better. He doesn’t fight any comparisons between Gojo and Kakashi, though. That one honestly freaked him out a little.

If it turns out that you’re Sakura, then he should hope to be Sasuke, but Yuuta thinks this dude is kind of a dick. From the 47 minutes of scattered Naruto content that he’s consumed, he actually much prefers the dynamic between Sakura and Naruto, even if that does equate to Itadori Yuuji having a crush on you, at least you’re out of his league and chasing after somebody else.

Still, he thinks Sakura would be upset if Naruto actually died, or worse, if Sasuke actually killed him—never mind the fact that apparently he tried to kill her? Yuuta would never do that, but Sakura still seems to like Sasuke after all of that... in any case, Itadori Yuuji must live, and Yuuta must accept his fate as Sasuke reborn.

Though, to Yuuta’s understanding so far, Sasuke and Naruto are destined to duke it out and if only one of them has to survive, then maybe it’s not so bad to be this guy. Yuuta doesn’t know how it ends between them, but he thinks he could take on Itadori Yuuji if he had to. He won’t because he’s your friend, and Yuuta’s friend now, too, but if Itadori or the curse inside of him acts up, then Yuuta can at least rest assured he can put a stop to it. That’s not something he could have guaranteed a year ago, but now, he can.

Yuuta sighs, finally locking his phone and shoving his head under his blanket. He’s been knee deep in analyses about Sakura ships for the past two and a half hours now, and he’ll admit Sasuke is growing on him, but not much. His only saving grace seems to be that Sakura is madly, unconditionally in love with him; Yuuta wouldn’t mind having that kind of devotion from you. He turns to lay on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling and wonders: if it came down to saving only one of them, would Sakura pick Naruto or Sasuke... would you choose the boy who’s loved and looked up to you since you were kids, or the boy who sacrificed everything in hopes of gaining enough strength so that what happened to him never happens to anyone else.

Maybe they answer that in the series, Yuuta reasons. 720 episodes, at 20 minutes per episode... if he devotes about half-a-day to watching Naruto, then he can breeze through it in a little over two weeks, maybe sooner if he uses his weekends efficiently. That’s plausible, and by the end of it, Yuuta is certain that he’ll have the answers he needs—and even if it doesn’t, then at least, he’ll have one more thing to talk to you about.

In the end, Sakura picks Sasuke, Naruto marries somebody else, and Yuuta understands that the two were never opposites, but complements, and that Itadori Yuuji-shaped pit in his stomach dissipates. Still, about three weeks later at breakfast he makes the argument that if anything you’re more akin to Tsunade, minus the gambling addiction, and that gets him rave reactions from everyone, including you, who is more than happy to show him your new slug shikigami as a means of commemorating your new Naruto kin.

Believe that, Itadori.

#5 — None of this matters if you don’t kiss her. You have to kiss the girl—or she’ll get mad enough to the point where she’ll kiss you.

The following month comes your indictment into the Semi-Special Grade hall of responsibility. Yuuta vaguely recalls Gojo’s lecture on how people don’t really get promoted to Special Grade—it’s classification you’re born or cursed with, like himself, or Yuuji, or Tsukumo—but, you, of course, defy all odds and expand everything Yuuta knows. Nobody is surprised—Yuuta thinks everyone was among the similar thought that you were undoubtedly unique amongst your classmates, in a way that was different from him or Yuuji. Being born with a body that generates reversed cursed energy instead of cursed energy is deserving of Special Grade status if you asked him; he doesn’t know what pushed the higher-ups into finally acknowledging your skill, but he knows it’s well-past due. And while he’s happy you’re getting recognition for your efforts, Yuuta would never wish to saddle you with half of the shit the higher-ups put him through.

They better hope that Yuuta doesn’t find out that they’re plotting anything with you, lest they meet the end of his sword.

Part of your promotion entails a dual-degree program that will have you starting medical school next fall. Yuuta almost cries at the thought of you being sent away again, until you tell him that Gojo managed to pull a few strings this time—to fund everything and keep you in Tokyo.

And even though you’re not licensed to treat civilians yet, you’re already more than experienced with taking care of and healing your fellow sorcerers, which lends Shoko’s promotional gift to be a shiny new office, right across from hers. Yuuta is the first person you invite inside, and he brings you a photo of you, him, Maki, and Toge from last year—honestly, probably the only photo the four of you have together—to christen your desk, and a plaque with your name on it for the door, that he may or may not have fantasized about it reading with your first name and his last name on it instead.

To no surprise, your office becomes a safe haven of sorts. Yuuta would define any time or place with you as a safe haven, but there’s something special about this place. Maybe Yuuta is still leaping from this being the second time you’ve chosen him. He’s the first person to see your office, the first person to sit at your chair, your first official patient when he stubs his toe against the corner of your desk (where he left the first decorative object). Maybe it’s a little far to say that this place has him all over it as much as it does you, but Yuuta likes the sound of that.

When he comes back from gruesome missions, he’s invited to let himself in, no matter how much blood he’s covered in, and you’ll be there to take care of him. It’s not different than before—not different than even last year when he’d waddled in your shadow to the room across the hall and sat down with heart palpitations while you fixed his wrist—but something about this feels special. It holds a different weight than hanging out in your dorm or cooking together in the kitchen; this office is yours, the things you say and do to him here are confidential, the yearning for and almost-kisses you almost have are for you and him alone; within these four walls, you’re free to curse him completely.

So, he’s understandably upset when your office becomes a cozy corner for the other students as well. Maki likes to take refuge inside to study alone, Panda and Toge have been caught on more than one occasion attempting to wrap gauze around each other like zombies, Megumi uses your supplies and basic first-aid lessons to prepare small kits for him and the other first-years, hell, even Gojo has been found asleep in your office on more than one occasion. He gets why people are drawn to you like a magnet, why you’re comforting, and welcoming, and a source of warmth for them, but that doesn’t mean that Yuuta likes to share you. It’s much harder to almost-kiss you this way.

He must have pouted loud enough about it, because shortly after, instead of inviting Yuuta to your office for lunch, you ask him to meet you on the field. Not one to question you, he obeys, and soon, instead he’s met with an entirely new safe haven, sitting criss-cross inside your domain with all your shikigami slithering and fluttering and buzzing about him. A butterfly lands on his nose, and Yuuta’s nose crinkles. You lean in to let it crawl on your finger instead, and don’t lean too far back when you slowly begin to explain to him the intricacies of your domain and how it all comes together.

It’s amazing, surely. Yuuta listens as best he can, but it’s hard when there’s a halo of butterflies around you, and a symphony of bees buzzing in his ear, and a slug kissing at his hand, and a snake coiling around his body and gently massaging his muscles, and your voice sound so soft and warm, and you look so pretty and, and, and he wants to kiss you again.

He wants to kiss you really badly. He wonders if that’s part of your domain—honestly, he’d wondered if that magnetic, honey-like attraction he has to you is in any part influenced by your healing nature—wonders if the confines of your space exacerbates the flow of blood to his heart and his cheeks and his—

“Are you listening?” you question, that glowing, addictive smile on your face, “You know I can make the snake bite, the bees sting.”

God, Yuuta wants to kiss you. He wants to live in the spring garden of your love forever, and ever, and roll around in the grass and drink honey with you, and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. You could keep him here forever, he’d be perfectly content with living his days wrapped up in your curse.

Yuuta shakes his head to snap out of his daydream, disrupting a few butterflies in the process. “I—sorry,” he apologies, “I’m listening now.”

You hum, folding your legs underneath your knees and sitting before him. Yuuta’s certain he looks slightly ridiculous, covered head to toe in animals and small insects and burning underneath your gaze—wasn’t this domain supposed to help people feel better? Is there no cure for lovesickness that you can use on him—or, at the very least, embarrassment?

“I asked you why you won’t kiss me.”

Yuuta knows that if he weren’t in your domain right now, he would have fallen to a sudden death. “I—I, um,” words, Yuuta, words; a bee lands on his cheek, he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

That doesn’t seem like the right answer, judging by the twist of your lips. Of course it’s not—because it’s a lie, and you know it, and you know he knows that you know it. How could he be sorry for wanting you, for spending every last waking moment breathing for you, hoping that you’ll end his laborious breaths and pour air into him yourself?

“You know, I brought you in here to make sure that you wouldn’t run or pass out on me,” you confess, reaching out your hand towards him; the tip of your finger barely grazes his cheek as you allow the bee to crawl onto you, “I worry about your heart more than I should.”

You flick your finger gently, allowing the bee to flutter freely and your eyes to focus back on Yuuta’s, “Right now, in this domain, it’s mine to control. To stop, to beat.” It’s yours outside of here, too; to fix, to break. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. “Why won’t you let me have it, Yuuta?”

Yuuta gasps, and despite his surprise, despite his extreme lovesickness, despite his dark desires, his heartbeat remains steady, his body remains perfectly tempered and cool, his voice resonates clearly—all because of you.

“You’ve always had it,” he confesses, “Always. From the moment I met you.”

He can’t read your expression. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the power struggle here; domain aside, you can hear everything about him, sense the slightest physiological change in him, alter any one of his bodily functions at your whim and Yuuta doesn’t know what goes on in you. Would it be wrong to confess that he likes it; that this feels like you having him, that he likes knowing you can take him?

“I thought so, maybe,” you enlighten him, “Last year with all the calls and texts,” you lean over and set free a butterfly from his shoulder, “And then in the airport,” then guiding the snake to coil around your arm and around your torso, “And then I thought maybe you’d have said something when you were jealous of Yuuji,” this time your hand touches him, a feather-light touch to his elbow, “But you didn’t, and I was beginning to wonder if I was hearing your heart beat for someone else, instead.”

Yuuta grabs at your hand erratically, “No—no. Never.”

He’s senselessly in love with you, and if it weren’t for your healing hands, Yuuta’s certain his ribs would have cracked from the pressure of his happy heart by now; but then again, maybe he should ask you to let it break—let that fracture serve as an entry point for you and yours, to prove to you that it beats for you and you alone.

“So then what is with you? You have a habit of giving girls your heart and not kissing them, or asking them out—is it always straight to marriage with you?”

It’s torture hearing that word fall from your lips. He doesn’t have time to even begin to process it. Yuuta’s eyes flicker to the smile on your lips, the slight tilt of your head. He says something he shouldn’t, “Would you be opposed to that?”

“I’d like a kiss first,” you tease, “Would you give me one?”

And how could he ever deny you anything. There, with a harmony of beautiful insects and warm sunlight, Yuuta finally, finally, takes the last move forward to kiss you. It’s everything he wants and exactly as he’d imagined—he can feel the rush in his bones, the want in his stomach, the love against his skin when you fall into him.

It’s one kiss, and another, and then Yuuta can feel your tongue against his, greedily falling into the rush of you. He’s everywhere, hands on your neck, lips on yours, body stradling yours when he carefully leans you backwards; Yuuta has you, and you have him, and he won’t let this moment go to waste. He pulls away for a moment, only a moment, to take in your kiss-swollen lips and commit this vision to memory. He’ll have to take another visual photograph outside of your domain, when your bodies are free to breathe erratically and equilibrium is broken so you and truly, truly, feel all of Yuuta’s love in earnest.

He wonders if it’s the effect of your domain that prevents his nerves from running haywire when you take off his shirt, when you let him take off your pants, when you have your hands on his chest and his on your hips. It must be. Yuuta knows for certain that otherwise, he’d be a blushing mess of fumbling limbs and stuttering words.

Still, Yuuta thinks, domain or no domain, he wouldn’t let this moment pass him. It’s not nerves when his hand brushes over your clothed clit and he hears you moan—even if it had been, that would have been the antidote to his poison. Lust, pressure, possession wash over him in excruciating waves. He wants more. He wants you.

Impatience when he adds pressure with his hand, bliss when you buck your hips to add more of your own, greedily grinding against his fingers. Yuuta kisses you again, swallows your moans and feeds you his own when slips his hand past the barrier of your underwear, and he feels your warm, wet cunt against his fingertips for the first time, and when he pushes two fingers into your heat, he thinks he could cum right then and there, from this alone.

“Yu—Yuuta, more,” you plead. Your hand on his neck, fingernails scraping into his skin that should leave a mark. They probably won’t. He’ll be sure that next time they stick.

And Yuuta, unable to deny you anything, obeys. He curls his fingers inside of you, thrusting gently at first, and then with more confidence—and warning, when he hears you snarl about not teasing. Ironic, he thinks, as he watches your lips fall open, since you’ve had him strung along since day one.

“I wanna—wanna cum with you inside,” you moan, a sound that Yuuta promises to commit to memory. Later, when his brain is working better, and the coil in his stomach isn’t so tight, and you’re not clenching around his fingers.

You’re greedy, and Yuuta’s never realized it. You suck him in and still want more, and you must know that he’ll give it to you. It should serve as a warning, you have the high-ground to take him any which way you want—for a fool, for granted, for yourself, for nobody else; so what does it say about him that it only spurs his arousal, that it makes him impossibly hard and he can feel himself leaking from the thought of it.

“I want that, too,” he reassures you, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, because you’re perfect for him, “But I want this first. Give me this first, please. Please.”

He thinks you might cry. The rational part of him knows you can regulate it, that you probably won’t; the sick part of him wants to see it, wants to know what it takes to make you lose control.

You call his name like a prayer, once, twice, and on the third time, Yuuta can feel it as much as he can hear it. He can feel the moment that your walls clench, and your eyes screw shut, and your body convulses around him. You’re beautiful, irreverent, and Yuuta thinks that being responsible for this is the greatest achievement of his life.

He wears your orgasm with pride, raking over you as you blink your eyes open to him again. You’re lucid too quickly, he really is going to have to take the time to enjoy this somewhere less controlled later, eagerly wrapping your hand around his wrist and forcing them to his mouth. Yuuta groans when he tastes you on his tongue, nothing short of euphoric, and he’s sure to taste every last drop.

You smile, and then laugh—an almost inaudibly giggle that has Yuuta smiling back reflexively. Like always, he follows your every move and succumbs to all your whims when you lean up to kiss him, and then coax off his pants and underwear, and line the tip of his dick up with your slit and pull him in, again, by the neck to bite at his ear, “Come on, Yuuta. Give it to me.”

An order, a promise, a plea—Yuuta vows to fulfill them all, determined and spell-bound when he sinks into you. He can only imagine what it feels like for you, but for him it’s warm, wet, soft, snug, sticky—like honey, like a bee drawn to sweetness. It’s good, too good, Yuuta doesn’t know how to last when you feel this good.

He can feel you everywhere, around his dick, your hands on his back, your breath on his cheek, your skin against his. He feels stuck to you, stuck in you, mind, body, and soul as one, unable to differentiate him from you, from you, from you.

“Fuck,” Yuuta stares, carefully swiping a thumb over your browbone, conscious but not in command on how deep he’s thrusting into you, “You’re so—fuck, I love you.” He wants to hear you say it back, he needs to, he has to. He can feel it again, stomach in knots, and nerves on fire, and skin sticky, and Yuuta has to know—“Please, please. Do you love me, too?”

You stutter, only from the rock of his hips into yours, reaching for his face and cradling it between healing hands, “Of course I love you, Yuuta.” His mouth opens, wobbly, and tears flow over his eyes—briefly, Yuuta thinks that it’s cruel that you’d let him cry; that you have command over every function in his body and that you’d let him cry, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He’d probably have cried regardless, because hearing you say that you love him is a rush comparable only to burning tightness in his gut right now.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours when you finally let go together. Yuuta can feel you tight around him, when he cums; and an unfiltered harmony of moans and skin on skin when he lays on top of you, sinks into you. Your hands don’t leave his hair, and Yuuta finds bliss in your affection, in being in your arms, in being yours.

He doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, he doesn’t know if physical time passes in your domain, but it doesn’t matter. He’d stay here forever with you, let you use the full extent of your prowess to eat his heart out as sustenance, bleed for you to quench your thirst. He’d be everything you need and more; he’ll make sure that he’s all you want when it’s done and over.

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httpjungkookcom · 1 year ago

Text

CYBER BOY | JJK (m)

Pairing | Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 12K, not bad!

Genre | Android! Jungkook x Grad Student! Reader, Fluff, Smut

Summary | Jimin, as much as you love him, is a major pain in your ass. After dragging you to his store against your will (literally) you end up with; the newly manufactured, eerily human Jungkook android model. He's so human, you begin to have questions.

Index | A lot of fluff, reader is terrified, Jungkook is a sweetheart, Jungkook is absolutely whipped, Jungkook is good at anything and everything you could think of, including pleasing you ;), soft smut, Jungkook just wants you to feel good

A/N | You don't really need to know the lore of Detroit Become Human, it's just briefly mentioned in the story. Cyber Life is basically a manufacturer of robots/androids, that's really all the background you need for the story. Enjoy! <3

Jimin’s very busy today talking your ear off. Well, more than normal you should say. Two weeks ago he scored this huge paid internship with CyberLife, a company that currently holds a monopoly over all other tech companies with its superior android manufacturing, innovative technology, and competitive prices that “Are to sure surpass your expectations.” He was ecstatic, going on about how maybe they’ll gift him an android as an intern present (spoiler alert, they did not.) Regardless, they pay him very well for an internship and he loves their technology so he’s still happy. Now, it’s something about a new android he’s droning on about.

“No, I don’t think you understand Y/n.” Jimin clarifies, walking alongside you on the campus pathway. “One in the entire world, only one is being made.”

“I understand plenty, Jim.” You genuinely laugh, side-eyeing him as he questions your intelligence. “I think I understood the first time you said there’s only one, and the second time, and the third, and now the hundredth.”

“And you don’t even want to see him?! I don’t understand!!” Jimin almost yells, wide eyes as he turns to you to emphasize his point.

Ever since Jimin scored the internship, you constantly refuse to ever step foot in the company. Mostly because you know Jimin would try to market to you, and he’s got a reputation for never getting told no. That’s the excuse you always gave, telling him off every time he’d talk about the “low low price of 4,999 dollars!” Secondly, the androids freak you out a bit. They’re hyper-realistic, all the way down to every single man-made eyelash on their face. You’re sure if you look close enough, you could probably see fake pores.

However, you don’t hate artificial intelligence at all, nor are you a part of the momentum-gaining group of “androids are stealing our jobs, and ruining society!” You suppose for you, it’s just how realistic they look, act, speak, and walk. Everything about them is human-like. Maybe if they had a Siri-sounding voice, or walked stiff, maybe you’d get behind the idea of owning one.

“You would try and get me to buy it, why are you saying him? You never do that Jimin?” You ask, laughing softly. “What, you got a crush on him?” You raise your brows, elbowing him with your hands remaining in your pockets, cold air waiting for the opportunity to bite at your skin.

Jimin scoffs in defense, pretending you offended him as he shoves you away. “We were told to market it as him because he’s so realistic most people apparently won’t know the difference.”

“…And you want me to buy that thing!?! An android that is so human you can’t even tell?!” You ask, feet stopping in their tracks. “Jimin, you’re out of your mind.” You roll your eyes, beginning to turn around, and instead, make your way to your apartment complex.

“Nooo, at least walk me to the store like always. This isn’t fair!” Jimin complains like a child, stomping his feet softly in the thin layer of snow that’s beginning to form on the sidewalk. “I just wanted to tell you because I think it’s interesting, I promise I won’t market him to you.”

“You’re a liar.” You turn back, unable to fight back the smile as you walk up to him. “Fine, let’s get going before it starts snowing harder. I’d hate for you to be covered in it and you ruin all your bots with the liquid.” Sticking out your tongue, Jimin mimics you as he does it back.

“It wouldn’t ruin them, c'mon Y/n. They’re waterproof.”

“Jimin.”

“Right, sorry sorry.”

Jimin stops talking about androids for the rest of the walk, instead beginning his daily oversharing session, as he vents about this mystery boy “Taehyung” he’s been seeing. Jimin claims he’s always on campus, everywhere, but you have yet to see him. Secretly, you’re starting to believe Jimin is making parts of him up. He wraps up the rant as you approach the door, “Anyways, he seems genuinely sweet. I think I’ll give it a chance.”

“Yeah, I also think he seems nice. Maybe it’ll be worth it.” You shrug, beginning to pull your arm away from Jimin’s where they’re interlinked.

“Just like…you should give our androids a chance.” You're dragged into the store before you can even get another word in, Jimin locking down extra hard on your arm in case you fight it. As the doors close behind the both of you, you finally give in. “That big box over there, that’s our new one-of-a-kind boy.” Jimin beams, walking you over to it. There’s only the logo of cyber life on the front, no model codes, details, or specifications anywhere to be seen.

“So, what’s he look like?” You ask, finally able to pry your arm away from Jimin’s chokehold.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know??”

“Exactly what I mean, I don’t know.” Jimin spits jokingly, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “CyberLife is keeping all the details under wraps, I suppose whoever gets him is the first to find out. Personally, I think it’s to see if people recognize it as an android if the owner takes him out into public.” The information feels like whiplash, as does the mixing of it, him, and owner.

“That is the freakiest thing I’ve ever heard.” You laugh. “So, how much is he going for?” You shrug as Jimin smirks at you, eventually punching his arm.

“What, you want him?” He earns himself another punch. “He’s not.”

“Jimin, what the fuck? Is this an empty box???” You're now beginning to think Jimin is fucking with you. Maybe a prank to see how gullible you are to the information he tells you, never really questioning his nerdy rants. “No characteristics, no price, let me guess, no name next huh?”

“Ding ding ding.” Jimin chuckles. “The model doesn’t have a name. He introduces himself to his owner one-on-one.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Wait wait wait, don’t you want to know how you can get him if he’s not for sale?” He coaxes you back to the box laughing the entire time as he speaks. Once again grabbing you so you don’t have a chance to run away, you’re left trapped. If the androids surrounding you in the store are already this realistic, you’re a bit afraid to see what’s in the box honestly. “Aren’t you at least a bit curious, an android not up for sale hm?”

“With the information you just gave me, it’s an empty box up for sale,” You complain, ready to go home and cozy up on the couch with this weather. It’s cold, wet, and you’re already slipping into your winter break laziness.

“It's a raffle.”

“Oh great.”

“I’ll enter you into it.” Jimin beams, running over to a computer behind the cashier counter. You groan loudly, beginning to follow him to stop his antics. “Uhm ma’am, employees only beyond this point.” Jimin changes his tone to his customer service voice, holding a hand in front of your face. “I’ll be with you in one moment.”

“Jimin, this isn’t funny. I’m going to kick your ass,” You complain, glancing over your shoulder to the large box behind you as if he’d pop out at any moment. “I don’t even want the opportunity to own him, people would probably kill others over him.”

“One moment, please ma’am,” He speaks, breaking up into laughter throughout his sentence. You’re helpless as you stand at the counter, watching in disbelief as he types in all of your information faster than the speed of light.

“I wish we never sat next to each other in Introduction to Computer Science.” You laugh, watching him click submit before making his way back to where you stand by the box.

“Raffle results come out tomorrow. That’s why I had to drag you here.” Jimin beams, “If you don’t want him, you can always give him to me.”

Faking a gag, you begin your way out of the store. “I'm going home, Jimin. I'm gonna be spending my winter break alone, android-less, binge-watching movies, so feel free to stop by.” You smile, waving to him from the door. Jimin inserts some snarky remark that you don’t really catch, rolling your eyes at him through the window regardless.

Doing exactly as you promised yourself, you all but melt into the soft bed you’ve been in a long-distance relationship with the entire semester. Now, you’re able to catch up with spring classes being an entire month away. You spend the rest of your afternoon double-checking that all of your assignments are in before allowing yourself to sleep. The next day, you begin your marathons, finally catching up on all the shows you said you’d watch. With a content sigh, you begin your second binge-watching marathon of the break. It’s cut short just one episode in, a small knock catching your attention. Following it, it’s your front door.

“Hi, Jimin, do you wanna-“ It’s not Jimin standing on the other side of the door, not at all. There are two tall men, with a big box placed in the middle of either one of them. “Oh, sorry. I was expecting someone else. How can I help you guys?”

“Is this the residence of Y/n L/n?” One asks, making your throat run dry as you glance at the box behind them. “If you could just sign off on your delivery, free of charge provided by the company.” Glancing down at the paper presented, CyberLife. Shaky hands sign a sloppy signature, the movers quickly move in and place the box in the middle of the walkway before rushing off. Closing the door behind you, you’re at a loss.

Wouldn’t they call you if you won? Or an email? Or mail? Who in their right mind just comes and delivers such an expensive and precious item without some sort of confirmation beforehand??? Your normally cozy and comfortable apartment suddenly feels too small with the box in it, another human-like thing occupying the space.

“Jimin?!” This has to be a prank, Jimin has to be laughing his ass off in this stupid box. With caution, you press an ear against the metal and try to hear laughing, snorting, breathing, anything. The box is white and blue, only confirming the high possibility of an android being inside. “Jimin, if you're in this box, I’m going to kill you for real this time.” You give a fair warning, pressing and pulling hard on the side handle. It opens smoothly, the door not even creaking once as you pull it open.

You jump hard as you peek into it, not Jimin. Definitely not Jimin. Hiding behind the door, you peek once more into the inside to take in the sight. He’s…pretty? Somehow his android skin is activated without even being turned on yet, hair styled with his bangs pushed back from his forehead. His nose is slightly large, but it fits his face perfectly. There’s a small mole underneath his lower lip that you think is an interesting addition to an android model.

With a hard beating heart that feels as though it’ll burst through your rib cage, you abandon your protection. There’s an owner's manual placed neatly in front of his body that you pick up with shaky hands. Activate your android by pressing on its led sensor for 10 seconds. It’s the longest 10 seconds of your life, heart hammering against your bones.

His eyes slowly peel open, blinking a couple of times as he takes in his surroundings. Human, scarily human. He’s careful of your reaction as he steps out of his box to not scare you too badly, pushing the door closed behind him to create more room in the small apartment. “Hello, I’m Jungkook.”

There it is.

You don’t answer, prompting him to continue introducing himself. “I’m a one-of-a-kind android that was beneficial for promotional purposes, but mainly I'm built to be the best companion possible for my owner. I possess old and new features that are designed to make the everyday life of my companion significantly better.”

“Jungkook?” You mumble, his name feels way too human. “What’s your full name?”

“Jeon Jungkook, from Busan, South Korea.” You could throw up everywhere, the realistic bot smiling softly as he stands in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah sorry. I’m Y/n. …you are an android, right? Do you mind if I, uh?” You gesture to his chest. Your brain is struggling to believe he’s an android and not some sort of joke sent to you. Jungkook happily obliges, removing his synthetic skin and popping open his chest panel. Stepping a bit closer, you can definitely confirm that they are CyberLife organs and blue blood. “Okay, sorry I’m just having trouble adjusting, that’s all,” You mumble, closing his panel for him.

“There is usually an adjustment period for new owners. Have you had another android in the past?” Jungkook asks, glancing around your apartment for any sign of one. He takes a couple of steps away from the box, feet making no noise despite being a giant piece of what is essentially machinery. Freaky.

“Oh, no no. It’s not that I’ve been against it, I just haven’t had the money or need for one I suppose.” You explain, feeling like you owe him an explanation as to why you don’t have an earlier model. “I’m a grad student, you see?”

Jungkook nods softly, gesturing to the couch for you to sit down. You follow, a bit confused as to what this could possibly be about. It feels as though he’s about to break up with you, making you laugh softly to yourself as you sit on the opposite side of the couch. “I’m not sure what needs you have, but just let me know and I will do my best to fulfill them. This can range from construction, gardening, cooking, cleaning, companionship, intimacy, etc.”

“Intimacy, what does that even mean in terms of an android?”

“Some androids are designed to carry out human wants and desires for sexual intercourse-”

“Okay, okay, sorry I asked.” You cut Jungkook off before he can give you the long, likely in-depth explanation of their usage. “So, what do you want to do around here? I mean it’s just me, so it’ll probably get pretty lonely unless you come to my classes with me.” You chuckle. “I mean, it’s not very big but it’s comfortable, feel free to help yourself to whatever you’d like.”

“I want to do what you want me to do, Y/n,” Jungkook answers, speaking like a true CyberLife android, a computer.

“God, it’s so weird.” You complain. “You look so human but act like you’re an android, so it’s just throwing me off.” You smile softly, watching as he smiles back. His smile is pretty, perfectly aligned teeth on full display. When he smiles hard, small wrinkles form in the corners of his eyes which you find oddly endearing. “Your LED also is barely noticeable, just all of it together tricks my mind into thinking you’re a human.”

“That’s how I was engineered, with that in mind.” He smiles, “I don’t think I’ll be mass-marketed due to how human my design is, it would likely cause unrest within society.” You nod along to that, it most definitely would only make the anti-android movement worse. “If you’d like, I can adjust my LED to be more of the stereotypical android look.”

“No, no that’s okay. I like you however you present yourself. But, can you change your hairstyle? It’s just a bit too CyberLife, fresh out of the package if you want to go out in public later on.” You shrug, once again feeling the need to explain to him. He does, switching through various hairstyles before deciding on one. It’s slightly longer, with soft waves making it look fluffier than before. It’s still just as dark, but it suits him.

“I can also simulate body modifications such as piercings, tattoos, scarification, split tongue, stretched lobes, whatever you would wish for me to look like,” Jungkook informs, once again sounding fresh out of the box.

“You do whichever ones you’d like, Jungkook. It’s your body, fake or not.” You smile, watching as he shuffles through the catalog of options in his head. A giant smile overtakes his face as he comes out with two face piercings, a couple of ear ones, and most notably his tattoo sleeve.

“Uhm, is this okay? I can always change my setting back if you prefer it-”

“It’s okay, Jungkook. We gotta get you out of your default settings, jeez.” You laugh. “I’m not really sure what to do now, I was watching a TV show if you’d like to watch it with me?”

“I’d love to.” He beams, watching as you jog into your room. (You forgot the name of it already, mind racing 1000 miles a minute with everything going on.) You come back out with blankets to hide it, handing him one as you set up the living room TV. “I’d also love to make you dinner while we watch, would that be okay?”

“Kook, YES. I don’t mind what you do unless it’s like actively punching holes in my drywall. Then maybe I’ll draw the line.” You joke, finally earning a laugh from him. It’s contagious, spreading over to you as you giggle along. You don’t think you’ve completely wrapped your brain around the fact that he’s one of a kind, purposely engineered to basically do anything and everything, and so annoyingly pretty as he sits in your small apartment content as ever. “Also, I’m not sure if you notice, but your footsteps make almost no noise. It’s okay to make sounds. I think if you walk around here completely silent you'll probably scare the shit out of me.”

“Noted.” Jungkook chuckles, sliding off of the couch and making his way into the kitchen. He makes more noise this time, and it’s much more comfortable that way. The soft knocking of pots and pans fills the background, not enough to be annoying but enough to let you know there is someone else here. Maybe, and you’d never ever admit it to Jimin, his addition to your home is starting to feel like it will be a welcomed one.

Getting used to having another person, an android, in the house is a learning experience. The following morning after he was delivered, you had completely forgotten all about him in your half-awake state. After using the bathroom, your feet shuffle out into the kitchen in search of any sustenance before you start the day, Jimin already texting you to ensure you guys are still on for your morning coffee run and walk to the CyberLife store.

“Good morning, I made you-”

You’ve never screamed so loud, so early in the morning. You’re sure you woke up all of your neighbors in a 5-door radius, along with the incoming noise complaint that is surely on its way. You screamed so loud that Jungkook has to recalibrate his audio processing system, standing still for multiple minutes as it reboots.

“Sorry, sorry Kook.” You cackle after the initial fright, hands holding your stomach as you almost cry from laughter. “Adjustment period, remember when you said that?” You laugh harder, making your way over to him. Jungkook laughs softly along with you, not nearly as hard but he feels happy seeing you so happy. He grins hard as you wipe away your tears, your stomach hurting from just how hard you're laughing. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. I have to stop.” With another glance at Jungkook in the kitchen, you’re cracking up again.

“Y/n! I thought I’d be nice and make you breakfast!” Jungkook whines as you continue laughing at him, unable to hold it back for longer than one-minute intervals. You slowly calm down over the course of the next 10 minutes, forcing yourself to not think about it. “Anyway, I made you a breakfast sandwich. I’m not sure if you have anything to do today but-” Jungkook stops talking as he notices your chest heaving, trying hard not to laugh. “Are you-are you serious?? You can't even look at me huh?” Jungkook cracks, smiling hard.

At this point, there are tears rolling down your face. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, I’m done for real this time. Just had to get it out of my system.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Jungkook jokes, putting the plate in front of you regardless of you continuing to giggle every now and then.

“I’m not sure what you’d like to do today, but I’m gonna go out with a friend for a bit. There’s not much to do here, I’m normally used to being out all the time, but there’s Netflix, Hulu, Disney, whatever you’d like to watch.” You talk in between bites, rushing as you inhale the food. You get ready quickly, awkwardly side-hug Jungkook as a goodbye, and rush off to meet up with Jimin.

Jimin is as ecstatic as ever, going on and on about who he thinks got the android in yesterday’s raffle. He gets his hopes up a bit before going to the store, coming up with the idea that maybe no one won and he’ll be unboxed today. Nerves flood throughout your body, your mind thinking back to the sweet boy that made you breakfast this morning. “Anyway, what’re you up to today?” Jimin sighs after his excitement, strolling along the sidewalk with his drink in hand.

“Probably a bit of holiday shopping, and hanging out with a friend-”

“A friend?! Who? Do I know them?” He interrupts you, immediately questioning.

“No, no I don’t think you do. He’s a family friend of my mom’s side-”

“HE?”

“I hate talking to you.” You laugh, no longer feeling the need to continue talking about it. You ignore Jimin’s prying questions, favoring dismissing all of them. What’s he look like? Where’s he from? Is he cute? What’s his name? Is he nice? Jimin brings up anything and everything. “Okay, we’re here, oh noooo.” You chuckle, pretending to be disappointed.

“I’ll find out eventually.” Jimin sticks his tongue out at you before entering the store. He’s beyond disappointed that the box is no longer sitting in the store, texting you about it as you walk home.

Coming home, you’re a bit more prepared as you enter your apartment, spotting Jungkook in the living room. The upcoming week is your adjustment period, slowly becoming less and less spooked by his presence in your cozy home. Jungkook has learned to turn down his hearing slightly in the mornings until you get used to him, no longer having to re-coordinate his processing system constantly. You’ve also warmed up a lot to him over the week, the sweet android quickly becoming a part of your everyday life and holding a fond place in your heart. You’ve made movie nights become a ritual, cuddling up to Jungkook on colder nights. (He’s aware and even adjusts his systems to make himself put out more heat for you.)

Jungkook is also the best listener you know, listening and taking in all of the stories you’re willing to tell him. He knows a lot about Jimin, as you seem to hang out with him the most. He had dumbly asked if he was your boyfriend, sending you into another laughing fit you were unable to stop. Along with this, he’s started accompanying you out more. Jungkook comes on grocery runs with you, goes to the library with you, goes to the nearby cafe you frequent, and even begins joining you on nights out at clubs. It’s scary how no one realizes he’s an android and doesn’t even bat an eye at him even in android-free spaces.

Most nights out, Jungkook has to fight you into bed in your tipsy state. You appreciate him for it, and all of the patience he shows you. “Y/n, let me take off your makeup.” Jungkook giggles softly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he holds a makeup wipe in his hand. He’s carefully holding your ankle in his palm, keeping you from sliding head first off the bed if you move too much. As you shuffle around to better lay on the bed, he no longer needs to restrain you. Currently, you have the spins, holding onto Jungkook’s clothes in a death grip to ground yourself. Jungkook smiles softly at you. “It’ll just take two seconds, come here.”

You finally oblige, shuffling around to place your head in his lap. “Do your worst, pretty boy.” You slur slightly, smiling up at him.

“Pretty boy?” Kook raises a brow at you.

“Mhmm, my pretty boy.” You nod, wearing a soft smile as Jungkook wipes your makeup off. “You wanna sleep with me?”

“Sorry?” Jungkook almost chokes on his fake spit.

“You’re warm, come, lay down.” You coax him, pulling him down. You’re not laying on the bed the right way at all, heads laying at the foot of the bed. You’re also slightly diagonal, not caring at all as you cuddle close to him for warmth. Jungkook smiles hard as you nuzzle into his chest, one of your legs swinging over his. “Warm, soft.” You hum. You get the best sleep of your entire life, and it now becomes a normal thing for Jungkook to lay with you.

You learn a lot about him during this time as well. One, Jungkook can taste and eat as his program allows him to. He doesn’t need to at all, but once again he was built for companionship and he can’t think of anything sadder than people eating meals alone. You had learned this when Jungkook offered to eat with you, confusing you to hell and back before actually explaining. Now, you always make him get something when you guys go out in public, to really sell the whole he’s just a human drinking his overpriced cafe drink!! Considering other androids don't eat or drink anything other than blue blood, it really adds to his non-android appearance.

Two, he’s been programmed to be good at absolutely everything.

Personal fitness: Jungkook is more than happy to accompany you on jogs, encouraging you but also giving you the peace of mind you need when running through rough parts of town. Along with this, he somehow is able to calculate your strides and distance, which you believe blindly and don’t even question. Lastly, he’s able to carry water and electrolyte snacks that he claims are good for you when you’re physically active. When you refuse to drink, Jungkook jokingly wrestles you into submission until you take at least one sip.

Cooking: Jungkook has taken to making all of your meals, and you’re not even upset about it. Every meal is different but just as delicious, you assume he has some sort of chef programming. When you don’t have an item Jungkook needs, he’s more than willing to go out and get it for you. You’re a bit too anxious to send him on his own, but in reality, he’d probably be okay given his appearance. Despite taking over cooking needs, if you’re lucky he sometimes lets you help out with baking holiday cookies. Jungkook still takes to distracting you, twirling you around with a giant smile to the music playing in the background.

“Kook,” You whine, a giant smile plastered on your face despite complaints. You can feel Jungkook smile as he tucks his face into your neck, one hand holding your waist and the other taking your palm into his own. “The cookies will burn.”

“They still have 3 minutes, don’t worry hun.” Jungkook smiles hard, pulling back to look at you. You match the cheek-aching smile, forced to twirl as Kook easily spins you. Getting carried away, the cookies did slightly burn in the oven.

Makeup (yes, even makeup): Jungkook had offered to help you get ready for a research-related conference, let’s just say you got a lot of compliments that night.

Cleaning: You tell him constantly he doesn’t have to spend his days cleaning, but he listens very minimally and still picks up for you every day. Sometimes he tries to hide it from you, placing a very strategic piece of laundry on your floor to give the illusion that he didn’t clean. (It never works how he intends, once there was a random towel in the hallway while every other room was completely spotless. He was embarrassed about it the whole day.)

Security: He’s not a fighter under any circumstances at all, you can’t even imagine Jungkook getting into an altercation. You suppose he could if he needed, it’s likely somewhere deep in his programming. However, it’s the peace of mind he brings to you every night, you no longer deal with the worry of if your door is locked 1000 times.

Helping with your Grad assignments: Kook is a very advanced computer, how can you not?

And just simple companionship on days you’re worn down and tired. On days when you're very stressed out, he happily does your skincare to help you relax along with a small massage he knows from, who knows, somewhere deep in his computer brain.

“Kook, can you really take your time today, I need the relaxation.” You chuckle, grabbing all of your products and walking out of the bathroom. Jungkook follows, confusion growing even more as he watches you lay down on the floor with a pillow.

“....What are you doing?” Jungkook chuckles, standing over you a bit as he peers down.

“Come, sit, sit.” Without any more questioning, Jungkook sits with his legs slightly separated. You move to lay in between them, pillow on his lap. Ohhh, he sees now. Jungkook pulls out all of the stops he can with the tools provided, doing your skincare and giving you a massage. “Holy shit, you’re good at this.”

You suppose the only thing you’re unsure of with his skills is his intimacy feature, as you haven't had any reason or want to test it. You’ve been curious about the extent of the features, Jungkook is more than happy to once again explain all of his programming to you. Artificial saliva, physically soft skin, artificial bodily fluids, flexibility, shapes created with pleasure in mind, etc. The list goes on and on. He was also more than happy to offer his services to you, bright-eyed and excited about your reaction. You postpone the offer, maybe another time. At this, Jungkook begins his lecture about how it’s detrimental to one’s health to be sexually frustrated for too long that you put an end to, as quickly as possible.

You haven't introduced Jungkook to Jimin quite yet, a bit scared Jimin would immediately clock your android counterpart as exactly that, an android. You have to explain this to Jungkook, who wants to meet Jimin more than anyone else since you seem to be such great friends. He understands the dilemma but still wants to meet regardless.

Maybe four weeks into the break, there’s a knock on the door that catches Jungkook’s attention more than yours. You’re busy getting tangled in the Christmas tree lights that are impossibly knotted, Jungkook trying to help out as much as he can. He’s hesitant after accidentally pulling one of the cords and almost swiping your feet out from underneath you. “Can you go get that please, Kook?” You mumble, lights somehow wrapped around your waist, legs, and neck. Jungkook scurries to do as he’s told, not wanting to take over lights for you.

You can hear the door creak open, followed by a period of silence. “Who are you??” Your hands stop moving, eyes blown wide as you glance over to the door. Shit shit shit.

“Hey Jimin! Come in!” You call from the living room, still hard at work at making the lights cooperate with you. You pray to god he doesn’t see you sweat. “I told you about him, remember? He’s in town for a while on an internship. Jimin, this is Jungkook, a family friend. Jungkook, this is Jimin.” You introduce the two of them. Jimin turns around to face Jungkook, Jungkook quickly catches your eye contact. You mouth to him to turn his LED off completely, which he follows.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Jungkook smiles wide, garland hanging down from his arms as he shakes Jimin’s hand. Jimin shakes his hand back, turning back to you.

“Y/n! You didn’t tell me said friend was so hot!” Finally, the atmosphere breaks as all of you laugh along with each other. The entire interaction is based solely on the assumption you have that no one has seen Jungkook’s design, including Jimin. He doesn’t seem to clock Jungkook immediately, joining in on your and Kook’s journey of setting up the decorations. Jimin gets ornaments in order, Kook garland, and you get lights. Next, you all take turns walking around the tree stringing everything up. The star is the scariest part, Jungkook insists on just lifting you to place it atop the tree.

Jimin laughs his ass off the entire time, watching as Jungkook wraps his arms around your thighs and easily lifts. “Jungkook, my ass is in your face.” You laugh, wobbling slightly as you cackle. Jimin also laughs hard at this.

“I’m not looking, promise.” This only makes the group of you laugh harder. Jimin looks at Jungkook to check the accuracy, falling to his knees as he sees Jungkook’s head at a 90-degree angle looking sideways. “Put the star on!” Jungkook calls, laughing softly. Thankfully, you come down unscathed and unharmed. You all settle in, putting on holiday movies to watch.

“Do you guys want hot chocolate?” You ask, already getting up and making your way into the kitchen to start making them.

“I’ll help.” You send Jungkook a hard glare, seating him back down. “Ugh, fine. You never make mine right though.” He complains, sitting back down and grabbing his blanket once more. You can see him and Jimin talking, but you’re unable to hear it over the movie. Walking back in slowly, you cautiously carry three mugs.

“Here, you big baby. Hot chocolate with extra chocolate and whipped cream.” You hand Jungkook his and then Jimin's. “And regular for you like an adult.” You watch as Jungkook sticks his tongue out at you, making you laugh as you sit down.

“Extra chocolate? Kook, do you mind if I taste yours?” Jimin asks, scooching forward to reach over you. Jungkook mumbles something about wanting his whipped cream, quickly licking the majority of it off the top before handing it over. Jimin glances down at the cup before taking a sip, nodding his head. “Y/n, can you make mine like that next time?”

“Wow.” You laugh, rolling your eyes as you return your attention back to the movie. The night continues without much more commotion, the group of you watching movies and taking turns making cocktails. Jungkook purposely dumbs his down to hide himself, relief washing over you as you’re handed a simple mixed drink. (Jungkook can and will make the most elaborate, bartender-level drinks you’ve ever seen.) Maybe he’s not as clueless as he pretends to be.

“I think I should get going, gotta get up early in the morning.” Jimin yawns, standing up and stretching. “I won’t make you come get coffee with me since I have to be at work at 6 am.”

At this, you recoil. “So generous, Jimin. I definitely would not make it there at 5:30.” You laugh, getting up off the couch to walk him out. “Do you want us to walk with you, it’s a bit late Jim.”

“...Tae is picking me up.” You gasp as Jimin opens the door. Jimin slaps a hand over your mouth. “And NO! You can’t meet him tonight, I have to at least give him a warning in advance.”

“I hate you.” You sigh, jokingly shoving him out of the door frame. “I’ll see you soon, loser. Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe and so I know this weird, unknown, creepy Taehyung that I’ve never met didn’t kidnap you or something.” Waving goodbye to Jimin, you can finally breathe as you shut the door. “He’s skeptical of you.” You huff.

“I know.” Jungkook mumbles, “I think the hot chocolate and drinks convinced him, though. He stopped being skeptical after that. Now, he’s skeptical and thinks we’re dating.”

You don’t know how Jungkook can tell, but you believe him. With a long sigh, you return to the couch, plopping down back onto the blankets. “He’s too skeptical about everything.” You laugh. Kook follows you into the living room, laying down on top of you. “He wouldn’t care that you’re an android, Kook.” You reassure him, “I just don’t want that to be your description and introduction to people we meet.” Jungkook nods in agreement.

After the small bout with Jimin, Jungkook settles in very well over the course of December.

He makes breakfast, wishes you a safe trip before your departure if you’re doing somewhere without him, sometimes earns himself a peck on the cheek that makes him blush bright red, picks up around the apartment or organizes, and then just hangs around until you get home. He genuinely believes you getting home is the best part of his day, can’t even imagine a better person to wait around for. Sometimes you guys will go out for the evening if you’re not tired, other nights you both stay in and watch tv or movies cuddled close together.

For once, you’re not spending the holidays alone. Over the last couple of years, you had always gone over to Jimin’s apartment for company if he was still in town. Other times, you just spent the holiday watching movies. “Merry Christmas Eve, Kook.” You hum, sitting close to him with your head resting on his shoulder. Your knees are folded underneath you, facing Jungkook’s lap but not on him. Jungkook rests his head on yours, a blanket tossed over both of your laps. You’ve already made cookies and Jungkook started cooking ahead for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. Jungkook has been scolding you constantly for making him do dumb childish Christmas activities, cookies for Santa, carrots for reindeer, etc. You think it’s cute.

“Merry Christmas Eve, pretty girl.” Jungkook hums back, reaching over to hold your hands. He’s taken to calling you pet names, making you blush furiously every time.

“Do you want an early Christmas present?” You smile hard at him, glancing up at him.

“Is that even a question?” Jungkook giggles, watching as you jump off the couch and immediately sprint into the bedroom. He can hear loud rummaging, and he’s about 99% sure you’re in the closet. You come out with a medium-sized gift bag, presenting it to him. Placing it in his lap, you watch with a giant smile as he opens it. Somehow, he reaches underneath his set and instead pulls out your matching pajamas. “Y/n, I don't think these will fit me.” He chuckles.

“How do you go underneath the top thing?” You scoff, snatching them out of his hands and quickly hiding them behind your back. Kook chuckles softly as he finally pulls out his set, a giant smile plastered on his face as he examines it. “And, I also have one. So we can match.” With loud laughter, you and Jungkook begin sprinting to the hall. You duck into your room, and Jungkook disappears into the bathroom.

Your heart feels heavy with emotion as Jungkook steps out of the bathroom on the other side of the hall, you stand in the doorway of your room. “Y/n, thank you.” Jungkook mumbles, voice wavering a bit as he reaches out and takes your hand in his. You could cry as he pulls you into his arms, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Thank you for everything.”

“C'mon now, don’t get all sentimental Jeon.” If you get any more sentimental, you’ll cry. “You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“I wouldn’t even think of it.” He smiles, leading you back to your Christmas movie marathon in the living room. Watching movies for the rest of the night, Christmas comes before you even realize it.

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook speaks softly, once again kissing your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, my sweet boy.” You kiss his cheek in return, fighting the blush away.

Christmas is exactly what you’ve dreamed of, eating together, watching movies, opening gifts, setting up and playing with said gifts, and spending plenty of time cuddled up together. For Jungkook’s gifts, you got him a game system and a phone to keep him busy once the spring semester starts in a couple of weeks. Jungkook’s quick to input your number, demanding it as soon as it comes out of the box.

“Are you ready for your presents?” Jungkook smiles.

“Am I huh?” You question, raising a brow. You weren't expecting anything since Jungkook is an android, and therefore is unable to work unless it’s programmed into him. Along with this, he hasn’t asked you for any money within the last couple of weeks. “How, Kook?” You mumble as he comes out of your apartment's small storage closet with gifts, a bright smile on his face.

“I maybe, maybe not, went out and did college kid’s homework and assignments for cash.” Jungkook cheekily smiles, avoiding the look you give him. He’s lucky he’s so sweet and kind, otherwise, you’d scold him to hell and back for it. At least he was able to get around without being clocked as an android, you choose to look on the bright side. He sets the prettily wrapped box in your lap, yet another thing he’s good at. It’s a new bookbag and a recipe book, Jungkook’s pretty handwriting, and little doodles filling the pages. There’s a card in the bag, you already know it’s going to be sentimental and doubt you’ll be unable to read it without crying.

As you suspected, you’re in tears by the end of the card. You sniffle hard as you press it against your face, hiding your tears from Jungkook. “Nooo, don’t cry. That wasn’t my intention.” Jungkook coos at you, wrapping you in his arms with ease. “Your bookbag seemed to have a lot of miles on it, I figured I’d get you a new one for the upcoming semester. The recipe book is in case you ever want to cook for me, since you always complain about never being able to make me dinner.” Jungkook explains. “And the note is just my gratitude, I suppose.”

“I told you no more sentimental stuff.” You chuckle, wiping your tears off your face as you turn to properly hug him. “Sorry I didn’t write you a card, I didn’t even think of it.” You mumble.

“I don’t need a card, trust me,” Jungkook speaks softly, kissing your cheek where a tear stain still remains. “Do you wanna get back to our movie?” With a nod, Jungkook is quick to put it back on and pull you close to him, allowing you to lay on his chest. The movie begins to wrap up, your mouth opens before you can rethink it.

“Kook?”

“Hm?”

“Do you wish you were human? Or do you wish you were given to a different owner?” You ask curiosity just genuinely wanting to know his answer.

“I’m not sure, really. I suppose being a human has a lot of rules for socializing, existing, and everything else. I know I’m not a human, but it does feel like I am so I suppose that’s close enough for me to be content.” Jungkook explains, shrugging softly as he holds you to him. “And I don’t wish I was given to another human, I really like it here. I think if I were with anyone else, they’d likely treat me like an android and expect me to, idk, act like one. That seems like a stupid question, given my completely sincere and heartfelt letter.”

You giggle, nodding to agree with him. “Yeah, probably. It’s easy to expect you to act like a perfect android when that’s how you were marketed, after all.” You giggle, sitting up to peer down at him. Your hands rest on his chest to support some of your weight. Jungkook is very pretty, even prettier peering up at you with eyebrows slightly scrunched together. “I still just can't believe you’re an android, Kook. Sometimes I don’t think about it and just see you as a person. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, always.” Jungkook grits as he stares up at you.

“You’ve been using I think and I feel, Jungkook.” Jungkook tenses hard underneath you, fear momentarily flashing across his face. “CyberLife programming doesn’t do that. Were you built with a missing code, or did you break your coding when you got here?” You ask softly, hands meeting his face and gently holding it in your palms. Jungkook seems scared, fighting for an appropriate answer to your question. “I like it, Kook. I was hoping this would happen, but I wasn’t going to try and recode or reprogram you myself. I just want to know. Your note was also a dead giveaway, Jeon.”

“...I broke out of it partly when I got here and you started asking me to just be myself and not be my program.” Jungkook answers truthfully, “And then I broke out of it completely when it wouldn’t let me feel love for you, platonically or romantically. I didn’t like it, so I got out.”

You smile hard at him, rubbing the stress out of his face softly with your thumbs. Leaning forward, you place a soft kiss on his forehead. “I love you too, Jeon.”

Jungkook’s hands meet your knees on the couch, holding onto them as you sit on his lap. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable Y/n,” Jungkook almost whines underneath you, squeezing your knees. “But my programming, it’s uhm, on, right now. I can’t really control it just yet, it's created to react to your actions and body. And you’re, uhm moving a lot right now. Just give me a minute to-”

“...What if I want to, maybe, utilize these features?”

“Oh fuck,” Jungkook whines, hands coming up to cover his face momentarily. His head pushes itself back into the throw pillow he was resting on. You smile as his hair spreads out around his face as he does so.

“Only if that’s what you want too, Kook.” You mumble, shuffling slightly to better distribute your weight on his lap. Jungkook genuinely whines, his hips bucking slightly against your own as he searches for friction. You rise to your knees slightly at this, Jungkook quickly moving his palms to seat you back down. His warm hands splay across your thighs and finger tips digging at your hips, holding you down. Excitement bubbles deep in your chest, knees squeezing Jungkook’s waist a bit tighter. “Kook, I can feel you.” You whine as his hands press your hips into his, the pajamas much thinner than you realized before. “I need words, Jungkook, for confirmation.”

“Y/n, I’ve been offered my services for weeks. I have been out of my program for weeks as well,” Jungkook grins, hands sliding, moving your hips to grind down onto him. “There is nothing I want more.” He answers honestly, sitting up to meet you. “Please, let me make you feel good.” Jungkook meets your lips, extremely soft as he kisses you. He waits for you to respond, too scared of making you uncomfortable by moving too quickly. Kissing him back, Jungkook is quick to pull you close, chest pressed flush against one another.

His eyes quickly meet yours as you pull him back softly by his hair, searching your face for any discomfort as quickly as his computer brain can process human emotion. You don’t give him much, your eyes scanning across his features as you take them in. “I just wanna see my pretty boy, that’s all.” You reassure, pecking his lips a couple of times as you guide him to lay back down on his back. He happily lets you do as you please, god he’d let you do anything. His eyebrows knit together as your cold hands slip underneath the pajama top, easily slipping it up and off. Jungkook is quick to follow, tossing your top off before quickly pulling you down to him, warm skin pressed together. “So warm, Kook.” You mumble against his lips, your hands finding purchase on his biceps.

“So soft, you’re so soft.” Jungkook groans against your lips, hands kneading your skin underneath them as he explores every inch of exposed skin. He rubs goosebumps away every now and then, holding you even closer. “Let me make you feel good, pretty girl. Lay back for me." Jungkook's voice is husky, lips never fully leaving yours as he talks to you. You follow his instructions, moving to lay on your back as he quickly follows. You’re completely flipped now, Jungkook in between your legs as he leans over you.

His palms never leave you longer than it takes to remove clothing, lips working their way along your jaw. “So perfect for me, just for me. Always wanna be with you, Y/n.” Jungkook almost babbles into your skin, leaving dark marks in his wake. Sooner than you can comprehend, you’re completely bare before him.

“Kook, this feels unfair,” You complain, reaching to pull at his pajama pants.

Jungkook basically rolls his eyes at you, pulling at his pants and kicking them off behind him, not paying much attention and basically clearing the coffee table. “Would you just focus?” He smiles, having to bite back a soft laugh.

“You just swiped everything off the coffee table.” You comment dryly, also having to bite back a laugh at the situation. “You know, you’re literally a house robot, you’ll be cleaning it up-fuck,” Jungkook isn’t listening anymore, sliding down to his torso and nipping at your thighs.

“You were saying?” He humors you, diving in before giving you a real chance to answer his question. It’s impossible to talk, mewls and whines slipping through every time you try to come up with some witty, snarky response. Jungkook, smug, knows that. He’s unrelenting, face buried in between your legs with no signs of moving.

“Kook, how are you, fuck, so good at this?” You whine, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer to you. Jungkook, at the pull, groans, animalistic as he gives you exactly what you want. “Kook,” You mumble, hips lifting off of the couch to grind against him.

“Yes, there you go, pretty girl.” Jungkook groans against your skin. You push and pull, moving him exactly how you need, how you want. Jungkook, ever eager to please, could get off on this alone. His hips unconsciously grind against the couch, needing some sort of relief, it’s almost torture. “Gotta get you ready, feel good, hm?” Jungkook asks softly, vibration shooting straight to the knot in your stomach. One that only tightens as his fingers move, easily sliding inside, kneading at exactly where you need him.

“Is this a programming thing?” You whine, clenching tightly around his fingers from the pleasure. He knows exactly what you need, exactly how to give it to you.

“It's wanting to please you.” He answers quickly, going right back to his work. He can feel you react as you grow closer, clenching tighter around him, grinding harder against his face, thighs closing in around his head. “Feel good, hm?”

“Too good,” You whine, legs beginning to shake as you draw closer, body on fire. “You’re going to make me cum, gonna cum for you.” Your voice cracks, coming unraveled on his fingers. Jungkook relishes in it, committing every sound to memory, every shake, every twitch of your thighs around his head. He groans as he tastes you, tastes it, arms wrapping tighter around your hips to hold you in place.

“Kook, need more, need you,” You whine loudly, hands reaching to his shoulders to pull him up. He follows, moaning softly when your legs wrap around his waist.

“Need it, or want it?” He asks, kissing along your skin, “Take it pretty girl, take all you want.” Jungkook leads, softly pulling you up to straddle his hips. Kook pulls at his boxers, helping you maneuver around to get more comfortable. “Gonna let you lead, make yourself feel good.” It all feels like too much, body on fire as you grind against him, easily slipping along his cock. Your legs are just now recovering, shaky as you pick your body weight up, easily sliding down.

“Kook, wait wait fuck,” You whine, hips pressing themselves down until he’s buried as deep as he can, stopping all your movement. “Feels good, really good.” Your skin is on fire, and you have no doubt that your cheeks and ears are bright red. Trying to find purchase anywhere, your hands grip his forearms where they hold your waist. He feels too good, your mind feeling fuzzy as your chest rises and falls as you try to calm down. Pretty, he looks so pretty underneath you as he peers up through half lidded eyes. A small wrinkle forms in between his brows as he focuses all his attention on your pleasure.

“Pretty girl~” Jungkook almost coos to you, leaning up to press your foreheads against one another. “Let me take care of you, I’ll be so gentle I promise. Lemme make you feel good.” He reassures you, grinding against you to prove his point. Shapes with pleasure in mind weren't a lie, his cock perfectly angled to catch that soft spot inside everytime. Placing your hands onto his chest, you regain a tiny bit of stability as you slide along his cock. The little bit of composure you have is short lived, Jungkook’s beginning to slide out before slowly pushing back in, only stopping when your hips connect again.

“So deep, Kook,” You can only whine, arms losing their strength as you slip down, only holding your hips up and resting on his chest. “Sorry, it feels too good,” You apologize as he does all the work, thrusting while also maneuvering your hips to target where it feels best. Everytime he bottoms out, he’s sure to grind against your clit, only adding to your overwhelmed state. You’ve barely even started, barely even moved, and you’re panting like a bitch in heat. A giant smirk comes across Jungkook's face, pride blooming in his chest as you whine and pant all for him.

“Feels good, hm? You’re gonna be a good girl and let me hear you come for me?” He rasps against your ear, one of his hands moving to hold the back of your head. “So pretty, beautiful. All for me.” He encourages, making your face flush further as he forces you to stare into his eyes. It feels as though if you were pinched hard enough you’d wake up. “Come for me Y/n, all over my cock, wanna feel you.” It hits you out of nowhere, almost blind siding you as it washes over your entire body. Your thighs clamp down around Jungkook’s waist hard, trying to still the stimulation. He doesn’t allow such luxury, determined to thoroughly ride you through the orgasm, continuing his movement until you’re almost begging.

“Kook?” Your voice is rough as you finally speak up, shaky hands meeting his chest as you push yourself up once again.

“Hm?” He acknowledges you, hands running across your skin to smooth out any goosebumps that remain. You’re about 90% sure his touch is what’s sprouting them, but you don’t have the mindfulness right now to tell him that.

“Why does it feel so good? S’like I can't even think with you inside me.” You whimper as you feel him throb, hips beginning to grind against him for some sort of stimulation. Jungkook beams underneath you as you instinctively fuck yourself onto him, so desperate for pleasure. Your brows knit together and bottom lip is quickly caught between your teeth as you grind your clit against him, cock nudging your g spot simultaneously.

“Hmmm, I don't know. Scientifically there are multiple answers for that. But realistically, it’s likely my design and programming, and the fact you haven't been touched the entire time I’ve been here.” He chuckles at the last bit, reminiscing on all the lectures about sexual health and how too much frustration is a bad thing, “You’re extra sensitive, and I know just what to do, where to touch, how to make you tick, Y/n.” He teases as he slowly rubs the pad of his thumb into your swollen clit, the sensation making you cave in on yourself as you try to avoid it. “Cute.”

“Jungkook, m’serious!” You slur, rocking softly.

“I know pretty girl, I know. I can tell.” Jungkook chides, clearly finding some sort of humor as he watches you shake and twitch because of his cock. “You feel good, hm? Help yourself pretty.”

“I'll try,” You nod, your bottom lip finding its place between your teeth once more. Your feet lift a bit to hook around Jungkook’s inner thighs, giving you some sort of leverage to fuck yourself up and down. The very first movement is already pulling a whine from past your lips, so sensitive already. Jungkook's eyes are fixated where the two of you are connected, giant eyes watching his cock disappear and reappear. He feels himself throb as a ring of your cum begins to form, deep, deep pride and smugness brewing.

“Taking me so good, riding me so well.'' Jungkook praises, feeling his cock jump once again as your thighs begin to tremble softly. “Feels good?” Jungkook coos, palms beginning to run over the muscle.

“Really good,” You nod, biting back moans. Jungkook moans softly when you tighten around him, hands reaching up for your face.

“Be my good girl, let me hear you. Gotta hear how good my cock makes you feel,” Jungkook moans softly as you tighten around his cock. His fingers gently slip into your mouth, running along your tongue to hold your mouth open, preventing you from biting down on your lip again. “There you go,” He smiles as you moan and whimper, drool beginning to pool around Jungkook's fingers (not that he minds at all.) “I need to know how good I am to you,” He cracks, a small whimper slipping as he finishes his sentence.

“You look so pretty, Kook-ah,” You babble around his fingers softly, looking down at him. The visual is almost enough to make you cum on the spot, so unbelievably worked up it almost hurts. The way he’s peering up at you like you’re everything to him, chest beginning to artificially flush, lips bright red, cheeks beginning to match. His hair is still splayed around his head, creating a pretty halo. “Gonna cum again for you,” You whimper, hips meeting his own with a small slap.

“Good,” He smiles, rubbing small circles in your clit when you begin avoiding grinding onto him. It makes your legs shake further, your moans growing as you’re unable to muffle yourself, one hand still holding your jaw. You cum hard, thighs shaking harder than you’ve ever experienced before. Jungkook's sensitive to your reaction, slowing down his movements to allow you to ride through it without it hurting too much. “Good girl, so good for me, feels good, hm? Just a bit longer,” He talks you through it gently, voice honey to your ears.

You nod, riding through it for as long as possible. As you finish, your body slumps forward, arms wrapping around Kook’s neck as you hug him close. “Do you not cum? Is that not how this works?” You chuckle softly, his cock still throbbing softly.

“I can, when I feel that my partner has been thoroughly pleased and satisfied.” He informs, his CyberLife popping out for a quick moment. You shake, holding him closer. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, gently stroking your hair as you calm down.

“You’re going to be the death of me, how much more satisfied am I gonna get?”

“We’ll find out.”

“Jungkook,” You pull back the slightest bit to catch his face, a cheeky smirk written all over it. He leans forward, placing a soft kiss onto the tip of your nose.

“I gotta make up for the weeks you were celibate.” He softly grinds up into you, filling you with a wave of want once more. “I need to satisfy you,” He teases, kissing along your jaw and beginning to trail down to your neck. “Make sure no one else ever does it as good as me, no one else can make you cum like I can.” He continues, beginning to sit up and make you sit up as well, easily lifting both of your body weight.

“Fuck, Kook,” You whine, allowing him to maneuver you onto your back, never slipping out once. You can feel him throb softly, beginning to work himself up.

“So even if you look elsewhere, all you’ll think of is me, this pussy all mine, always,” He bites down softly into the flesh of your shoulder, leaving a light mark. “My girl,” He smiles, leaving light marks once more. His hips instinctively grind into you as he talks, not giving you a break for a second.

“All yours, Kook. I'm all yours.” You whimper softly as he slides out entirely, slowly filling you up again.

“Fuck, Y/n,” He whimpers into your neck, seemingly beginning to feel affected. “So tight,” He pants softly, hiking your legs up before pinning them to his shoulders, hands placed firmly on the couch underneath you. He’s deeper like this, able to target exactly where you need him without even really trying to. He slides out slowly, snapping his hips forward this time. It forces a moan from the both of you, sharp spikes of pleasure shooting up your back.

Jungkook holds his torso up, strong arms flexing and veins beginning to show. Your hands grip hard at his biceps, trying to find some sort of stability as he easily folds you in half, hips unrelenting as he snaps them forward. You can't quiet down, mind becoming fuzzy as you moan and whine for him.

“So tight, just, ah fuck, pulling me in, Y/n.” Jungkook pants, hands beginning to form fists where he holds the couch underneath his palms. You clench around him, words shooting straight to your core. “Don’t, shit, do that,” His hips falter the slightest bit, head falling forward slightly.

“Want you to cum with me, Jeon,” You mumble softly, arms reaching around to claw and pull at his back, pulling him closer. “You'll do that for me, please?” You ask, catching his eye contact as he pulls his head up. He lets out a soft moan as you make eye contact, abs beginning to contract as he fights off his pleasure. Fuck, he’d do anything for you.

“Need you to cum again first, just one more,” He speaks softly, reaching forward and pecking your lips softly before pulling away, he leans back a bit, giving himself more room to maneuver. His hips snap hard, chasing both of your highs. You almost complain at the loss of closeness, but quickly forget about it. “Let me have it, Y/n, need to feel you,”

It’s expected, but still rips through you, head thrown back into the couch as you shake hard. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, almost panting through your orgasm. Jungkook's hips don’t relent, chasing his own high. A loud whimper falls past your lips, hands reaching down in an attempt to push his hips away, “I know, I know, just a bit more, gonna cum for you, just like you asked pretty,” He consoles you, reaching down and softly pulling your palm up to his lips. He softly kisses your palm, hips stuttering and becoming uncoordinated as he teeters on the edge.

“Please, Jungkook, cum in me,” You whimper, the overstimulation almost too much. Your hand holds the side of his face, his own hands falling to hold onto you.

“Fuck, fuck, cumming for you,” He whimpers, hips surging forward, cumming as deep as possible. You whine and twitch as he continues, throughly fucking his cum into you until he’s satisfied with the mess the two of you made together. His chest rises and falls, small pants slipping past his soft lips as he leans forward, holding you as close as possible as he kisses you, slow and deep, passionate. It makes you throb, quickly pushing him away before you get going again.

“Kook,” You smile hazily at him.

“Right, right,” Jungkook chuckles softly, pulling out as carefully as he can. He's covered in your cum, and you’d probably be more embarrassed if you had a sense of rationale left. “So fucking pretty,” He comments, and you meet his eyes to see what he’s talking about. He’s not staring at you, he’s looking at your pussy, hands hiking your legs up by your knees.

“JUNGKOOK!!” The embarrassment begins to come back as does your rationality. Your legs pull against his hands, closing in on yourself.

“I mean it,” He laughs softly, letting you go as he leans forward to kiss you once more. “C’mon,” He smiles, wrapping his arms around you and easily lifting you. You don’t pay much attention, but you know he’s walking to the bathroom based on the direction he’s going. He runs you a warm bath, consistently checking the temperature for you. He waits with you while it fills, softly rubbing out sore muscles to the best of his ability, kissing the dark marks in your skin. Once it’s filled, he carefully helps you in, making sure you don’t slip. Once you’re fully in, he gets up and begins to make his way out.

“Kook? Can you not take a bath?”

“I can, I just need to clean up really quick first. I’ll be right back, promise,” He smiles, kissing the top of your head before leaving. You can faintly hear him shuffle about, evening declaring the space clean enough before joining you in the bath, sliding behind you. “You feel okay?” Jungkook asks softly against your shoulder, voice making goosebumps sprout against your skin. Your head is leaned back against his shoulder, back completely rested against his torso. “Anything hurt too badly?” He asks genuinely, not looking as he kisses the bite mark on your shoulder he left behind.

“Yeah, I feel okay,” You smile, nudging against him softly. “I need to know though, how does your cum work? Do I have to buy a plan B or? That’d be kinda freaky, technology so advanced it can create life.”

Jungkook genuinely laughs, making the water slosh as the both of you bounce softly. “No, no. It acts as a lubricant actually, so we could keep going if we really wanted to.” He smiles, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he hugs you close. “I wish though, you’d be such a good mama for me,” His voice vibrates against your skin, his palms splaying across your stomach where he holds you close. Once again, your pussy aches as he talks softly against your skin.

“Do not!” You warn, pushing his face and hand away as it begins trailing further down. “We'll be going round 2,3,4, and 5 if you keep it up.” You laugh, trying to get away from him.

“C’mon, pretty, relax. Let me clean you up,” Jungkook giggles as you slide away from him, trying to sit on the opposite side of the tub. He grabs your ankle, easily manuerving you to rest against his torso once more. He does as he promises, gently cleaning all the fluids and sweat off of your body, hands ghostly as he tries not to stimulate you any further. “I love you Y/n.” Jungkook sighs softly as he finishes his work, arms coming to wrap around you.

“I love you too, Kook.” You smile softly, craning your neck around to kiss him gently. You carefully maneuver your feet under you, shakily standing out of the water.

“Easy there, bambi,” He chuckles, holding his arms out on either side of you in case you really do lose balance and slip. He's persistent in his precaution, careful to hold his arms out until you’re securely on the bath mat on stable footing.

“C’mon, finish cleaning up so you can come warm me up,”

“I like the sound of that-“

“Jeon.”

“Right.”

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