#i can either go complicated or detailed

[insufferablemod]

physically restraining myself from redrawing a bg n making it unnecessarily complicated n detailed

[impbites]

OCtober day 31 - costume 🐶🤕🧟🧛

i've drawn my hellebores a lot this event so i figured i'd end on them too‼️around halloween time tip and jerza don't even need to disguise themselves, but i made them dress up anyway c:

3 days late but i did it!!! i've completed all the mandatory days and now halloween can officially end 😈🎃 ty for the fun event everyone, i've rlly enjoyed seeing everyone's characters 🫶

[unproduciblesmackdown]

pinning to the workshop corkboard: you've heard of winston "i'm cassandra" billions clairvoyance concepts for fun & profit, hear also of winston billions sphinx concepts (you must be This understanding of what he means to proceed)

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I decided to rewatch a random episode of WTNV for no particular reason (except me wanting fo watch WTNV and being caught up with the plot so I can't just go for the next episode) and ended up with episode 56 Homecoming and I have thoughts!

My major one is that the fact this episode states Cecil visits his mom during Homecoming while impliying Abby doesn't and for me this says some interesting things about them and the Palmers familial dinamics.

[dustofthedailylife]

you and your f/o(s) finally have time to relax and decides to take some extra days off this festive season! where are you going and what will you be doing? 🌴

no pressure in answering, and please take your time! <3

Hi Rin!! <3 I'm finally getting to this ask, sorry for taking so long because I absolutely knew I wanted to answer this when you sent it! 😭💕

Alhaitham and I would just spend the holidays at home. Just him and I (and maybe Kaveh, he's allowed because he is babygirl). We would spend the time before the holidays just decorating the house and baking cookies. Reading, watching our favorite shows, cooking some good food, or ordering takeout. Just... generally treating ourselves to some downtime. (the baking and decorating are mostly initiated and done by me... this man would not decorate on his own nu-uh but Kaveh and I would be all over it).

I tend to get really sad/depressed on Christmas Day for personal reasons so he would just be there for me and spoil me to get my mind off the sad things. Even though it will take some effort to do that but he will go the extra mile because it's me 🥺

Especially with Kaveh also there, there will be enough bickering and life in the house that I will have no time to even waste a thought on being sad.

I think I'd like to invite Cyno, Tighnari and Collei over for a Christmas Dinner as well. We could play card games and all sorts of fun stuff together until late at night. They all leave in high spirits and me and Haitham just tiredly fall into the bed after and cuddle until we both fall asleep. 🥺💕

Not me crying because I wish this was my actual Christmas, brb

Wriothesley and I would probably do the same in prep for Christmas. Baking, decorating, spending time together. We would go to the Christmas market, drink some mulled wine and he'd have to borderline carry me home after because I get tipsy from the stuff so fast but always insist on drinking some every year lmao.

On the day of Christmas we'd just spend the time together preparing some fancy dinner just for the two of us while listening to music and dancing in the kitchen (it's a whole concert). We're not stressing over anything and just go with the flow since we both didn't really celebrated Christmas as a child we just live our best life now and turn the holiday into what we would like it to be. We just chat the evening away over dinner and then watch a movie together on the couch while cuddling up to each other. I will eventually fall asleep because I know myself and he carries me into our shared bed and tucks us in 🥺💕

[hyprfixate]

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

read on AO3

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

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

pairing: bang chan x reader

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

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

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

word count: 21.6k

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

Chan was acting weird.

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

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

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

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

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

The guy you're secretly in love with.

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

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

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

Right. Your appointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's Chan.

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

something came up.

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

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

Something is definitely wrong. 

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

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

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

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

Channie: i'm so sorry.

Channie: i can explain. i promise.

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

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

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

As usual.

You: breathe, Chan. it's ok. 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

Channie: had plans?

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

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

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

Channie: give me some creditt

Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned

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

A win-win.

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

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

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

Channie: i'm here babygirl

Channie: coming up to help w ur bags 

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”

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

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

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

“You're in pain.”

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

“Yes, I am, but how did you–”

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

Hm. He caught you there.

“How bad is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

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

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

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

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

No biggie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're just happy to have answers.”

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

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

“Maybe a six,” you breathe.

“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”

“It did, it's just wearing off.”

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

“What do you need, babygirl?”

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

“‘Course it is. Here.”

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

“Is that your couch blanket?”

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

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

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

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

“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”

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

This is home.

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

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

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

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

“Is it supposed to rain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

"You okay, babygirl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is not the protein bar box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.

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

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

And Chan happened to be one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still Chan.”

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

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

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

It does not frighten you the way it should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you pawsitive?”

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

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

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

"What is it?" you ask softly.

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

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

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

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

Your brain short circuits as the request processes.

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

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

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

Fuck it.

“Of course, Channie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ignore the heat in your stomach.

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

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

“Your hip,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“This good, babygirl?”

“Mmf.”

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

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

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

Things seem less charged in the morning.

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

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

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

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

You pause in the archway of the kitchen.

Food is… an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"It's going to rain?"

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

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

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

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

“During the full moon?” You supply.

He nods quickly. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

It's fine.

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

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

“My hands.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

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

“Try again.”

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

“It's a seven,” you breathe. 

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

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

“Which bottle is it?”

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

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

Wow. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comfy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You repeat your mantra in your mind:

Everything is fine.

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.

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

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

You are immediately invested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.

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

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

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

Chan.

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Okay. Okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worst Cooks in America?”

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

Great. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably.

… Maybe.

Everything is not fine.

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

Or pretending to.

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

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

You weren't sure what to do.

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

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

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

“Chan,” you start.

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

He's not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop on a thread that catches your attention:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's the one,” he grinned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.

Chan is not asleep.

Chan is very much awake.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

You can't look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His pupils blow.

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

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

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

You take another step closer.

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

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

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

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

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

Then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, there's silence.

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

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

You almost choke.

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

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

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

"Please?”

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

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

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

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

"Use your words babygirl."

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

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

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

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

Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you breathe.

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

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

"Oh god," you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh shit.

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

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

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

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

Typical stuff. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello?" You breathe.

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

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

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

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

The floor falls from under your feet.

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

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

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

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

You need to move. You need to get out.

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

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

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

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

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

But Chan…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's been crying.

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

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

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

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

Your heart breaks in two.

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

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

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

“Tell me what I did.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask me why,” he breathes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan,” you breathe.

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

The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy. 

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

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

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

To you he is just Chan.

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

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

It feels like home. It feels like safety.

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

It feels like perfection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, Alpha?" you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you not love all that he is?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bites you then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His everything.

[malum-forev]

Unexpected

“I can’t believe people actually fall for these kinds of things,” Bucky scoffs, flicking one of the drooping petals on the flower arrangement. “Ridiculous, right?”

He looks over at Sam, wanting some kind of backup from his partner, only to receive a shrug in response. Bucky rolls his eyes, having flowers delivered to the compound seemed so overplayed in his mind.

“No self respecting woman could actually want to date someone who outsources something like giving flowers.” Bucky mutters, his fingers itch to look at the card to see who they’re from. And more importantly, who they’re for.

“Can’t say I agree with you on this one Buck,” Sam leans back on the conference room chair, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. “Flower delivery is a normal thing in the modern world, not that I expected you to know. You’re not exactly the romantic type.”

He tries to not let Sam’s comment bug him, but it does. A lot. Back when he was alive the first time, Bucky was over the top. So over the top that some women’s knees physically buckled when they saw his gifts and acts of love. Sure, some of the things he only did to get into their pants but who cares, they were romantic nonetheless. 

Bucky tries to concentrate on your detailed plan for the mission but he’s done this a thousand times and could quite possibly complete this recon mission in his sleep and more importantly, the flower debacle is still present. The plastic vase sitting in the middle of the conference table taunts him. The folded card underneath it was basically begging for him to take a look.

He lingers after the meeting, saying some excuse about wanting to look over the documents when really, his curiosity is what’s keeping him seated. 

In his defense, your floor of the compound rarely gets any deliveries, let alone “romantic” ones. At least what people now think is romantic. Apart from Sam, himself and you, the other people on the floor are either married or forever alone. Leave the cheesy displays of affection for the lower level agents, the ones who still get the hots from one look.

Bucky looks both ways, making sure no one catches him as he slips the card from under the vase and reads it. 

Thought of you today. Have a nice week. 

“Nice week? What a loser.” Bucky blows raspberries, throwing the card back on the table. 

“Can I help you with something, Barnes?” Bucky jumps up in his spot as he hears your voice coming from behind him. 

“Just reading this extensive report,” Bucky lifts up the corners of the papers. “Great to know you have so much spare time.”

To say you and Bucky have a complicated relationship is an understatement. You think he’s a reckless agent that gets away with everything just because he was Captain America’s friend and he thinks that you aren’t reliable on the field because you second guess everything. Match made in heaven, right? Not a single mission you’ve been on has resulted in the two of you being civil. It always ends with a catfight and both of you trying to one up the other one.

“I don’t have time for this. Right now all I want is to go home and get some rest before we have to leave in a couple of days.” You roll your eyes, picking up some of the extra copies for the other agents you’re taking on the mission before grabbing the flowers from the table. 

“Are those yours?” Bucky’s voice pitches up, like he can’t seriously believe someone sent you flowers. 

“This is exactly what I don’t have time for.” You huff, leaving him behind in the conference room, wishing he’d just drop it. But knowing Barnes, and hearing his combat boots smack on the floor behind you, he won’t stop. 

“Who is he?” He raises his eyebrows, walking next to you, covering the elevator buttons with his hands so you can’t press either button. 

“Barnes,” You warn. “I’d rather not spend any more time with you than what’s required for my job.”

“Me neither,” Bucky nods. “So, if you can just tell me who sent you the flowers we can go on our way and not talk until we absolutely have to.”

“Does it matter who they’re from?” 

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Of course it matters, I’ve never known you to like someone enough to give them your work address. I’ve never known you to like someone, period. So, yes, it matters.”

“Why would I tell you?” You quickly press the arrow pointing upwards as Bucky gets distracted with his dig at your non-existent love life. “So you can go and tell him what a big mistake he’s making?”

“That, and maybe I just want to know if he’s a real life breathing man.” He shrugs as you get in the elevator. “With eyes and ears and all those things one would need to know you really.”

“Great, thanks for the motivational talk I so didn’t need.” You flip him off as the doors close. 

-o-

Your head bounces against the side of the plane as you go through some turbulence but you try not to let it disturb you. But it’s something else that wakes you up, or rather, someone else. 

“I’ve come to the conclusion that he works somewhere in the compound.” Bucky drops his body in the seat next to you, his loud voice making your eyes snap open. 

“I’m resting before the mission,” You narrow your eyes at him. “And having you talk to me is messing that up.”

“You’re not disagreeing.” Bucky hums. 

“The only reason I haven’t flipped you over and dislocated your shoulder is because you have somehow gotten on Sam’s good side and I don’t want him giving me his disapproving father look.”

“Just tell me.” Bucky’s crystal blue eyes are looking straight into yours. 

“Tell you what?” You throw your head back with a groan. 

“Who the flowers are from.”

“You’re still on that?” You quirk one eyebrow.

“You never answered it.”

The questions seemed to have died down once you closed your eyes again but Bucky popped up whenever you expected him least.

You rummage through the office of the suspect that had just been killed. A doctor that was once Hydra had been trying to replicate the super soldier serum, the animal testing had been positive and a couple of dog sized rats still lived in his office. 

“Can you tell me what area he’s in?” Bucky leans on the doorframe and the sudden sound has you bringing your gun to his forehead. 

“I could have killed you just now,” You heave. “And I wish I would have, I think death is the only thing that’s going to stop you from asking all these questions.”

“You could just answer.” Bucky shrugs, looking both ways, making sure no one’s around.

“Why do you want to know?” You huff. 

“I want to know who’s romancing you.” Bucky acts like he doesn’t care, but the truth is that he’s spent the last few days with you and only you on his mind. 

The thought of you dating someone that does the bare minimum makes him frown. He’s never given a second thought to your dating life but if he had to rack his brain, Bucky would assume that you would date someone who’s competent enough to handle your wit and your moods, someone who gets your strength and doesn’t try to undermine you, someone who can handle the emotional baggage that comes with this job and doesn’t judge you. Someone who will hand deliver flowers to your apartment to show you he likes you, instead of having them delivered so that everyone thinks he likes you.

“Why do you care about my love life all of a sudden?” You snap at him and it actually stops him in his tracks. 

Bucky stares back at you with half a breath sucking in his lungs.

Love. 

You actually said the word love. 

Nothing’s ever happened between you two (except for that night the two of you spent cuddling together after neither of you wanted to sleep on the floor, but you swore you’d never speak of it again), but you’ve been a constant in Bucky’s life for years. And he doesn’t deal with change very easily. 

If you’re so freely talking about having a love life, as opposed to what? a like life? Get yourself together Barnes! he scolds himself, that means that soon enough you’ll be bringing this mediocre boyfriend around the tower, which means he’ll have to practice his “I’m trying to act like I care what you’re telling me” smile in the mirror while he’s bumped into the guy while you’re still getting ready because lord knows you love to take your sweet time getting ready! And that means that he’ll have to get a tux for your wedding because who would be stupid enough to not marry someone as intelligent and beautiful as you, and that means that you’ll take a leave for your honeymoon but knowing you, work will follow you to said honeymoon. You never stop working and Bucky’s warned you about your body taking a toll after all those years. 

“You’re one to talk.” He remembers you rolling your eyes at him the time he said it. 

God, your eyes. He’s going to miss your eyes. In the morning, you’ll look at him from over your boiling hot coffee cup. Bucky knows that you like to drink your coffee before the sun goes up because, in your words, I want to have at least a couple of minutes to myself before the world needs me. He’d never admit it to anyone but he sometimes acts like he’s had nightmares keeping him up at night just so he can share those quiet moments with you.

And after the tsunami of memories he won’t share with you anymore subsides, another wave comes crashing in. Soon you’ll be retiring, Bucky’s seen you with Morgan. It’s clear you want kids of your own some day. And you sure as hell won’t be having them when someone like Bucky Barnes is your partner. Bucky knows he’s a risk, he wouldn’t judge you if you thought it too. 

“Okay, we’re done here. I’m leaving, White Wolf hot on my heels.” You speak into the chip, making him snap out of his thoughts and return to Earth.

“As always, thanks for doing nothing, Barnes.” You laugh, slapping Bucky's shoulders as you pass him.

Bucky’s lungs burn as he runs alongside you down the corridor, trying to make up for all of the air he didn’t get as he spiraled. 

-o-

Bucky is up and it’s not because he heard the door hinges creak as you came inside or the slapping of your heels on the old wooden floor. It’s because he hasn’t been able to sleep since you left. 

He acted tired and fake yawned all the way to his room as you passed by, all maked-up and perfumed, when in reality he spent the rest of the night trying to decipher a video game someone recommended. 

Bucky’s verdict: I’ve been to war, I don’t need to play make believe. 

He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the sounds coming from the kitchen. You opened the fridge door and took a glass bottle of sorts out. From the cork popping, he figured out you were taking out your favorite wine. 

Bucky walks quietly towards the kitchen, not wanting to startle you. 

You gasp as you turn around, cork in your mouth and wine glass filled to the brim in your left hand. 

“I thought everyone would be asleep by now.” You spit the cork into the trash, lowering your face so your hair fans over your features. 

“Nightmares,” Bucky mumbles, his eyebrows furrowing at your unusual mannerisms. 

“Well, now you know who was out here.” You walk past him. “Goodnight Barnes.”

But before you can leave, Bucky holds your arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” You try to release from his grip but you know you’re no match for the vibranium arm. 

Bucky lifts up a trembling hand to your face and moves away your hair. Your normally bright eyes now look dull. Red blotching around your irises and black ink running down your face.

“You’ve been crying.” Bucky’s jaw tightens. 

“Thanks for that, Sergeant Obvious,” You scoff. “You’ve discovered my secret. I’m a living, breathing woman with feelings. I know they make you uncomfortable because you don’t have any but I do.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I’m a person and as much as I would like to be as robotic as you are, sometimes people do things that hurt me.” You roll your eyes. “Next time I have feelings, I’ll make sure to take care of them before I enter the tower so you won’t be bothered.”

“Why are you crying?” He hisses, shutting his eyes before he sees red. “Who made you cry? Tell me a name and I’ll have them killed before dawn.”

“What?”

“No one makes my girl cry.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to understand what Bucky just said. The man who’s constantly bothering you and making your life quite impossible is threatening to kill someone just because you shed a couple of tears?

Bucky runs his hands down his face. “We’re wasting precious time here baby, just give me a name and I’ll do the rest.”

“You don’t care,” You tell him but his expression doesn’t change. “You’re not supposed to care. Why do you?”

“The other day, when you told me about the flower idiot, I may have realized something.” Bucky lets out a deep breath. “You’re my partner on the field but you’re much more than that in here.”

Your hand shakes as Bucky takes it and presses your palm flat on his chest. 

“I’m thinking of you when I wake up, hoping I catch you before you get ready. You’re on my mind when we’re training because I want to teach you everything I know, and I want you to teach me how you twisted the agent’s arm and dislocated his knee at the same time. Most of the times when we’re out on missions I’m reckless because I want to keep you safe. I don’t care what happens to me, you’re what needs to be taken care of. At night I dream of you, and then I wake up feeling hollow.”

“You’re too good for me and I know that but that doesn’t mean that some jackass can take you out and then make you cry. If that’s the standard then I’m way above average, baby.” Bucky lets out a dry chuckle. “And I know you don't want me because, who would? But-”

You slam your lips on his, stopping him completely. 

Both of you are starved for touch, wanting to explore every inch of the other. His hands roam your body as yours get tangled in his hair. 

Heavy breathing takes over the kitchen as you separate. 

“Why did it take you so long to tell me?” You rest your forehead on his. 

“Why did it take you so long to kiss me?”

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour@hallecarey1@aorifukuzawa@sammyssm@alana4610. @mrsjobarnes@vicmc624@unkasworld@theroyalmanatee@almosttoopizza@cjand10@cremebruleequeen@buggy14@jasminocano.@isabel-ffl-xoxo@wintrsoldrluvr@kandis-mom@12345sebby@tittittoee @unaxv. @teambarnes72@angelicrexi@she-wolf09231982@wilsons-striped-ties@tmb510@capswife@pono-pura-vida@touchstarvedforbuckybarnes@tatianah26@drewsuncrustable@minmiin1d

[xtcenh]

Loser gets it

Pairing: Sim Jake x Reader (I love this picture of him y’all)

Description: You shouldn’t have made a bet against Jake, less when you know how nasty he can be but in your defense you didn’t actually expect him to buy this for you to wear… some puppy ears, with the tiniest dress you have ever seen and the thing you expected the less a buttplug that has a tail attached to it.

Warnings: smut!, MDNI, Jake is a pervert here ngl, reader dress like a puppy but not really pet play, ass play, oral (male rec), unprotected sex (nah uh), master and sir kink lol, he makes reader crawl but nothing to much, spitting, begging, reader wear a collar, marking.

‘I got you what I want you to wear since you lost :p’

It’s the text that Jake sent you this afternoon, also telling you that he wants to meet up at his place once the two of you are free. A week ago the two of you were in your weekly; sometimes monthly depending on how free the two of you are; got together to do either everything or nothing but just hang out with each other.

Your relationship with him it’s… complicated to say the least, you guys have drunkenly make out, several times, you have walked in on him while he is masturbating and when he sees it’s just you, he continues, but you guys are just friends, friends that are with each other most of the time and friends that often have sexual tension going on but other than that you two are friends.

Today he got out of class earlier than you so that’s why you find yourself walking to his place alone, normally he would walk with you but he said something about needing to sign the package once it was delivered. Your mind wonders what kind of thing he ordered but knowing him it is something that he is going to like and you are going to be embarrassed to use. He didn’t give you more detail, just that it was something to wear.

Knocking on his door, it surprises you that he almost immediately opens it, “Hey, took you long enough”, rolling your eyes at his greeting you notice the big smile on his face though, “You seem excited about this, I’m getting scared now”.

He quickly hurried you to get inside while murmuring something between the lines ‘I am excited’ and ‘I hope you’re also excited’, he guides you to his bedroom and once inside he points to the bathroom “Uhm, it is inside, if you need help, I’m going to be right here”.

Oh you are so going to kill him, stepping inside his bathroom you notice a box that was already opened, upon inspection of what it’s inside you can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, “this barely covers anything…!”, you whispered to yourself while taking a look at your; what you can barely call; outfit. The dress is low cut in your chest so if you were to bend over all of your tits would be in display and it’s no better behind, the skirt barely covering your buttcheeks if you were to bend over both your behind and front would be all exposed.

Already embarrassed but you know there is still stuff in the box, you continue. Now putting the puppy ears on top of your hair, and for your legs he also chose some mid-thigh stockings in color pink, you won’t deny it you look really sexy right now but there is one last thing in this box you can’t find yourself capable of putting on.

It is a buttplug but it has a tail attached to it, complementing your pup ears, at least he was considerate enough to put a bottle of lube for you but still this is too much!! Getting rid of your panties you grab the bottle mentioned before and squirt the liquid inside onto your fingers, shuddering a bit at the cold feeling of the liquid around your rim you proceed to push a finger first letting out a small moan at the intrusion since you are not used to it. Going slow with it, in and out of it you then add another finger almost stumbling forward, with urgency your other hand grabs the counter of the sink to stabilize yourself.

Huffing at the feeling you stop before it starts to feel too intense, you retract your fingers and now grabbing the tail you squirt some more liquid on top of it, with your hands you smear it all over so that its insertion wouldn’t hurt as much. You give yourself a minute to recover and get used to the feeling prior to standing up straight and looking at your reflection in the mirror, turned to the side you can see the tail peeking out underneath the dress and your cheeks heat up at the image.

“Are you done? You have been in there for some time now” jumping a little bit at the sound of his voice you freeze, “Jake… this is too much”, you hear the handle of the door trying to open but it is stopped since you had lock it before, “Come on Y/N let me see you, what do you mean it’s too much?”, he tries again unlocking the door but fails to do so, “Give me some time! It’s embarrassing!”.

“Fuck, that means you already put all of it on? Come ooon, let me see you!” Jake is so excited to see you in the outfit that he picked up for you, he can almost feel himself salivating imagining how you look and getting frustrated when you don’t come out, one last time he tries to turn the door knob but you beat him to it by opening the door.

The sight in front of him has him already feeling hard in his trousers, you look so much better than any of his fantasies, “Fuck…”, it’s the only thing he can manage to let out, “You look so fucking good baby”, blushing you lift your head up to look at his face and he is looking at you like you are his prey, giving you that look like he would eat you in any moment.

“D-Do you like it?” You give him a little swirl to show it all off and you catch him letting out a growl when he sees the back, “I fucking love it Y/N, you have no idea…there’s just one last thing I got for you”, you see him walk over to his gaming set, he proceeds to grab something he had laying on top of his table. You try to follow him but once you walk just a bit you feel the buttplug making it almost impossible for you to move forward.

“You don’t have to walk puppy, I’m coming over to you”, you can’t believe how wet the pet name he called you got you, stopping your tracks he approaches you with his hands behind his back. As soon as he is in front of you he wraps whatever he has on his hands around your neck making a ‘click’ sound, “w-what?” “It’s a collar baby, it says Jake’s puppy”, you look at him with wide eyes while pressing your thighs together, how he is treating you right now should make you be ashamed but your body feels hot and each thing he does you feel arousal coming from your pussy.

“I was a bit scared that you were not going to like this, but look at you puppy I bet you’re dripping” with that being said he leans forward to capture your lips with his, the kiss being hot and intense, the way Jake kisses makes you always feel dizzy, your hands finding their way to grab his shirt in fists, on the other hand Jake’s hands go to your waist pulling you closer to him.

He separates your legs with one of his, gasping into the kiss when you feel your clit being press against his jean, the friction making you subconsciously buckle your hips forward, he groans and whispers against your lips “fuck puppy I can feel how wet you are”, you whine at his demeanor, “please, p-please fuck me master”.

He is on cloud nine once he hears you, smiling to you he pushes away and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, “Come puppy”, you take a step forward but he stops you by saying, “Pups don’t walk, they crawl baby, now be good and crawl to me”, even for your surprise you find yourself dropping down on your knees and then leaning forward to be on all fours, crawling of the way to where he was located.

You positioned yourself in between his legs on the floor, pressing your cheek against his left thigh and looking up at him expecting his next command, “Take off my pants pup”, you quickly help him out of his trousers and your mouth waters at the sight of his bulge, he is big, gulping you lean with your hands to take his boxers off but he catches them both, “take my boxers off with your teeth puppy”, it was a bit difficult for you but you manage to do exactly what he tells you to do.

“You are going to suck me off but you can’t use your hands okay?”, you nod your head rapidly and he does think you look like an excited puppy, he pats your head with his hand and smiles at you, “You are so good to me”, his dick is hard and ready to explode so he proceeds to tap himself of your mouth indicating that you should open and you do, you swirl your tongue on his tip, moaning at the taste then you carry on with taking him more deep in your mouth, enjoying how he reacts you hollow your cheeks and take more of him.

Maintaining eye contact with him, you reach your limit, your nose it’s touching his lower abdomen, “Mhm, such a slut for cock aren’t you, o-oh yessss, so good baby, your mouth so warm”, now you are bobbing your head up and down like sucking his cock with your tongue, all of your work on him makes him thrust his hips upwards making you gag and bring your hands up to his thighs, digging your nails onto them.

It seems that he like the pain as much as you, once he feels your manicured nails dig into him, he lets out a loud moan and how he sounds make you whine around his cock, working up and down his dick it’s making you feel so wet you bring one of your hands down to in between your legs and you start making circles on top of your clitoris, moaning into his cock.

“Fuckkk, you like sucking dick that much baby? That it makes you touch yourself? But you know better than that, stop touching your pussy or I’ll punish you”, as turned on you are by this you stop and bring your hand upward again to grip his thigh. What he does next is leaving you breathless, he puts both his hands around your head, grabbing you by your hair and thrusting with force into your mouth.

“I’m c-close baby yeah, just like that, fuck I-I’m coming”, with that last warning you feel him spill his seed inside your mouth, with tears threatening to fall down your eyes you moan at how he just used your mouth. Pulling out he pushes his thumb into your mouth making you open it, and he gathers spit on his mouth before spitting it into your mouth, “Swallow”.

Obeying him, you do, opening it once again to show him you did as he wanted to, he cups your cheek with one of his hands and smiles at you, “Such a good girl for me”, he forces you to stand up before sitting you down on his lap with each of your legs in one side of him, bringing your face closer to make out some more with you, tasting himself on your mouth but still loving it.

Pulling down the hem of your dress he starts playing around with your nipples in between his fingers, twisting and pinching them, the stimulation making you arch your back into his touch moaning into the kiss. He trails down kissing your chin and downwards to your neck leaving wet kisses and biting down, “You look so good with this collar on but I need to mark you or I’m going to go crazy”, unclipping it he throws it somewhere in his room without a care.

His hands now go to circle around your waist pressing you down on him, directly on top of his cock, both of you whine at the direct feeling and you feel the rush and need of grinding up against him, that feeling plus his mouth and lips all over your neck makes you go dumb.

“Fuckk, Jak- master please!” “Do you even know what you are begging for?”, he detaches himself from your neck and brings a hand to wrap around your hair, tugging it forcing you to look at him directly into his eyes, “Beg for it puppy”.

Tossing any thoughts of shame in your body you whine out, “master please, I need you inside me” “More pup” “Please! Please just fuck me! I need you”, humming in satisfaction he throws your body in the bed, laying on your back, he hovers on top of you in between your legs.

“Such a good girl, perfect for me, I’m going to make you mine”, with one hand holding your thigh, the other one is lining up his tip right in your hole. Liking how you react he proceeds to tease you by dragging his tip up and down all over your pussy lips, “W-Why so much teasing? Sir! Please!”, he loves your reaction, loving how much you need him so he decides that he is going to tease you some other time but right now he needs you as much or probably even more than you need him.

Letting out a moan when he finally pushes inside, loving how tight you feel and he knows you feel this way because of the buttplug that sits perfectly inside of you. He starts a pace slow at first but his thrusts were deep and hard, by every minute on how you feel and the noises that you let out are making him get needier, now going faster and harder bringing one hand to press up on the tail in between your cheeks, letting out a squeal in surprise while simultaneously clenching at the feeling, Jake lovesss how you feel.

After teasing your behind a bit more he moves his hand to your front now teasing and pinching your clitoris, “You get even wetter when I play with you puppy, f-fuck”, you give him a fucked up smile before launching yourself to his neck taking your turn to now mark him, licking, kissing and biting all over his neck. Upon your movements his hips stuttered but never stopped, he let you continue after all he would proudly show everyone your marks on him, marking him as yours.

He notices that you are panting even more, you have stopped your work on his neck and he knows by your body language that you definitely are close, “Ja-jake, can I cum…?”, already deep down in subspace he lets you get away with calling him by his name, after all he feels himself twitching at the sound of his own name, you sound so pretty, so submissive, he loves it.

“Of course baby, cum all over my cock”

With those words, your mouth opens in a ‘o’ shape, you release cries of his name and thank you’s, your orgasm hits you hard, arching into the bed, digging your nails into his biceps and you even feel your legs trembling with pleasure.

“All on fours puppy I want to cum all over your pretty ass”, with his assistance you turn yourself around and position your figure in all fours but once he re-enters you your arms give up, finding your body now face down and ass up, all presented for him.

He doesn’t stop one second even after you falling down, he loves the sight in front him, you, his pretty best friend that he loves, all spread out for him, with all the humiliating stuff he bought for both of you to enjoy, as much as he enjoys the fake tail going up and down with each thrust, he grabs it and slowly takes it out, growling at the sight of your rim all stretched out, opening and closing after the long time with the toy inside.

Gathering; once more; spit in his mouth, he throws it in your hole and pushes his thumb inside, losing it at the feeling of you tightening even more. “Fuck puppy, I-I’m closeee, shit”, you can’t believe that you feel the knot on your tummy one more time, reaching down to your clit, you draw circles on it, feeling the knot close to snapping you cry out, “Lets cum together master!”, with some final pushes inside of you both of you cum undone.

Trying to calm yourself down, you hiss when you feel Jake pull out, moving your body to lay down comfortably on his sheets, he reaches next to his bed he takes some wet wipes to clean you up, poorly but enough, helping you on your feet and helping you out of the outfit you both walk towards his bathroom to take a quick shower.

After going out and drying up he lends you some shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear while he changes the sheets in his bed and puts on a clean pair.

Now lying next to each other you cuddle with him all in peace after everything you hear him cough with intention on you paying attention to him he says, “So…when are we doing this again?”

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

idk if this is a sex ed question, or if you're the right person to ask, sorry, but do you have any reputable sources about what testosterone *actually* does?

i see people saying it limits your emotions, that it gives you breast cancer, that it makes you malnourished, its a second more dangerous puberty, etc, and I'd like to think im good at picking out lies, but there's a lot of stuff that sounds like bullshit coming from blogs i thought were trustworthy.

if not, all good, thank you in advance!

hi anon,

I'm really glad you sent this ask, because this kind of scaremongering misinformation is deeply upsetting and I'm so happy to provide a better information.

there are tons of reputable sources as to what testosterone does; some that I'll be pulling from in this answer include Cleveland Clinic, Harvard Medical School, University of California San Francisco, Mayo Clinic, the Society for Endocrinology, and Planned Parenthood.

so, what's up testosterone?

testosterone is a hormone produced in everyone's bodies, either in the testes or the ovaries depending on which set of equipment you're working with. all bodies produce both estrogen and testosterone, usually in different levels. regardless of the genitalia you were born with, how you understand your gender, or what levels of testosterone you have in your body, testosterone affects things like your sex drive, your hair growth, muscle and bone density, and the production of red blood cells.

in people born with testes, puberty usually comes with an increase in testosterone that kicks off changes such as growth of the penis and testicles, the production of sperm, an increase in hair growth all over the body, deepening of the voice, greater production of oil on the skin, and an increase in height, weight, and muscle mass.

either an overabundance or a deficit of testosterone can have health complications, just as having more or less of any hormone that a body needs can cause complications.

people who choose to transition by taking testosterone will experience many similar effects as cisgender men going through puberty, including the increase in body hair, skin oils, and muscle mass, as well as a deepening voice. while people on testosterone are unlikely to experience significant growth in terms of height unless they start hormone replacement therapy (HRT) at a fairly young age, testosterone does frequently cause a redistribution of fat on their bodies to be more similar to that of cisgender men. bottom growth, the increased size and sensitivity of the clitoris to more closely resemble a penis, is also common; the clitoris and the penis are homologous structures (they're made out of the same goo when embryos start developing genitalia), hence why they react similarly to testosterone.

to address your specific concerns:

testosterone does not limit the range of a person's emotions. while it may impact a person's mood and the severity of their feelings, the same is true of any hormone - for instance, people also report mood changes when they take antidepressants or birth control. the sometimes drastic mood fluctuations experienced during puberty are not tied to a specific hormone; this is a turbulent time regardless of what hormones your body is producing the most. testosterone is stereotyped as making people angry and violent, but all people are people regardless of their biology and are shaped by much more than the hormones in their body.

while cisgender men and trans people on testosterone can both get breast cancer, testosterone does not pose any particular risk. several of the sources linked about don't find any significant link between taking testosterone HRT and an increased risk of breast cancer, reporting that transgender individuals who take testosterone are not at any particularly higher risk of developing breast cancer than cisgender women. for more detailed information about potential health problems affiliated with taking testosterone, I recommend the "Risks" section of the linked UCSF document. yes, there are health risks affiliated with taking testosterone; this is true of literally any medication and, more importantly, is also true of just being a person with any kind of hormones in your body. cis men and women also have health conditions affiliated with being cis men and cis women, this is the price of admission for having a human body. nobody gets out unscathed.

there is no evidence that testosterone causes someone to become malnourished. people undergoing a testosterone-based puberty, whether they're cis or trans, are likely to experience a great deal of growth and bodily changes that will use a great deal of calories, which means they may be hungry and need more food than they did previously. this is a normal effect of puberty on a body, and is only a risk for malnourishment if a person isn't able to eat in sufficient amounts to keep their body properly nourished.

there is nothing about a testosterone-based puberty that is "more dangerous" than an estrogen-based puberty, which is what I assume is the point of comparison. puberty is a completely natural process that does not pose any significant dangers unless you want to be a real dipshit about it and pull some shit like "puberty is dangerous because you grow breast tissue and then you're at risk for breast cancer," in which case sure, great job, Sherlock. you solved it, puberty is cancelled forever. I cannot emphasize enough how stupid this is, conceptually; roughly half the human population goes through this kind of puberty every day and they're fucking fine. puberty by itself is not a risk factor of anything.

I don't know what particular interest the blogs you've been following have in making testosterone-based puberty sound like it's going to turn you into an emotionally stunted skeleton with breast cancer, although I fear it's transphobia hidden unsubtly behind concern trolling and disdain for cisgender men.

if you're interested in taking testosterone and are concerned about the changes you might see in your body please, for the love of god, consult with reputable health resources and a doctor rather than whatever nematode is posting about testosterone ruining your life.

[triptychgardener]

i saw you mentioned that transfem!calliope was practically canon, could you maybe elaborate on that? (im not dissing your hcs btw im just confused on where its suggested in canon)

Hey so it took me a while to get to this just because I wanted to solidify some thoughts about it! Won't go into as much detail wrt my other posts, but we can at the very least start with her handle: uranianUmbra

Uranian is an old-fashioned term, generally used for gay men, though also used in different ways to describe other-gendered people or ways of being, occasionally used as a catch-all similar to how Queer is used today. Its history is complicated and occasionally uncomfortable, as a lot of queer history can be, but notably, one potential root of this idea came from Urning

Now obviously conceptions of gender and sexuality were a lot different then, and I don't want to simplify this, but in Homestuck, it's pretty undeniable that Calliope is a woman stuck in a man's body, and this is likely why Hussie used that very specific word in the first place: to foreshadow the eventual Cherubian Twist.

And not that framing: a woman trapped in a man's body. Cherubs (at least as we are told) have two equal halves who can predominate. But the framing of their entire dynamic makes it very clear that this is Caliborn's body, not Calliope.

Callie's ideal self, in Callie Ohpeee, her Trollsona, is positioned as something to be taken off to reveal her true self. She feels that she needs to conform her exterior to match her interior self, something Caliborn never has to do.

Hell, even as she goes to sleep for the last time, she removes her jacket to reveal Caliborn's shirt underneath. It's his body, not hers.

Not only that, but throughout the story, we see that Callie experiences something close to either dysphoria or body dysmorphia. She hates the way she looks, and affects an especially sweet demeanor in order to not scare people away. She sees herself as a monster because her body becomes the most hideous masculine monster the story has ever known! Literally Lord English.

And shockingly, even though it (in my opinion) handles it poorly, the Epilogues do give us a brief insight into cherub gender, where it basically illuminates that Aranea was kind of talking out of her ass about cherub reproduction, and that Cherubs have no actual biological sex or gender. Meaning that somewhere along the way, Caliborn and Calliope CHOSE their genders, likely influenced by the human and troll internet they were permitted. Callie perhaps forming her own gender in opposition to her brother. This also probably created the ouroboros through which gender became a thing in the first place but thats besides the point. Point is, Callie was likely not a woman until she chose to be a woman. I.e. transgender.

Now the epilogues took it in what I find to be a kind of boring direction, i.e. "well cherubs have no real biological sex so that means I have to be nonbinary now" which is just such a lukewarm take on the imposition of gender but whatever. Point is that Callie is transgender end of story goodnight!!!!!

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

"Told him go put my name on his account

because when I need money, I ain't tryna wait"

Sugar daddy!König x stripper reader. First time you met at the stripclub, he was so nervous to talk to you that he didn't know what to do with himself. He was dressed in a button up and slacks, perfectly tailored to his long limbs and not a wrinkle in sight. He just kept handing you 20s every couple of minutes while you talked to him, sitting on his thigh. You just kept rambling on and on about the newest outfits you've bought and your skincare routine. His jaw was clenched hard while he focused on listening to you, trying to ignore his painfully hard dick tucked up into his waistband. It made him feel so special when you gave him your number. Of course it was a fake number you gave every customer so you can let them know when you're coming to work. But he didn't know any better. He lost it when he got a text from you the following week,

"Working today! Come see me?❤️"

He didn't know you were just clicking through the list of customers on your texting app and sending the same message. He got at the club two hours before you even stepped into the changing room. He'd awkwardly shoo away other dancers away saying he was waiting for you. It was the same thing every time you worked; sitting on his thigh talking about frivolous things while he handed you 20s. He didn't even get a lap dance from you until a solid two months of coming to the club. And when it finally did happen, you could see the deep shade of red his face turned even in the dim lights. He didn't even properly say goodbye before leaving the club. Practically sprinted to his car, desperately undid his slacks and aggressively fucked his fist in the parking lot. Every detail of you vividly emblazoned in his mind despite how dark it was. Slammed his hand down his aching shaft repeatedly, imagining it was your perfect ass bouncing up and down on him. Wondered if your skin tasted as good as it smelled. He spills a hot thick load on his button up, whimpering. Staring at the ceiling of his car; he's thankful for the tinted windows on his Range Rover.

As the months went on, he would bring gifts to the club; watches, earrings, bags, even skincare products that you brought up when you first met. Your coworkers oohed and ahhed, talked about how lucky you are to have such a hot guy be your top client. How it was even better that he barely talked.

One day he timidly asks for your real name before handing you a fat stack of 20s, promising he'll keep it a secret. You were gonna tell him either way, but the money didn't hurt. You even gave him your real number. You already liked him, you were just afraid to complicate things. He promised he would keep it simple. Just let him take care of you: How could you say no?

So you went on your first date together. Met up right outside the restaurant. Both of you got a better look at each other now that you weren't in a dark club, it was so weird seeing him for the first time while not wearing a skimpy bikini. You still had the same effect on him though: the dress you wore made him so hot under the collar, he could melt right then and there. Also, he was used to you being...taller? It was probably the impossibly tall shoes you donned at work. But there you were, in normal heels (even they were high, though). He still towered over your either way. He was somehow even hotter in this light, subtle scars across his face and sleepy eyes that were accentuated by annoyingly long lashes.

You were the only people in the restaurant which was unexpected because of how popular it was. (He had bought the whole place out, of course. He just couldn't imagine being distracted by other people while trying to impress you on your first real date.) As usual, he smiled when you touched his arm or laughed at your own joke. As usual, you were the one leading the conversation. As usual, he only spoke when you asked him a question.

At the end of the date, instead of calling a cab to take you home; you asked him to drive you. Then you asked him to walk you up to your place. Then you asked him to come in for tea. Then you asked him to rail you over the kitchen island. He turned a darling shade of pink that made you giggle.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to..."

He stood awkwardly in your kitchen, shifting uncomfortably.

"No, I really want this. I promise."

You assured him, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his neck. He swallowed hard, and blinked. He felt so guilty because he didn't want to take advantage of you. But God did he want you in a way that was downright wicked. You tugged at his collar and kissed him as he was in the middle of fighting with himself. Your lips were so soft, the softest things he ever kissed. God was it divine.

In the blink of an eye, you were leaning your elbows on the counter with your legs open. Of course he wanted get waterboard by your pussy first but you looked too fucking good bent over in that dress that hugged your curves so well. The way your heels have you standing on the balls of your feet, accentuating your legs and making your ass stick out, he was literally drooling. He slid your dress up and moaned when he saw how soaked you were. Pussy so fat it almost ate up the small thong you were wearing. He gently slid it to the side and got weak in the knees seeing your pretty lips for the first time. He quickly undid his pants, giving himself a couple tugs enjoying the way you swayed your hips. He teased his way inside, swiping his tip through your slick to lube himself up. Almost came right when he stuck his thick tip in. He didn't even slide himself all the way in; afraid to hurt you, no matter how much you begged. It took everything in him to not release until you did. He grit his teeth so hard trying to control himself he gave himself a headache. He made the sweetest moans and whimpers.

"Mein Engel, mein Engel~"

He'd repeat. It was honestly the most noise you've ever heard come from this man. He was obsessed with the way you gripped him. You looked back right into his eyes and begged for him to give you every last inch. He couldn't help himself, he slammed his hips against your ass. Knocked the wind right out of you. His fingers dug into your hips as he lost control of himself; repeatedly digging into you with his fat shaft. Every pump was a bruising kiss to your cervix. It hurt. It was heavenly. Your legs started shaking so bad your knees gave out and he held you up by the hips, just lifting you enough to make your stand on your tiptoes. Fucked you right through your orgasm; he held off for this long, might as well make the most of it. Every pump after that just sent you more into a stupor until he finished inside you, you didn't even realize you were begging for him to do that. Just dick drunk and hypnotized.

You didn't take the cash he offered before he walked out, that would make this whole moment feel transactional, cheapen the moment. You weren't having sex with him because he gave you money. You were having sex with him because you liked him, because he took care of you. And you wanted to take care of him. Oh and you knew after having sex he'd probably give you every cent in his pocket anyway.

As you closed the door you squealed to yourself , God how did you get so lucky? You were just happy wanted to get off to the real thing after touching yourself for months to the thought of him. To be honest, you've wanting to fuck him since you first met him. Saw his hard dick the very first time you were sitting on his thigh.

He paid you to take a day off, then a week off, then a monthly allowance. You quit to just get taken care by him. Never saw a bill, he just paid for it. Gave you enough money to feel secure if you ever split up. He made you an authorized user on his credit card so you could build your credit. Even with the age gap, you looked like a perfect couple walking down the street arm in arm.

Might do a more nasty part 2 LMAO

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x ex-wife!Reader

SUMMARY — James and Reader have not been on great terms since their divorce, but an emerging situation with their son forces them to put aside their differences and work together and hope that past feelings don't resurface

WARNINGS — hospitalization, chronic illness, swearing, complicated feelings (idk y'all they're divorced what more can I say)

NOTE — Okay so I have so many things to say about this fic, but if I say them all this post will be way too long it already is like this came up as 33 pages in my docs but this is a day late birthday present for @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey who also provided the James pic I hope you had such a fun day and a great year of simping ahead!

Pronounciation — Mahlet = Ma-h-let | Hennock = Hey-knock

Ever since you had become a mother, birthday parties were the bane of your existence. The sugar overload, the loud noises, the cleanup afterwards, all amounted to your own personal hell. Yet, you would move hell or high water for your son to have the most enjoyable party every single year. 

Today was no different, eight years later you were still breaking your back to ensure every small detail was perfect, from the pin the spikes on the stegosaurus to the cake you’d spent at least a month painstakingly training to make. 

A friend of yours, another parent from the school your son Julian went to, came over in the kitchen to give you a hand with some of the snacks. 

“How are you managing here?” she asked and you took a deep breath. 

“Managing is the operative word,” you chuckled. “Kids having fun out there?” 

“Yeah, loads, you’ve outdone yourself again,” she assured you. “Will James be making an appearance?” 

“I stopped asking myself that question after we got divorced,” you said while fixing the plate of vegetables and dip. “He’s supposed to, he promised Julian, but we all know how that ends.” 

There seemed to be a bit of commotion out in the backyard and you tried to assess what was happening from the window, but your suspicions that something was off was confirmed when Julian’s best friend, Hennock, came rushing inside.

“Mrs. Wilson, something’s going on with Julian,” he said and you frowned while your friend followed you outside to see the kids circling around Julian who seemed to be gripping onto his chest. 

“Jay, what’s going on? Are you okay?” you bent down to be closer to his eye-level, trying to understand what was happening to your son. 

“Can’t…” he pointed to his mouth. “Can’t…breathe,” he wheezed. 

Your eyes went wide, but before you could grab him and run for the car he began to cough and you hoped and prayed there was just something caught in his throat that would make its way out, but with the coughing came spatters of red all over your white shirt.

“Mahi,” you looked over at your friend quickly while picking Julian up. You didn’t have to say a word, she already knew what she needed to do. 

Living close to the hospital, it was worth it to drive yourself, that way you didn’t have to wait for an ambulance to get to you. You had made the mental calculations many times before, just in case there was an emergency and now it was finally coming in handy. 

When you got Julian in the car, you checked in on his breathing, it was still laboured, but at least at this point he was getting in the air, even if he was coughing up blood. 

You turned on the car and began driving while calling your ex-husband with one hand. The line rang until you reached voicemail so you called again, expecting at least this time for him to pick up, only to hear the tone once more. 

“Dammit James!” you threw your phone down on the seat next to you knowing you’d deal with him later, now you needed to focus on getting to the hospital without killing either of you. 

Barely paying attention to how your car was parked, you grabbed Julian out of the back seat and ran into the ER with him. 

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” a nurse came and asked you as you put Julian down. 

“My son, he-he’s having trouble breathing and he’s coughing up blood I-I-I don’t know what’s happening.” 

Before you could say a word they had whisked Julian away and another nurse came to ask you some questions about his medical history and any information that may be important to the doctors treating him. 

“Where’s my son?” you asked, “I want to see my son.” 

“Ma’am I’m sorry, but the doctors are working on getting his airway cleared, you can’t be with him right now.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and bit back your tongue. There were a million and one things you wanted to say to the nurse, but none of them would help your situation. On the other hand, finding your ex might. 

So instead of finding the waiting room you went over to the elevator and made your way up to the oncology department, briskly walking through the halls until you reached his office. At this point, you didn’t bother knocking, opening the door to see him sitting down over a file and talking with House. 

“Hey Greg,” you said in a fake cheery voice. “Mind giving us the room?” 

“Oh, this is the wife with the kid, did you forget to pay child support?” House asked James. 

“Get out, Greg,” you said warningly and he listened, instead opting to steal the rest of James’ sandwich and slipping past you, while wishing James good luck and letting you slam the door shut behind you. 

“What’s going on?” James asked, clearly confused by your demeanour and appearance. “If this is about the party I didn’t forget I was-wait is that blood,” he stood up from his chair and came over to you. 

“What’s going on is you didn’t pick up your fucking phone,” you said angrily. 

“Hey,” James looked at you sternly. “What is going on?” he repeated his question, this time more pointedly. 

You could feel your lips begin to tremble and your vision became blurred while you shook your head. 

“Who’s blood is on your shirt?” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “It’s Julian’s.” 

“Julian-I-what happened?” his demeanour changed from frustrated with your attitude towards him to worrying for his son. 

“I-I don’t know he said he couldn’t breathe and then he started coughing up blood and I just picked him up and drove him here a-and now they won’t let me see him.” 

“You drove him?” he asked incredulously. “You didn’t think to maybe call an ambulance?” 

“That’s what you’re hung up on? That I decided to drive because it was faster than getting him an ambulance?” 

“That’s not what I-,” 

“Yes it is,” you stepped back. “I wouldn’t have needed an ambulance if you were there.” 

James sighed and chose to ignore your comment, 

“Where is he?” he asked. 

“Emergency room,” you muttered. “They won’t let me see him, you need to talk to them, say something, anything.” 

James nodded his head, at least you could agree on that. He walked with you out of the office and to the elevator so you could go to the ER together and figure out what the hell was happening to your son. 

When you got down there and James began speaking to the nurses, they informed him that Julian had been moved to the ICU and his respiration was being closely monitored while they ran a few tests to see what had caused the arrest. 

You had to fight to hold yourself upright when they pulled back the curtain and you could see Julian hooked up to all the machines and with a ventilator tube stuck down his throat. You covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head again. This couldn’t be happening, now you were supposed to be cutting into cake and opening presents, not sitting in the ICU. 

You stepped inside with James and he closed the curtain to give you a bit of privacy and decided to look over his chart and see if they had given any relevant information there. Seeing none, he turned his attention over to you, seeing your eyes filled with tears, unable to tear your gaze away from your son. 

James walked over to you and cautiously put a hand on your shoulder, eventually encouraging you to turn around so he could pull you into his arms. You allowed your tears to soak his white coat, gripping onto him so tightly because there was nowhere else to hold. 

You could hear his breathing change, accompanied by the small sniffles and you knew he was doing just as bad as you were right now, wiping the tears from his own eyes as he finally allowed himself to see his son as he was, sick, helpless, vulnerable, and only moments ago, without his dad’s help when he needed him most. 

Your moment was interrupted when you heard the curtain being pulled back and you saw two doctors standing there. You pulled away from James and wiped whatever remaining tears were in your eyes so you could properly address them.

It seemed as though one of the doctors recognized James and when he looked down at the file and saw the name he made the connection internally. 

“Can we talk to you guys out in the waiting room for a moment?” he asked. 

“I don’t want to leave my son,” you shook your head. 

“Ma’am, this is the ICU and the visiting hours are very strictly adhered to, I think your husband maybe got lucky and pulled a few strings so you could see your son, but we need to leave now.” 

“He’s not my husband,” you muttered and reluctantly followed them out of the makeshift room and towards the waiting area. 

“Did you find out what was wrong?” James asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I looked at his chart. You took him for an emergency CT and bloodwork.” 

“We also ran a few other tests,” the doctor began explaining. “From the medical history your, um, ex wife gave I had a suspicion of something so we ran a sweat test to check for elevated chloride levels and it just came back positive.” 

“Chloride levels?” you looked up at James. “What does that mean?” 

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “It means Julian has cystic fibrosis.” 

“I-I’ve heard of that, is it curable?” you asked. 

“I’ll leave you guys with Dr. Liu, he deals with the pediatric cystic fibrosis cases and will be able to answer your questions better than I can,” he wished you a good day and left you alone with the other doctor. 

“Cystic fibrosis is manageable-,” 

“So you can’t cure it,” you reiterated. 

The doctor shook his head, “Unfortunately there is no cure for CF yet, but many people have been able to live longer and happy lives with the medical technology now available.” 

James was silent, taking in all the information that was being presented. 

“How did he get it? Is it contagious or-or was it just always there?” you asked. 

“It’s a genetic condition, so he’s always had it, the symptoms have just gotten to the point where they’re now visible,” the doctor explained.

“I-It’s genetic so one of us is a carrier?” you pointed to you and James. 

“We both are,” James said. “Both parents have to be carriers to pass it down to their child, right?” 

Dr. Liu nodded and you pressed your lips together. 

“C-Can you just tell us what this means for right now?” you asked. “I just think-I think I need a minute.” 

Dr. Liu nodded his head and explained they were giving Julian medication to help with the infection and airway damage that caused him to cough up blood, then they would get him on some bronchodilators to help with his breathing for the time being while they assessed what other issues the cystic fibrosis had potentially caused in his body. He’d have to stay at the hospital for a while, but hopefully could be moved to the pediatric ward within the next day or so.

“We can talk more about what Julian’s medical journey will look like later, I’ll give you guys some time together and if you have any questions, Wilson’s got my pager and knows where my office is.” 

You nodded your head and thanked him quietly as he left the waiting area. You finally sat down on one of the chairs. 

James took the seat next to you and you covered your face with your hands. 

“We couldn’t give him a functional family and a happy home and now we’ve given him a chronic medical condition to top it off.” 

“Blaming ourselves isn’t going to do anything for Julian,” James said. 

“And sitting around here is?” you asked and James sighed. 

“No, no it’s not.” 

You sat there in silence for a little while longer before you noticed James stand up and motion for you to follow him. As much as you didn’t want to listen to him and just sit and wait until they would let you be with Julian again, you got up and followed him to one of the OR supply closets. He used a key to unlock the door and sifted through some materials until he found what he was looking for, pulling out a scrub shirt in your size and handing it over to you. 

You looked down at your own shirt, seeing the red specks of Julian’s blood and closed the door behind your both, pulling your shirt off over your head and handing it to James. You were about to put the other shirt on when you noticed the flecks of dried blood against your chest. 

While you eyes were transfixed on that, James had grabbed an alcohol wipe package from the shelves and tore it open with his teeth, removing the wipe and reaching over to help you clean the blood off yourself. 

“James, I can do it myself,” you reached for the wipe, but he pulled it away. 

“You’ve got some on your neck too, just let me take care of it,” he insisted. 

You knew better than to cause a fight over something trivial like this right now so you put your hands down, watching as James tossed your shirt over his shoulder and carefully began wiping away the specks of your son’s blood off your chest, collarbone, and neck. 

“Have you eaten today?” he asked you while holding your face to tilt it to the side so he could get a spot he’d missed earlier. 

“No, why?” 

“Because it’s his birthday, you’d always forget to eat until dinner and even then it would be scraps from the party until I forced you to eat something better,” he recounted. “Let’s just go grab something from the cafeteria before we go back to the ICU, okay?” 

“Will it make a difference if I say I’m not hungry?” you asked. 

“You can’t take care of Julian if you’re not taking care of yourself.” 

You scoffed and pulled the shirt over your head, “And you’ve suddenly become an expert on taking care of your family?” 

“Believe it or not, we were once happy and there was a reason we got married and decided to have a child together.” 

“And there’s a reason we got divorced too,” you added and opened the door behind you.

You didn’t go to the cafeteria, instead heading back to the ICU waiting room knowing either visiting hours would have to start eventually or they’d move Julian to his own room and you could finally sit with him. 

James clearly hadn’t followed you so you ended up alone again, wringing your hands and waiting for some sort of news. 

Eventually, you felt a bag drop on your lap and you looked up and saw James standing overtop of you. You looked inside and saw a package of a sandwich, a small bag of chips, and a water bottle. 

You knew he was right, that if you didn’t take care of yourself you wouldn’t be able to take care of Julian, so you forced yourself to eat, even if you didn’t want to. 

A little while later, Dr. Liu had returned and informed you that they were moving Julian to the pediatric ward and you could stay with him there in his room. When you joined him there, James had taken off his white coat and tossed it on one of the chairs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and sitting down next to Julian’ taking one of his hands in his own. 

“Don’t you have patients you need to see?” you asked, sitting on the opposite side of the hospital bed. 

“I told Cuddy I needed the day, someone else is taking care of it for me,” he said, not removing his gaze from Julian. 

With the two of them sitting next to each other like that, you could clearly see the similarities Julian had with his father. They shared the same eyes and nose, and when they smiled they had the same little creases around their eyes. 

You wished that’s what you could have been looking at, them smiling together, instead of the frown etched onto James’ face and Julian still fast asleep while an oxygen mask now delivered the air he needed to help him breathe. 

“Do you know much about cystic fibrosis?” you asked James, brushing your thumb against Julian’s other hand. 

“Only that it mainly affects the digestive system and the respiratory tract,” he explained. “I’m not too familiar with how it's managed, just that there’s regular doctor’s visits and probably some medication and therapies involved.” 

You could feel a small stirring and you looked down and saw Julian’s hand begin to move underneath yours. 

You smiled when you saw his eyes blink open and James was quick to stand up and come closer to him so he had a familiar face to look at while he took in his surroundings. 

“Hey buddy,” James smiled and you could see Julian light up at the sight of his dad. He lifted his hand to try to remove the oxygen mask, but James gently encouraged him not to. “This is giving your lungs an extra hand right now, let’s just keep it on until the doctor tells us it's okay to take it off.” 

“But you’re a doctor,” Julian countered and James chuckled. 

“I am, but I'm not your doctor. I am, however, your dad so you have to listen to me anyways,” he teased and bent down to kiss his son’s cheek and tickle him a little bit in the process. 

“Hey, go easy on him,” you placed a gentle hand on James' arm and he laid off. 

“You know,” James said. “It’s still your birthday.” 

“It is?” Julian asked and you both nodded and James reached down to grab something he’d brought with him. 

“All the presents your friends got you are at home waiting for you to get better so you can open them, but this is what I got for you,” he said. “I was gonna come and bring it to the party, but I think you brought the party to me.” 

Julian laughed a little at that and you rolled your eyes, of course James could make himself look good by not showing up. 

He sat up with the help of his dad and pulled out the tissue paper from the bag to see the present that was hiding underneath. With a big grin on his face, he took out a dinosaur stuffed animal along with a book all about the different species of the Cretaceous period. 

“This is awesome,” Julian grinned. “Thanks dad, I love it.” 

James gave Julian another kiss and you joined them, taking a seat on the bed and glancing over at the book on Julian’s lap. 

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” you asked, fixing the twisted band of the oxygen mask on his face. 

“My throat hurts a little bit,” he admitted. “And I’m kinda hungry.” 

“Let me call a nurse and we’ll see what you can eat,” you said and pressed the button to send someone over from the nurses’ station. 

Meanwhile, James poured Julian a glass of water and helped him take a few sips of it. His throat was probably irritated from being on the ventilator, but his lungs had become stabilized from the use of the bronchodilators. 

The nurse came and you spoke to her about getting Julian something to eat and she said she’d double check with Dr. Liu and then grab him some food. 

“Hey, Jay,” you walked over to the bed and took your son’s hand in yours. “Are you okay to hang out here with dad while I go grab some stuff from home? The doctors said we might hang around here for a few days so I think I need to pack a bag.” 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Julian nodded. “Are you okay mom?” he reached up and touched your cheek and you realized you'd let a few more tears slip.

“Yeah, I’m just really happy you’re okay,” you wiped the tears away and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. “Right, Jamie? We’re both happy he’s okay.” 

James looked over at you with softness reflecting in his eyes at the sound of the nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time and nodded his head. 

“Bring some cake back with you,” Julian whispered. “Even if dad and the doctor say no we can sneak some.” 

You laughed at his plan and gave him another kiss, assuring him you’d pack some in a container to bring for him when you came back.

When you arrived at your home, you thought you might cry at the sight in front of you. The kitchen and living room were completely clean, presents piled neatly on the coffee table along with a new card you didn’t recognize. Coming closer, you noticed the bright marker, signature of eight-year-olds across the country, with the message Get Well Soon Julian! written on it and signed by all his friends who had attended the party. 

You packed the card in your bag along with a few other things and made a mental note to grab a nice thank you gift for Mahlet to thank her for what she had done. 

As promised, you cut a big chunk of cake, enough for the three of you to share, and packed it in a tupperware to bring back to the hospital. 

You grabbed a few changes of clothes for both you and Julian and changed out of the temporary shirt you had on and into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening, making sure everything you needed was in place before heading out and going back to the hospital. 

When you got back to Julian’s room you saw James squished in next to him on the bed, the book he had bought him opened on his lap as he read its contents to Julian. Julian was resting his head against James’ arm and James was doing those big exaggerations he always would whenever he’d read bedtime stories to Julian, emphasizing all the insane details and changing the inflections of his voice in just the right way to make him laugh. 

“I brought cake,” you grinned, holding up the container as you entered the room, holding three plastic forks. “If Dr. Dad says it's okay, we can eat it.” 

“Dr. Dad desperately needs some sugar,” James nodded his head and closed the book for the time being while you took a seat by Julian’s legs and opened the container, handing each of the boys a fork. 

You helped Julian take off his oxygen mask for the time being and placed it off to the side, acutely aware of how his breathing sounded more laboured without it. 

James only snuck in a couple bites of the cake before taking the mask from your side and holding it ready in case Julian needed a bit of an extra hand. 

Just as he had predicted, after a few bites of cake Julian was noticing a bit of a difficulty to get air into his lungs and James held up the mask to his face, allowing him to take a couple deep breaths. 

“What do you think of the cake, Jay?” you asked. 

“Really good, just like everytime you make it,” he grinned. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a great birthday, buddy,” James apologized. “I mean with all your friends and classmates.” 

“What do you mean?” Julian asked. “I think I had a good birthday.” 

“You do?” you frowned curiously, wondering what kind of light he’d seen in the day that you and James as worried parents had somehow missed. “What made it good?”

“We’re sitting eating cake. Together. Just like when I was little,” he said simply and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, looking over at James whose gaze hadn’t left Julian. He almost looked disappointed, at what, you couldn’t place, but at least for the moment Julian was happy and that was all either of you really wanted. 

—

You grabbed your purse from the ground and thanked Dr. Liu for all of the information he had given you and assured you’d be there with Julian at the allocated follow-up time you had arranged. You were just about to leave when James came rushing into the room, apologies spewing out of his mouth for being late. 

“Late? You missed the whole appointment.”

“I-I did?” he said, looking down at his watch and cursing when he saw the time. 

“Jay, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down here,” you moved out of Dr. Liu’s office and set him up on a chair in one of the general waiting areas and handed him his dinosaur book from your purse. “I just need to go have a chat with your dad real quick.” 

Julian nodded and opened up the book, flipping through the pages while you grabbed James’ arm and pulled him into a dead-end hallway so you could speak in private. 

“What the hell took you so long?” you asked firmly. “We waited for twenty minutes before even starting the appointment!” 

“I’m sorry,” James apologized, “I was in the OR with a patient and something went haywire and it took longer than expected to fix it.” 

“Still, you couldn’t have told someone to at least pass on a message?” 

“I was in the middle of saving a patient’s life! What did you want me to do?” 

“I wanted you to be there for your son,” you whispered harshly. “You make promises you can’t keep and I have to watch him get disappointed over and over again. He does not deserve that, especially now.” 

James placed his hands on his hips and said, 

“I am trying to be there, it’s not for lack of effort-,” 

“Well try harder!” you threw your hands up in the air. “You’re an ex-husband James, not an ex-father. You don’t have to show up for me anymore, but you damn well better show up for him.” 

When he said nothing you continued. 

“Believe it or not, you don’t have to work as much as you do James. You chose to do that and right now that’s coming at your son’s expense and he is scared and vulnerable and neither of us know half of what Dr. Liu is talking to us about. Do you know what he said to me when I was confused about the management plan? He said Dad would know what this means. Dad can help us. And he’s right, you would have known and you can help so stop acting like your fucking schedule controls you and get your schedule under control.” 

James was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head, 

“Okay,” he said simply. 

You knew better than to get your hopes up with him and you didn’t have any more energy to argue, so you told him you could talk more later, but right now you were going to take Julian home so he could rest in his own bed and finally open his birthday presents. 

“Is dad coming with us?” Julian asked when you picked him up and began walking away to leave the hospital. 

“No, not this time,” you shook your head. 

“Did you fight with him again?” Julian asked and you pressed your lips together. 

“We just had a disagreement,” you settled on. “You can call him later when he’s done work if you want to talk to him, sounds good?” 

Julian was content with your answer and left it at that. 

Over the next few days, aside from Julian’s call, you didn’t hear much for James and you assumed things were right on track to going back to the way they had always been. You loved your son to pieces, but this was one time you wished his dad would be here to support, working and caring for Julian on top of trying to figure out how to be his at home doctor was already taking its toll and you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep it up. 

One night, you were sitting in the living room reading a book Dr. Liu had recommended. It was detailing strategies for parents with children who had cystic fibrosis. In the middle of your chapter you were interrupted by a knock to your door and you put in your bookmark, wondering who was stopping by this far into the evening. 

Unlocking the door and opening it, you found it hard to hide the surprise in your face when you saw James on the other end. 

“James?” you tilted your head. “I haven’t heard from you at all this week, what’s going on?” 

“I reduced my patient load,” he said, “and I talked to Cuddy about reducing my clinic hours. I still have to do some administrative stuff for the department, but it can be done from home for the most part.” 

“Oh,” you were surprised to say the least. You didn’t realize your outburst the other day had worked. 

“You were right,” he said. “I need to be here for Julian and I can’t do that if my work always comes first.” 

You nodded your head, following along with what he was saying. 

“C-Can I come in and see him?” James asked. “I know our custody agreement has always been all over the place-,” 

You didn’t say anything, simply opening the door wider for him to come inside. 

“He’s asleep in his room,” you said. “When you’re done we can talk some more.” 

James nodded and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and taking off his jacket, making his way to Julian’s room to sit with him for a moment before joining you in the kitchen. 

“Want something to drink?” you asked and he said some water would be nice. You poured him a glass while waiting for the water to boil for your tea. 

“I saw the book you were reading over there,” he pointed to the couch. “Dr. Liu recommended it to me too, I just finished it the other night.” 

“Show off,” you rolled your eyes and handed him the glass. 

“What I was trying to say is I think something that stood out to me is having consistency and a routine is good, especially when things are new,” James explained. “I don’t think it makes sense for him to be moving back and forth from here to my place.” 

“So you think we should have a home base here?” you confirmed and he nodded. 

“I can come by more often, if there’s days where you need to be at work I can be doing the administrative stuff here after school and take care of Julian until you get back.” 

You pursed your lips and as you heard the kettle click, moved to pour your hot water into the mug you were holding. 

“These are all good ideas,” you started. 

“I’m assuming there’s a but coming?” 

“But I don’t want to give Julian the wrong impression is all.” 

James shook his head. 

“You really need to pick whatever it is you want,” James crossed his arms over his chest. “First I’m not here enough, I don’t put my family first. Now I’m putting my family first and you’re worried Julian’s going to think this means we’re getting back together.” 

“He doesn’t need to get his hopes up for something that’s never going to happen,” you said flatly. 

“Have you ever considered having a conversation with him instead of shielding him from every little thing that might hurt him?” James asked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Clearly every little thing can hurt him!” you pointed over to his room. “He can’t even breathe without help, James. Maybe he needs to be protected.” 

“Stop, just stop,” James ran a hand over his face. “I can’t get into a fight with you every single time we see each other. Julian is just as much my son as he is yours, if this is going to work we need to be able to have a conversation with each other.” 

You took a sip of your tea and said,

“Okay, I’m worried Julian might take the fact that you’re around more the wrong way.” 

James nodded his head, “I hear you, so maybe we should talk to him about it and say I’m coming around more to lend a hand around the house and help take care of him.” 

“Dad? What are you doing here?” as if on cue, Julian had walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes awake and adjusting to the light. 

“Julian, where’s your oxygen mask?” 

“I don’t wanna wear it mom,” he whined. “I don’t like the way it feels on my face.” 

You sighed, having had this conversation at least five times before, you didn’t know what else you could say to convince him. 

“Hey buddy, maybe we should listen to mom on this one,” James suggested. “You know that feeling you’ve got right here,” he pointed to his chest. “That’s only gonna get worse if you don’t wear it and we don’t want to have to go to the hospital again, right?” 

Julian shook his head and sighed, stomping back over to his room to grab the portable machine and place the tube under his nose and around his ears, allowing him to get the right amount of oxygen. 

You looked over at James gratefully and he reached his hand out to yours and gave it a squeeze. It was nice being on the same team even if you had just been arguing. 

When Julian came back he repeated his question to his dad who explained that he was here to talk to you about a few things that would be changing soon and that he’d be around more to help look after him. 

“If you’re going to be here to help look after me can you stay tonight?” Julian asked. “Mom still has some of your clothes in those boxes in her closet.” 

“She does, does she,” James looked over at you. 

“It was the stuff you wanted to give away and I never got around to it,” you said. “There’s probably a hoodie and some pyjama pants in there if you want to stay.” 

James pressed his lips together and sighed, 

“You know buddy as much as I would love to have a sleepover with you I don’t think it’s a good idea if I spend the night here,” James said. “But I can tuck you in again and wait until you fall asleep to go back home.” 

“Mom, can you come too?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

James stood up and helped Julian carry his portable oxygen machine back to his bedroom and you trailed behind them, watching as James carefully tucked Julian back under the covers while peppering his face with small kisses, like he would do when Julian was younger and just learning to sleep in his own room. 

“Dad that tickles,” Julian giggled and James simply smiled and continued littering his face with kisses. 

“Too bad. I love you too much; I just can’t get enough of you.” 

“Alright, move it,” you nudged James from the opposite side of the bed and took your turn. “It must tickle having two parents who love you so damn much.” 

“It does,” Julian’s laughter died out as you both finally left him alone, sitting on either side of his mattress. 

You both wished him a good night and waited as he slowly fell back asleep. When his breathing was steady and his grip loosened on yours and James’ hands you took it as your cue to leave the room. 

James placed a hand on your shoulder as you stepped out of the room, prompting you to turn around and face him. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow and we can work out a schedule or something, does that sound good?”

You nodded your head, 

“Yeah, I have a work thing tomorrow in the evening, I was gonna ask Mahlet, Hennock’s mom, if she could come look after Julian, but if you’re around…” 

“I’ll come for dinner and then do the bedtime routine,” he said and you smiled. 

“James I’m begging you-,” 

“I won’t be late,” he assured. “No surgeries planned and I’m ending my shift with clinic duty.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded your head. 

“I’ll see you then,” you patted his arm and he showed himself out. 

You walked back to the kitchen grabbing your now lukewarm cup of tea and sitting back on the couch picking up your book and opening it, reading until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, falling asleep right there on the couch. 

—

Over the next few months, you, James, and Julian had developed some sort of routine around school, work, and doctor’s appointments. A part of you thought you were spending more time together as a family than when you were married. 

Today you had to go in for work, also having reduced your hours, but in a way that you were working in tandem with James. When you arrived back home the house smelled like warm spices and big plates of home-cooked food. 

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, next to James’ keys and wallet and took off your jacket, hanging it up before coming to the kitchen and seeing Julian and Hennock doing their homework at the island. 

“Mr. Wilson, what is the difference between these two words?” Hennock asked, holding up his paper so James could see while cutting some vegetables for a salad. 

“I think the first one is the kind of principal in your school that looks after all the students and the other one is… man, that’s hard to describe. Hey, how do you describe what principle is to an eight-year-old?” James asked you. 

“I think that kind of principle is something that guides the way people behave or act,” you sat next to Julian and Hennock. “Like a principle is the foundation for something that people believe in.” 

Hennock and Julian still looked a little confused by your explanation so you tried to give an example. 

“So a principle could be to be kind to everyone we meet and so people who believe in that principle will try to follow it.” 

That put it in better terms for them to understand and there was a chorus of oh’s before they looked back down at their papers and scribbled down a few things to answer the questions they were asked. 

“They learning about homonyms?” you asked James and he nodded.

“I talked to Mahlet,” James said, changing the topic. “Hennock’s gonna stay for dinner and she’ll come pick him up around seven.” 

“Sounds good, it’s always nice to have you, Henny,” you smiled and ruffled your hand through his coarse curly hair in an endearing way. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Hennock smiled. 

James was now over the stove, stirring what looked like a soup before giving it a taste and figuring something might be missing.

“Can you taste this?” James asked. “I don’t know why, but every time I make it there’s something off.” 

You took a spoon and tried a little bit of the broth, looking down to see that he was making matzah ball soup and immediately when you tasted it you knew what was missing. 

“I know what it is,” you said. “But you can’t tell your mom I told you. She swore me to secrecy.” 

“My mother told you this?” James asked and you nodded. 

“When we were getting married she wanted me to know how to make it the way she would for you when you were sick.” 

“And she didn’t think to tell her own son how to do this?” he seemed thoroughly offended, but all you could do was laugh. 

“It’s tarragon. I don’t think it’s something everyone adds, it was just something special she’d put in hers to make it a little different. Here,” you reached into the spice cupboard and took out a jar of dried tarragon and took a bit of the herb out of the container and crushed it in your hands before sprinkling it into the soup. James mixed it in and gave the broth a minute to soak in the flavour before trying it again and shaking his head. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!” 

“I’ll let you finish having your little meltdown,” you patted his back. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quickly and we can eat when I get out.” 

“Did Dad forget the tarragon?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

“Wow, so everyone knew, but me?” James asked and you nodded your head with a shrug. 

“Sorry, I guess your mom has favourites, or something.” 

“Figures,” James teasingly rolled his eyes and you chuckled, waving him off and going to take a shower and change into something a little more comfortable. 

When you came back outside they had migrated to the dining room table, each with a bowl of soup in front of them and a plate of salad. You sat on the same side as James since Julian and Hennock were already sitting next to each other and the boys happily recounted the details of their school day and playdate with you while everyone ate their soup and salad. 

“What did you do at work, Dad?” James asked. 

“Oh, nothing interesting,” he shook his head. “I think your mom was doing bigger things than me.” 

“Bigger than treating people with cancer? You flatter me,” you drank some of your soup’s broth. “I had a meeting with a big company about a building they’re making.” 

“Did you go do a site visit?” James asked and you nodded. 

“Engineers are being a pain in the butt, keep making me adjust the design, but we’ll see who gets the last laugh.” 

“Mom always does,” Julian told Hennock and they chuckled along with James. 

After dinner James helped you clear up some of the dishes before heading out and leaving you with the boys. When Mahlet came by to pick Hennock up you invited her in for tea and a little visit. 

“Thanks for coming to stay with Julian the other night,” you said after handing her a mug. “For once, I was the late one and James had an emergency come up so it was a huge help.” 

“And how are things now, with the co-parenting?” 

You took a sip of your tea, “Weirdly good,” you admitted. “We don’t argue as much which is nice and Julian gets to see his dad more.” 

“Do you think maybe you’re not fighting because he’s changing?” she asked. 

“I don’t wanna go down that path,” you shook your head. “If Jay hadn’t been diagnosed things would still be the same as they always were.” 

“But they’re not. More often than not people show their true colours during times of difficulty.” 

You took a deep breath and sighed, “If that was the case I would have seen something worth keeping when my marriage was falling apart.” 

Mahlet nodded, seeing as you had a point and your conversation was halted as they boys came out of Julian’s room. 

Mahlet and Hennock left shortly afterwards and you quickly got Julian ready for bed, tucking him in and then going to get settled yourself. You looked through a few client papers for work before calling it a night and turning off your bedside lamp, curling into bed and falling asleep. 

Your sleep was interrupted in the middle of the night by a tapping on your shoulder and when you blinked your eyes open you saw Julian standing next to your bed. 

“Jay, sweetheart, is something wrong?” you asked. 

“My stomach really hurts,” he told you and you sat up, motioning for him to come sit with you on the bed. 

“Where?” you asked, turning on the light and he pointed to the upper right corner of his abdomen. If you remembered correctly that wasn’t exactly where his stomach was and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the yellowing whites of his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I think we have to go to the hospital.” 

“The hospital? What happened?” Julian looked worried and you assured him everything would be alright. 

“We’re just being safe,” you told him. “I’m gonna call your dad, maybe he can tell us a little bit more of what’s going on. Do you feel good enough to get your jacket and shoes and your hospital bag?” 

Julian nodded his head and you gave him a kiss and he went off to grab his things while you did the same, but also taking your cell phone and calling James. 

It took a few rings, but he eventually picked up. 

“Hey, did something happen?” he asked and you could still hear the sleep thick in his voice. 

“I think something’s wrong with Julian. I’m gonna take him to the hospital, can you meet us there?” 

“Yeah, of course, I’m on my way.” 

“James…the whites of his eyes were yellow. Does he have jaundice?” you asked.

“It’s possible, was there anything else?” 

“Yeah, he mentioned stomach pain, but he pointed to like his upper right abdomen, I think,” you explained while grabbing your bag and putting on some socks. 

“Makes sense as a liver issue,” you could hear his car starting in the background. “If he’s presenting symptoms now I would call an ambulance.” 

“James-,” 

“Just trust me,” he said. “Call 911.” 

“Okay,” you nodded your head and hung up, calling the emergency services and explaining the situation to them and then to Julian while you waited for them to arrive. 

James made the right call, seeing as while you were in the ambulance Julian began to throw up and the paramedics obviously handled it better than you could have if you had driven him. 

When you arrived at the ER they wheeled Julian away and you began getting flashbacks to when you first brought him in. 

“Where are you taking him?” you called after them, but no one answered you. “What the hell kind of hospital is this?! Where are you taking my son?!” 

“Ma’am they're taking your son to do a liver biopsy,” one of the nurses came back and informed you. “We need you to sign this consent form.” 

You nodded your head and took the pen from her hand, signing it, but just as you were about to ask her a question she ran off to give them the okay. 

You could feel your anger and worry bubbling inside your throat and you wanted to let it out in a scream and you were about to go running after her, but before you could you felt someone grab your wrist and pull you back. 

“James let me go,” you said warningly, looking back at your ex-husband. 

“No,” he stated just as firmly. 

“James-,” 

“I am not going to let you do something you’re going to regret,” he said and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, even when you pushed to get away. 

“James, let me go.”

“No,” he repeated and simply held onto you tighter. 

“Let me-,” your voice broke and you stopped pushing away. “Please, Jamie, please I just want to see him,” you cried into his shirt and he squeezed you so tight you thought you might get bruises in your arm from the way he was holding you. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You brought him here and he’s going to be fine.” 

“I can’t do this anymore, James. I can't be his mom and his doctor and they can’t expect me to wait out here while they drag him away and ask me to consent to God knows what.” 

James didn’t know what to tell you, instead he just continued to hold you close, rubbing his hands up and down your back, and pressed a soft kiss against your temple. 

You wrapped your arms around him and finally let yourself fully sink into his embrace, hating yourself for how much you liked it and how good it made you feel while your son was in some back corner of the ER getting a piece of his liver biopsied.

Eventually James pulled away from you, helping you dry your tears on the sleeve of his sweater and walking with his arm wrapped around you to the waiting area. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, but it was possible that you had dozed off once or twice against James’ arm, waiting to hear some sort of news from the ER doctor. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?” 

Your eyes blinked open when James gently shook you awake. 

“That’s us,” he said. “Is Julian okay?” 

“Your son has a mild case of cirrhosis,” the doctor explained. “Due to his cystic fibrosis diagnosis we believe this is due to clogging and inflammation in his bile ducts.” 

“What does that mean for him? Does he need surgery to fix it?” you asked, fighting back a tired yawn. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” the doctor nodded. “It’s good you caught it early, there’s minimal damage to his liver so far and he’s still growing which means his liver is too. We can get him into an OR tomorrow if you consent to the surgery.” 

You looked over at James and he nodded his head. You trusted him and told the doctor you would sign the papers as soon as you could see Julian. 

“He’s been moved to the pediatric ward for now and Dr. Liu has been informed of the development. He should be in touch with you tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” James said and when the doctor left, he helped you up and you began the walk up to the pediatric ward. 

When you arrived a nurse pointed you in the direction of his room and after each pressing a kiss to Julain’s forehead you sat on the seat bench together. 

“We should sleep,” James said, but you had a hard time imagining how that would be possible. 

“I’m having a hard time working out the logistics,” you admitted. 

“Come on, it’ll be just like on the way back from our honeymoon,” he insisted, recalling your extremely delayed flight on the way back from France, causing you to sleep with your head on James’ lap, stretched out along the airport chairs. 

You were too tired to argue or try and find another way, so you leaned down and rested your head against his legs, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt his hand rub up and down in long motions along the side of your body. Sleep could not have come quicker.

—

“Mom…Mom, Dad?” 

Julian rolled his eyes when he received no answer and grabbed the stuffed animal you had placed next to him when he’d come into the room and threw it at his sleeping parents, nailing his dad in the face. 

“Oh, God, mhm, wake up,” James shook you while he raised his hands to rub his face.

“Huh?” you opened your eyes and pushed yourself off of James’ lap. “Oh crap, my back. Remind me not to listen to you when you talk about doing something I did ten years ago.” 

“Julian, did you throw Steggy at my face?” James asked, picking up the stuffed animal from where it had fallen on you. 

“You weren’t getting up,” Julian shrugged his shoulders. 

“Julian,” you chastised and took the dinosaur from James’ hand. “You could have hurt your dad’s important doctor-face,” you joked and rubbed your hand all over James’ face making Julian laugh. 

“Okay, okay,” James moved your hand away and gave you a look. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” you yawned and moved from the bench to the side of his bed. 

“A little better,” he said. “Did the doctors fix what was wrong?” 

“Not yet,” James shook his head and came to sit next to you and placed a hand on Julian’s. “You’re gonna have to go in for surgery today.” 

“A surgery?” Julian looked a little nervous. “Like cut me open?” 

“It’ll be just a line right here,” James drew it with his finger along Julian’s abdomen. “They’re going to fix a part of you called your bile duct and then sew you right back up and you’ll be good as new.” 

“Is it dangerous?” he asked. 

You looked over at James, a small note telling him to lie to make him feel better. He didn’t need to know all the details. 

“No,” James shook his head. “You’re gonna be fine and your mom and I will be here the whole time.” 

“Promise?” Julian whispered. 

“Swear on it,” James leaned in towards his son and snuck a kiss to his cheek. “We love you, buddy.” 

“I love you guys too.” 

Dr. Liu came by a little while later to inform you what time the surgery was scheduled for and he helped make Julian feel a lot better about the procedure. When it was finally time for him to go, you were a nervous wreck, but tried not to let it show for Julian’s sake, instead just pressing a big kiss to his forehead and telling him you’d be waiting for him once he got out. 

It only took about fifteen minutes of your pacing to get James to grab onto your arm and make you stop. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the ground,” he said. 

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” you admitted. “If I sit I’m gonna fidget, if I stand I’m going to pace.” 

“Then come on, let’s go to my office for a second, grab a coffee and a snack and then we can come back out and wait,” he suggested. 

You agreed to his idea so he stood up and you walked side by side to his office, passing House who had some comment about your dishevelled appearance together. 

“You’re an interesting man, Greg,” you shook your head at him. “You can’t think of any other reason we might be here?” 

House was silent so James explained, 

“Julian’s in surgery right now. He’s got cirrhosis.” 

“Ah so not a late night ex-wife rendez-vous. Can’t get ‘em right all the time,” he shrugged and you chuckled. “I hope the kid’s alright.” 

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you admitted. 

He raised his brows and lifted his cane to say goodbye, letting you and James continue your walk to his office. 

“House mind that you’re not spending as much time here?” you asked. 

“No, he just bothers me more when I am around,” James said while opening the door and letting you inside. 

He went towards his desk and pulled out a few packages of snacks tossing you one and you shook your head when you saw the label. 

“You still eat these? I thought the FDA recalled them?” you asked sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry I have better taste in food than you do,” he said right back. 

“Right, this is food,” you chuckled. “And if you have such good taste why didn’t your mom tell you about her secret ingredient?” 

“That’s cold,” he pointed to you with a bag of chips in his hand. 

“No, it’s true. Just like your dad telling me I was his favourite wife of yours,” you opened the bag James had tossed you. 

“Just shut up and eat your snack,” James chuckled and you listened to him, beginning to eat a little something, not realizing how hungry you were until the food made its way to your stomach. 

“You got another one of these?” you asked and he nodded, passing it to you when you were finished with the first one. 

“Feeling a little better?” James asked and you nodded your head. 

“Hey James?” you said, unsure of how you’d gotten to this point, but you were too exhausted to stop yourself from saying it. “I want you to move back in.” 

“You want me to do what?” he raised his brows and looked at you stunned. 

“I want you to move back in with me and Julian,” you said. “It’s becoming pretty clear to me that it’s safer to have two people around when possible than not and you’re already around all the time now.” 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “I mean you didn’t want to give Julian the wrong idea about us.” 

“Our lives changed the second we got that diagnosis. I think we need to change along with everything else.” 

You couldn’t believe that just barely twelve hours ago you were telling your friend there was no chance James had changed, but here you were saying things that had proved you had changed. Things you wouldn’t have dreamt of saying a year ago. 

“Okay,” James nodded. “I’ll move back in.” 

You just silently hoped you wouldn’t regret asking. 

Waiting for Julian to get out of surgery was a little easier now that you had some food in your stomach and you decided to wait on coffee until you got the note from the surgeon that everything had gone well. 

As James had continued to assure you almost a hundred times, the surgery went fine and before you knew it you were back in Julian’s room watching him sleep off the anaesthetic. 

“You know he looks like you when he sleeps,” James said from the bench while you sat on the bed next to Julian. 

“He does?” 

“Yeah, his nose does that same scrunchy thing when he sniffles and when he snores-,” 

“Hey, I only snore when I’m congested,” you said defensively. 

“I never minded,” James smiled. “I thought it was cute when you sounded like an old man.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not fond of all my old man characteristics,” you turned around to face him, still holding Julian’s hand in yours. 

“All your old man characteristics?” James furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“You told me I argued like an old man. Stubborn and could only see my own way. And I fought dirty.” 

“You sure did,” James nodded. “If you brandishing my mother’s clear favouritism shows anything, it’s definitely that you fight dirty, but I never said I disliked that about you.” 

“Really? Near the end I thought there was a lot you disliked about me.” 

James shook his head, “No, I was just upset and you were passionate. It wasn’t like my other marriages where things just…fizzled.” 

“We did go out with a bang,” you inhaled deeply. 

“If it weren’t for Julian… do you think we’d…” 

You shook your head. 

“No, we probably never would have seen each other again. Another old man trait, I hold a pretty mean grudge.” 

James pressed his lips together and looked over at his sleeping son. 

“I’m happy we had him,” he said quietly. “Even if we didn’t work out.” 

“Me too,” you agreed, looking over at Julian quietly snoring, just like his dad had said. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Julian’s nose watching him scrunch it up, making you smile. It was a miracle that two such flawed individuals could make a child so perfect. 

—

“Alright, he is asleep, but I do warn you it took some bribery so you’ll have to buy him another dinosaur book to read to him at night,” you walked out of Julian’s room, dusting your hands off like you’d just finished a heavy labour job. 

“I’ll run to the bookstore tomorrow,” James nodded and you fell onto the couch next to him and sighing as you sunk into the plush fabric before noticing what he was doing. 

“Where did you pull these out of?” you asked with a soft chuckle. 

“I was just clearing up the closet in the guest bedroom and I found a box of these,” he picked up the albums. “Look at this one.” 

He placed the book of photos on your lap and you smiled seeing as it was Julian’s baby album, filled with small mementos and little notes you and James had made in the margins. 

“Oh my God, Mom’s first day home, she looks like an angel,” you read from the side. “And my response: I look like I just got hit by a bus, cut it out.” 

“You can still read my chicken scratch writing?” James asked. 

“My most useless talent as I like to call it,” you nodded. “You wrote a lot in here.” 

“I used to bring it with me to work cause I missed you guys so much,” he admitted. “Made me feel closer to you.” 

You read through some of the notes in the book, chuckling a little at some of the written back and forth you had. Eventually you got to the family portraits you’d had taken a few months after Julian was born, smiling softly to yourself. 

You remembered the day well, you felt like you hadn’t slept in weeks, James was just getting off of a twelve-hour shift and you were almost late to your appointment with the photographer. You were worried everything was going to look terrible and you’d barely had enough time to do your hair or makeup, but James had silenced your worries with a kiss and assured you the pictures would be fine. 

In the end most of them were terrible, but the photographer managed to get two shots, one of you and James smiling down at Julian in your arms and another immediately after where you were looking up and smiling at each other. 

“That session was a shitshow,” you recalled and James agreed. “We did get a few nice things out of it though.” 

You looked back down at the pile of albums in front of you and noticed a large white one, tucked under a few things and even though nothing good could come of it, you pulled it out from the bottom of the pile, carefully blowing off the dust and turning the first page. 

Centerfold, just like you remembered it, was a picture of you and James on your wedding day. You leaned further back into the couch and James scooched in closer to get a look. 

You both looked younger in the picture, with that spark of je ne sais quoi in your eyes. 

“I told you there was a reason we got married,” he said quietly, his hand brushing the corner of the photo. 

“Yeah, we loved each other,” you said. “That was the reason.” 

“Same reason we decided to have Julian,” he added. 

You could feel your breathing become a little more shallow and a tightness in your chest as James spoke about Julian. You remembered the conversations so clearly, like you’d had them yesterday, caught between happy and passionate kisses while James made some dirty jokes about getting you pregnant. 

That was back when he still couldn’t get enough of you. Before things changed and he slowly distanced himself until it felt like it was just you and Julian against the rest of the world, and not the three of you like he had promised all those nights throughout your pregnancy. 

You wondered quietly to yourself what had changed? What had become so unbearable that there was distance in the first place? There was never a lack of love on your end which is why this was dangerous. 

At least when there was distance you could be angry with him, you could go to bed at night and not remember all the little things that made you love him in the first place. He wasn’t there as a constant  reminder that you loved his cooking, or even just your banter together. More importantly, it was giving you new reasons to feel that fluttering feeling in your stomach. 

You’d always loved how he’d interact with Julian, but now that you got to see it day in and day out, it made it harder to weigh that against the cons of everything. Most notably, this was the beginning of the end. If you let yourself fall you would both crash and Julian would be caught in the middle once again. 

You tried to distract yourself by flipping through the album photos to find some funny old picture of a relative or maybe even an embarrassing moment to tone down whatever it was that looking at that picture was making you feel. 

All you could focus on was how in every picture, almost without fail, James was looking over at you. Rarely into the camera along with everyone else. He was enamoured, that was the only word to describe it, and oh how much you missed that look. 

You made the mistake of tearing away your gaze from the pictures, looking up at James instead, and for a moment you thought just maybe you saw that same look in his eyes. But no. It couldn’t have been. The dim light of the lamp must have been playing tricks on you. 

Finally you closed the album and put it back down, unsure of what feelings might resurface if you opened another one. Your honeymoon, family dinners and pictures were all just reminders of the happy times, not what came after.

James did what you didn’t want to, grabbing another album and sifting through the pages until he found what he was looking for, taking a picture out of its protective sleeve and showing it to you. 

“Can I keep this one?” he asked. 

You took it from his hands, examining it while your fingers precariously held the edges of the photograph. 

It was a silly picture, something you had taken while you were travelling. James got someone to take the camera, but along with snapping a few shots while you were posed with smiles they caught a few candids, most notably, James kissing your cheek while you laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp. 

Your finger gently brushed over the spot on the photo where James’ lips were against your cheek before nodding your head. 

“Sure, you can have it,” you handed him back the picture and patted your hands against your legs, preparing to stand up. “I should get to bed.”

“I’ll be out here for a while longer if you need anything.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile and stood up, walking towards your bedroom. When you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you had been holding and ran a hand across your face. 

Maybe Julian was never the one at risk of getting the wrong idea.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night always made you feel uneasy. Especially if Julian was the one waking you up. The chance that you’d have to drive to the hospital or call an ambulance was high and you hated the fear and worry that came along with any possible complications. 

Tonight, you woke up on your own accord. Your heart was beating inside your throat and your stomach felt like it was housing a group of persistent butterflies. 

You glanced over at the clock and saw the time, flashing in red. 

3:07

You took a deep breath trying to steady your heart rate and breathing before peeling away your blanket and kicking your feet over the side of the bed. You grabbed a different pair of pyjamas from your dresser and walked into the washroom, tossing them on the far end of the floor while you stripped down and turned on the water for the shower. 

When you stepped inside you hissed initially at the cold, but forced yourself to become fully submerged under the water, closing the curtain behind you. Your muscles clenched as your body adjusted to the temperature, and when the time finally came you let your thoughts and dreams become washed away by the water coming out of the shower head. 

You were simply standing there, letting the water fall on your face when you heard the click of the door opening. 

“Julian, sweetie,” you sighed, turning around so you could speak. “Maybe you should go to your dad if something’s wrong, I’ll come out in a sec.” 

“No need,” you heard a voice that did not belong to your son. 

“James? I’m in the shower. What are you doing?” you asked incredulously, feeling the need to cover yourself up even though there was a curtain blocking his view. You felt exposed nonetheless. 

“It’s three in the morning, I thought something was wrong, I came to check on you,” he explained. 

“And what were you doing up?” you asked. 

“Got in late. There was an emergency at the hospital after you guys went to sleep, I dealt with it and just came back.”

You stepped under the running water again, washing the water over your face with your hands. 

“So, is everything okay?” 

“Peachy,” you said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the shower. 

“Nobody ever says peachy when things are okay,” James pushed further and you sighed, moving to sit down on the floor of the shower, still positioned under the water. 

“I just had a dream, that’s all,” you said, watching as the water hit your toes and the ground around you. 

“A bad dream?” he asked. 

“No, it was more like… déjà vu.”

James sighed, and rubbed his hands on his legs. 

“Was it about us?” 

He took your silence as a yes. 

James didn’t really know what to say, his hands were clasped together as he leaned  forward sitting on the bathroom counter. 

“You’re not gonna ask what it’s about?” you hugged your knees close to your chest. 

“Would you tell me?” 

“Maybe…I don’t know,” you mumbled. 

There was another moment of silence before James spoke up again, 

“What was it about?” 

You turned to face the water with your eyes closed again, gathering the courage to speak. 

“It started when I told you I was pregnant,” you said softly. “Like the memory replayed in my head, exactly how it happened.” 

“I remember that day,” you heard the soft smile in his voice as he spoke. “You took the test at work and when it came back positive you came straight to the hospital to tell me.” 

“I was barely two steps inside your office when I blurted it out, you were eating lunch and had that stupid look on your face with a mouth full of sandwich,” you chuckled to yourself.

“I almost choked on that,” James shook his head. “And I just remember running up to you and freaking out.”

“And then when you were done freaking out and everything sunk in you kissed me, and you told me you loved me, and we cried because we made a child. Our love did that.” 

You reached forward and turned the shower off, pushing yourself up on your feet and taking a deep breath before pulling back the curtain. You had told him what you were thinking. You couldn’t get any more exposed than that.

James looked stunned for a moment and it didn’t go unnoticed how his eyes raked up and down your figure. 

“Get me the robe, would you?” you motioned to the back of the door and he jumped down grabbing the robe and holding it out for you so you could place your arms into the sleeves and wrap the towelled fabric around you, trying it off with the belt. 

When you turned your head to look back at James, you could tell at least you’d succeeded in raising his heart rate, much like he was doing for you recently. 

You moved to go sit on the closed toilet while James retook his spot on the counter. 

“Do you remember when Julian was born?” he whispered. 

“I like it was yesterday. I can’t believe it’s been eight years,” you nodded your head. 

He was having trouble holding your gaze and you wondered what he was about to say. 

“I-I screwed up,” his voice was soft, almost hurt, like it pained him to think about what he had done. “When you were resting afterwards the nurse asked me if we were going to do a newborn screening. We hadn’t talked about it, but you were so tired and it was such a hard labour…” he swallowed thickly, his voice wavering slightly, remembering the birth. It wasn’t easy by any means and James had often thought that the hardest thing he’d ever had to watch was you in that much pain. “I told her we weren’t going to do it. I just didn’t want Julian to leave and h-he looked so perfect I never thought anything could have been wrong with him.” 

James took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, “I am a doctor and I didn’t get a newborn screening for my son, what the hell kind of father does that make me?” 

“Oddly enough, I think it makes you a good one,” you admitted. 

“Even though we could have known about this years before? We could have gotten him treatment, medication, therapies, all sooner?” he looked back at you confused. 

“You said it yourself, Jamie. He was perfect for us. Still is.” 

James nodded his head and looked forward at the opposite wall. You stood up and walked over towards him, reaching out a hand to gently hold his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek while he looked at you. 

“I don’t blame you for this,” you whispered. “I don’t blame you and I don’t think you’re a bad father.” 

“I know,” he murmured, “but I do.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, not knowing what other comfort you could offer. 

James leaned in a little to your touch, sitting up straighter when it was gone, trying to play it off like he hadn’t been missing it and craving it as much as you. 

You were about to say something when you heard a knock on the washroom door, and this time it had to be Julian. 

“Mom? Dad, are you in here too?” you could hear his small sounding voice, a little strained and worried so you quickly assured him you were both inside and opened the door. 

“Sweetheart, what happened?” you asked, noticing his tear-stained face. 

“I just had a bad dream,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes. 

You kissed away his tears first before assuring him everything would be fine, you and James were there to take care of him. 

“Why don’t you go and lay down on my bed with your Dad?” you suggested. “I’ll get dressed and come join you.” 

Julian nodded and made his way over to your bed while you went to quickly speak to James. 

“It’ll be good for you. Both of you,” you told him. 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Just this once.” 

James thanked you with a kiss to your cheek and left the adjoining washroom, closing the door behind him and giving you a minute to get changed and deal with anything you needed to before going back to bed. 

When you opened the door and came back into your room, you saw James under the covers with Julian pressed close to him, their foreheads resting together while James told him everything was going to be alright and he could go back to sleep. 

You slipped in under the covers, sandwiching Julian between you both, letting his back rest against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his hair. 

One hand was tucked under your pillow and another was draped over Julian, and your fingers carefully placed over top of James’. 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Julian asked his dad. 

“Right next to you,” he kissed his nose. “Now try to get some sleep, okay?” 

Julian nodded his head and yawned and you whispered a quiet goodnight to bed him and his dad before letting your eyes close, silently smiling when you could feel James’ hand finally hold your own. 

—

“You guys, relax, he’s going to be fine,” Mahlet placed a hand on both yours and James’ shoulders while you spewed out your worries. “It’s one night, I have the whole list of things he needs and I’ve taken care of him before, right? It’s just at my house this time so the boys can have a sleepover and you two can have a bit of a break.” 

“She’s right,” James sighed. “I’m still worried out of my mind, but she’s right.” 

“Mahi, are you sure you don’t want us to come even for a little bit?” you asked. 

“Absolutely, if something happens I’ll call an ambulance and then you, but Julian’s been good for months now, he can survive one night away from home,” she assured you. 

“Thank you, Mahlet. I’m sure Julian and Hennock will have a great time tonight. Just call us when he’s ready to be picked up tomorrow morning,” James said. 

James wrapped his arm around you, giving you a squeeze knowing you were still uneasy about this, but deep down you knew Mahlet was right. The chances of something going wrong at this point were small and you’d had enough time since your last hospital visit to even consider doing something like this. 

“You boys ready?” James called and Julian came rushing out of the room with his bag in hand, Hennock following close behind him. 

“You have fun tonight, okay?” you bent down and gave Julian a kiss. “And if anything happens or you feel sick, or are having trouble breathing, tell Mahlet, okay?” 

“I know, Mom. Dad already told me this like fifteen times,” Julian chuckled. 

You looked up at James and he shrugged. 

“Alright, well you guys better go before I change my mind,” you crossed your arms over your chest and that was all the permission the boys needed to run off, leaving Mahlet to say goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind her. 

You sighed and turned around, looking at James who had his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“You hungry?” he asked. 

“I could eat,” you nodded your head. 

“Why don’t we make something for dinner together?” he suggested. 

You looked at the clock and smiled, “I think we’ve got enough time for pizza, what do you think?” 

“I think that’s a great plan,” James agreed. “I can start on the dough and you get the sauce and toppings?” 

You gave him a thumbs up before putting your hand out to high-five him, noticing how your fingers so easily intertwined before you walked apart and let go. 

James rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch, placing it on the small jewelry tray you kept by the sink for when you were washing dishes, while you went to the fridge and began pulling out all the things that could make good pizza toppings. 

Moving to the sink to wash some vegetables, you noticed James’ watch resting there. You didn’t pay much attention when he was wearing it, but now you realized why it looked extra familiar. It was one you had gotten him as an anniversary present after your first year married. 

“You still wear that?” you pointed with your eyes to the watch. 

“It’s my favourite watch, of course I wear it,” he nodded while portioning the flour into a large bowl.

“Even with that engraving?” you raised a questioning brow. 

“Dearest Jamie, Here’s to the first of many happy anniversaries. Love forever, Your Wife,” he recited the engraving back to you. 

“I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” you chuckled a little, looking down into the sink. 

“Yeah, well why do you still go by Mrs. Wilson?” 

“Easier to keep the name than change it again,” you partially lied, it wasn’t the full truth, but it was what you had been telling yourself ever since the divorce was finalized. 

James could sense you were lying, but he knew the only way to get you to open up would be to let himself be open with you. 

“The watch is my favourite because you gave it to me. Functionally it sucks and it's uncomfortable, but you went out of your way to get me something that looked nice and that’s why I love it.” 

You smiled a little to yourself, but kept your head facing the sink and continued to wash the vegetables. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” he inquired. 

“Do I have to?” you asked. 

“That’s normally how a conversation works,” he remarked and you chuckled. 

“What do you want me to say?” you asked. 

“Honestly, the real reason why you kept your married name,” he said plainly. 

You sighed, “It wasn’t a full lie. If I went back to my maiden name Julian and I wouldn’t have the same last name it just makes things complicated and confusing and I didn’t want to deal with it, but,” you added, “I always kind of liked the sound of Mrs. Wilson and even though I was pissed at you all the time I still liked that there was one thing aside from Julian connecting us. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t want to end up like Sam or Bonnie just…detached, like there was barely a trace that you were even there.” 

“It’s a fingerprint,” James said. “Mine.” 

“Yeah, even though it's small for who we were to each other, it's the fingerprint you left on my life.” 

James pressed his lips together and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it and evaluated how he was going to speak, 

“Can I ask you something?” he settled on. 

“Sure,” you nodded, moving over to the cutting board and placing yourself on the opposite side of the kitchen island. 

“Did…Did you ever stop loving me?” 

Your smile faltered and James noticed the change in your demeanor, quickly retracting his question. 

“You know what, forget I asked,” he shook his head and continued to knead the dough. 

There was a moment of silence before you spoke again. 

“I didn’t, but I got tired of not being loved back.” 

James stopped what he was doing and looked up at you with concern. 

“You thought I stopped loving you?” he asked.

“James, I was wife number three. Didn’t take much to connect the dots and see you got tired of me,” you said bluntly. “I wanted to know if I could count on you, and it was starting to feel like maybe I couldn’t. Then the divorce happened and everything after that just made me feel like I was right.” 

James chewed on the inside of his cheek and remained silent. 

“You didn’t fight for me,” you said quietly. “You fought for joint custody, but you didn’t fight for me. You just…accepted it.” 

“I…I didn’t know you wanted me to fight for you.” 

“Are you saying you would have?” you asked, unsure of whether or not you wanted to hear his answer. 

“I’m saying I thought I didn’t even have a chance,” he admitted. 

“So you wouldn’t have,” you clarified for him, beginning to chop the toppings into pieces and separate them into bowls. 

He chuckled humourlessly, “I have dated one person since the divorce. I hated it.” 

“Why do you have to talk in puzzles, James? Why can’t you just come out and say what you really mean?” 

“And then what?” he asked. “We go back to living in the same house. Sleep in separate rooms. Move on now that we know the truth?”

“Say it,” you put the knife down and looked him right in the eyes. 

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, cleaning the dough off his hand. “I’m going to say it and you’re just going to stand there and I have to live with that?” 

You walked around the counter and came right up in front of him. 

“If you were listening to anything I was saying, you would stop making excuses and say it.” 

“Fine!” he threw his hands up in the air. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you. These past few months, even though stressful, have been the happiest I’ve been in so long because I feel like myself again when I’m with you and Julian. Because I feel like your husband, and I feel like a father and I keep kicking myself wondering how I could have been so stupid to lose that.” 

“Say it one more time,” you whispered, lifting your hands to hold onto his face. “Please.” 

“I love you,” his voice was softer, relieved like after being underwater he could finally breathe again. 

You finally pulled him into you, your lips hesitantly resting on his at first, before you found your rhythm again after so long. It was muscle memory, his hands finding the spot they always rested against on your hips, his lips moving in synch with yours, eventually trailing off and finding their favourite spot against your jaw and behind your ear. 

“James,” you breathed. 

“Jamie,” he mumbled against your skin. “Call me Jamie.” 

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” you repeated the nickname until he silenced you with another kiss, muffling your voice. 

“God, I missed you,” he whispered when you pulled apart, breathing heavily due to your fast beating heart. 

You closed your eyes while your forehead rested against his, feeling his nose touch yours, his hands still firmly planted on your hips when your thumbs brushed against his cheeks. 

“Jamie?” 

James snuck another small kiss at the sound of the nickname. 

“Yes, my love.” 

“Can I count on you?” 

You could feel him nod his head and confirm with a verbal ‘yes’. And even if it turned out to be a lie, at that moment you didn’t care. He had proved to you that it was possible, you could work with that. 

“I love you,” you said and kissed his nose and then you said it and kissed him again for good measure. “You told me twice; I tell you twice.” 

James moved his hands up from your hips and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, a warm smile coming to his face. 

And there was that look, the one you thought had vanished over time. His eyes fully transfixed on you with nothing but love and admiration. It didn’t take much to convince yourself you could get used to seeing that look for a long, long time. 

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter

[shyfoxsky]

I really think that the therian community needs more essays on former trends and general forms of conduct, because I've said it before and will continue to say it, but the way the community was structured in the mid to late 2010s when I was first awakened was fun and exciting and helped me really find the good in my identity, but also was extremely toxic, judgy, and detrimental to my overall journey.

In my first few years in the community, I was embraced into a corner of the internet that was all about animals and the ethical treatment of them and appreciating and worshipping nature as we all considered ourselves more a part of it than "others". I was also dragged by my tail into a corner of the internet that forced me to give up every single personal, little detail about my personal identity and how I felt about it and the step-by-step of how I got there just to be allowed to speak.

That community both sang the praises of wolf therians, put them on a pedestal, to the point that it felt like they were above all other 'types, while also simultaneously tearing down anyone who questioned wolves, especially certain coat colors, to the point that you had to defend a master's thesis in front of a panel of graymuzzles for anyone to allow you the label "wolf therian". From day one, you were conditioned to believe there was no fun and intimate community, no pack meets, no content for you, unless you were a gray wolf, but you had to be educated on par with the top experts in the world on both identity and the species to not be considered "another kid that likes wolves". If you were anything else, you were an outcast in a world of outcasts. You were just "trying to be unique". You never got edits, outfits, etc. without asking creator accounts for them yourself. The community's terminology was structured around wolves. Howls, packs, etc. You either had to accept that you were going to be outnumbered in any close-knit small group you joined, if you were even allowed and it wasn't "wolves only", or, you could make a group designed around 'types similar to yours, which would never be found by others like you, and would quickly only become a failed idea.

That community is what led to my complicated and painful feelings towards wolves. For the rest of my life, no matter what happens, I will always have doubt in my identity because of it all. I will either be a wolf who believes I'm one because of the community's influence, or I won't and will believe I'm not because I want to escape the stereotypes that come with being a wolf.

That community also was riddled with rigid, unspoken rules about what was and wasn't an acceptable therian identity. I never heard of systems during that time, never saw anyone identify solely psychologically, and no one identified only because they felt like that creature. Back then, you were a standard therian with a single 'type, maybe a second if you'd been researching and journaling every single day without fail for more than a year with statistics to back it up. You had a reason for your identity, but it couldn't just be that you imprinted on your pets as a child (that's not enough), or that it developed from trauma or autism (therianthropy isn't a mental illness), or that you simply feel that way (you're just a wolfaboo). You had to be a misplaced soul, someone with past lives, on rare occasions, you could be a permanent walk-in spirit (but definitely not in a plural way). Don't even get me started on the idea of polymorphs, conceptkin, etc.

I personally feel like a standard therian, but to this day, I still question the origin of my identity. So much of my identity as a red wolf hinged on it being endangered and from my area, because then I could be a misplaced soul due to there not being enough bodies for red wolves to be born into. When I first awakened, I thought my identity came from a past life, even though I personally don't believe I can ever find out what those were, if I even have any. Later on, when I realized being raised with dogs and always seeing and being compared to canines likely had something to do with it, and I considered it to have come from imprinting, I still felt as if I was required to find some spiritual side to it as well. I still struggle with this, to the point that I barely know what I believe in afterlife-wise anymore, and I certainly don't understand what led to my identity, if something even led to it at all.

Those kinds of things needs to be discussed more, because to an extent, I feel like it's still present, both in the same and different ways. The newly-awakened alterhumans of today, yesterday, and tomorrow, all deserve to have a truly accepting space to figure themselves out without pressure to conform to an unspoken standard of how one should identify. Tumblr is better about it than most sites, but ones like TikTok might set things back, if they haven't already, despite the attempts of well-meaning individuals who are trying to break through the algorithm and educate others. I just think more discussions need to be had and more perspectives and experiences need to be shared for the sake of awareness and making sure damaging practices don't continue forever.

[yurinaa-world]

Can I request Jing Yuan, Dan Heng and Sundy with an anxious!cozy!s/o who secretly terrifyingly observant and calculating? ((👁-👁) level ie. looking deep into your soul level observant.)

At times it slips (ex. Admitting to being obsessed with complex puzzles that most people can't even fathom or subtly tipping them about someone's intention before the boys pick up on it) reader panics a bit.

Reader is conflicted because on onehand, they know whats going on and they wont get tricked easily BUT they hate how they know too much at times. Thus fuels their anxiety.

They either have to isolate themselves for a while or wear cozy oversized garmets as comfort (aka all the time)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, & Sunday x Gender-neutral reader

𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with anxious and cozy reader

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff and spelling mistakes,

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

Over time he’s picked up more details on your behaviour, you're so observant to the point you don’t realize that your face says what you're thinking. Just in the middle of a conversation with you, he can see how you look around taking in everything around as if you were a cute detective. 

He doesn’t mind that you want to be alone or that you just want to sit in silence, seeing You'll get overloaded and get a headache. He does worry you end up staying up late and being lost in thoughts, forgetting that it’s already 3:00 am. (He might just grab you, cover your eyes and force you to bed to get a good night's sleep).

He finds your cute oversized clothes then formal (because you like to look so comfortable in them), your hair is all messy, your tired voice, sometimes the shirt is off one of your shoulders because it is way too oversized for you but it’s still comfortable.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“What might my dear be thinking about instead of sleeping?”  

You don’t even realize that he’s there until he wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side. “I can’t sleep, I'm thinking about something.”  You turn towards him and find him already looking at you with a look that’s both gentle and tender. 

You feel like something is wrong, squinting your eyes at him—you just have that weird gut feeling—looking around his body to find ‘something’ you are not sure what it is until you look at his shoulder—it looks way too stiff than usual, your hand grabbing his shoulder a bit roughly only to hear him let out a small groan.

“Did you get hurt?” You ask softly, letting go of the shoulder in an instant,  looking at him worriedly, “Can't let anything escape your gaze?” He smiles slightly though, leaning forward and kissing the side of your head lightly before you cover his mouth with your hand, frowning on your face.

“Are you sure you’re fine?”  You ask again, this time more serious than earlier. He shakes his head and kisses your hand once before removing it from his mouth. “I promise that I’m alright.” He says in a soft voice,  caressing your cheek.  This makes you look away shyly,  the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“it’s time for you to go to bed.” “I don’t need you telling me that-“ he grabs you and pulls you close into him, shoving your face in his chest so you couldn’t see anything “Sleep.”

𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔

He’s amazed by how you still remember the small details in a conversation that even he can’t remember. He thought at first you were like him, observant, and quiet but you surpassed and beyond everything you expected from him.

You spend most of your time in his room and not your own, not that he doesn’t mind at all but just looking over from his books to see you looking around his room trying to see small details while messing with a complicated puzzle in your hands.

He takes you away to calm you down when you’re in a conversation to hear what you want to say because of the face you had on, eyes wide and slightly nervous while looking at your nails and back at the person. (he got you out of that conversation so quickly)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Looking down on your puzzle with your brain bustling with ideas and taking notes of small details around his room that usually aren't noticed (and you might also be watching him read one of his books and might have been staring for too long that you locked eyes by accident and looked away). Quickly shifting the pieces of the puzzle when you get caught yet neither of you say anything, that doesn't stop you from gazing at him from the top of your eye.

"Dan Heng why are you reading that book when you already finished it?"  you asked softly/ "It's a well-written book with good character development and story building." "Is it that good that I want to read for the 3rd time?"  he responded while looking up from his book to look at you. "you just said it was only the 3rd time so I'd assume it is still good enough to read again." 

"But Dan Heng don't you ever want to read new things?." you understand everything and why people do it but you're just curious about what a person thinks of what they're doing and the reasons for their actions. He doesn't mind asking him questions and he'll answer each one with the best of his abilities. 

“Sometimes people like to reread things because they don’t want something to end.”

“Oh is that what you're doing?—oddly enough you always are in that spot specifically while reading that same book.” You say before murmuring another part. “You always remember everything don’t you.”

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎

You’re just like him. He doesn’t expect anything less from his soulmate, it’s as if you were hand-made for each other. Your mind is so calculating and observant, the dream you are. He’ll adore you, he’ll tease you, smile with you, he’ll experience everything with you.

He raves about the small cute glances you do when you think he doesn’t notice or when you take your eyes off from whatever you might be doing just to look at him working. He can feel your loving gaze before you go back to whatever you might be doing. (He might just confront you and see your embarrassed expression)

Don’t worry about anything, not even the person you’re warning him about, he’s already dealt with long before you got the chance to tell him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Sunday aren’t you worried?” 

You don’t understand how he’s never worried about anything, just so calm even when you're alone with each other. “what would I be worried about my dear?” you feel him taking into your heart, arms around your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest.

“Didn’t you see how suspicious they were acting?” you say with hesitation in your tone, your fingers tightening onto the fabric of his shirt. you feel him nod as a response from behind you. 

“I know something’s up, I feel it in my gut just wanted to warn you”. you mumble the last sentence,  turning to face him, he looks down, and his hand goes to the side of your cheek already making you feel comfortable.

“No need to worry yourself over me,”  he leans down and kisses you on the cheek,  smiling sweetly at you, a warm feeling spreads through your chest. 

“I've already dealt with everything.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter IV : The Fervour.

Summary: You decide to apologize to Aemond.

WARNINGS: nothing nsfw, I left it for the next chapter 🤭, canon typical incest, anxiety etc. + not proofread

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune, this is a short chapter but the next one is gonna be long and intense 🤭🤭

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

Your heart drummed loudly against your rib cage, each beat accompanied by a gasp of air as you stared into the emptiness of your chamber.

A dream— no, a memory.

Was this the original body's memory?

Is this body not yours?

It doesn't seem likely because this body has exactly all your features, each and every detail pasted right into itself, from your head to your feet; nothing was amiss.

A blanket of dullness washes over your body and you plop back down onto the mattress, hugging your cotton blanket and you laid sideways, pondering with curiosity as you thought about everything.

You have to apologise to Aemond.

Suddenly his hostility, hatred, sly remarks all made sense.

You mentally face palmed yourself.

How were you gonna save the plot or prevent war when knowing that you were the cause of major events?

Had it not been Viserys’ command, you would've been stuck deeper in the mess, his decision of marrying you and Aemond gave you a heads up.

Can you perhaps talk the greens out of it once you're Aemond's wife? Then again, if talking truly worked then there wouldn't be a show at all. You sigh heavily, closing your eyes before reopening them.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling before your eyes averted towards the window, noticing how it's still the heartbeat of the night. Going to Aemond's room would seem very scandalous at this hour; regardless of whether you're soon to be married.

And to make matters even more complicated; Alicent and Rhaenyra had caught you guys kissing. You wondered why Aemond kissed you in the first place so suddenly, was he containing his urge to kill through it? Most likely.

You decide that you'd think of everything on the morrow, choosing sleep over restlessness, closing your eyes and waiting for the slumber to grab you down to its depths.

The sound of footsteps awoke you from your sleep, looking around to see none but the maids who were bringing in a bath and water for you to freshen up and get ready for the day.

You zone out the process; having been used to it. Instead your mind now travelled to the matter at hand, which was also your main objective. You planned to go directly to Aemond and apologise, as stupid as it may sound you really had no other option before the situation got worse. At least by apologising you'll make him realise how sorry you are, which might console his inner conflict.

The maids finish touching you up. You waste no moment and immediately get off the stool, heading straight to the door and leaving your chambers.

You check the library where you first encountered him; to your surprise, he wasn't there. You then move onto the training grounds only for him to not be there either. You start wandering around the red keep in the search for him yet he seems nowhere to be found. The guards outside his room have also said that he had left his room in the morning.

You go to the garden, to the weirwood tree, hoping to find him there, yet he is nowhere.

Frustrated, you sit underneath the tree, huffing in annoyance and catching your breath. You grunt irritated; patience growing thin as time only passed with no signs of Aemond. You had searched practically everywhere. The sympathy you were feeling is slowly being replaced by exasperation.

You lean back against the tree, staring at the leaves.

It's moments like this that make you truly question your sanity and reconsider your situation. As much as you were a big fan of the show; being trapped in it isn't really ideal without any known way out. You sometimes miss your life before this.

How plain and simple it was, with no worries of a blooming war, you would work and just rest at home, cook your favourite meals by yourself, watch your favourite shows and then sleep. It's the simplicity you miss.

“I want to go back…” You say out loud, praying that the world would hear you and miraculously send you back home, however it doesn't happen; because if it did, why would you be here in the first place?

Your words were heard just not by the universe.

“You want to go back?” The voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you sit up straight, looking up at the figure who was now standing in front of you.

Aemond stood tall, with his hands behind his back, foot jutting out. Oh yes, his typical standing pose.

“Uhm, I- no? I don't—” You stutter not knowing what to say, you get up off the ground and stand straight, his gaze follows you, taking in your dress. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

You were wearing green.

“Your gown; it is quite beautiful.” He comments and you look down, not finding anything special about the plain material, “—especially, the colour.” He points it out, and that is when you realised that you were wearing green.

“The maids dressed me.” You imply slightly, indicating that you had no intention of wearing the colour of his family. He smiles mockingly, raising his eyebrows.

“You were looking for me?” He questions and you nod and take a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would calm your brain by magic but your nerves were still rampant.

You step closer to him, which he is taken aback by but doesn't move an inch. You look into his eye, your body now fueled up with the newfound determination of completing your goal.

“I apologise.” You choke out and Aemond frowns in confusion, “For the eye- the night, driftmark.” You stumble over your words unable to form coherent sentences as the previously felt anxiety blooms in your gut again.

Seriously, what is wrong with this body?

The atmosphere falls silent only being interrupted by the whispers of the wind blowing past both of you. Aemond opens his mouth to speak but he closes it immediately after; trying to find words that do not sound harsh as a response.

“Aemond.” His name left your mouth involuntarily and he snapped his gaze to you, he watched your form waiting for you to say something but you just stood there unable to speak, your tongue all tied up in your mouth, having no idea how to continue this conversation anymore.

“Aemond, I am sorry, I really am, I regret it; I didn't mean to hurt you, I was protecting jace- my brother; I never meant for any of this to happen— please.” Your voice croaks, breaking as your mouth begins to move on its own, the noise coming out of your throat— yet it wasn't you speaking, it wasn't you forming these words, they came from somewhere innate.

You grab his arm, eyes tearing up as you stare at him, searching for an ounce of forgiveness on his face, an expression of reassurance that can calm the brewing storm inside you. Your gut wrenched and turned as the silence only prolonged with every passing second the pit inside you became deep and deeper.

You didn't know what was going on, it was as if your body had a mind of its own; but it didn't feel that way. Although you felt like you were in the backseat watching it all happen; it also felt like you were the one that was operating as well.

“It was a cruel mistake, a mistake that ruined everything. Perhaps it is why the Gods have punished me, they put me in a state of death for years but never truly killed me. It was my punishment for that crime I have committed against an innocent boy. But was I not innocent too?” You stammered, your body shuddering out of control.

Aemond grabs your shoulders; a poor attempt at consoling you while you shivered, tears dripped down your face like streams of river, Aemond wiped them off, pulling you into him, engulfing in his embrace, holding your head as you sobbed into him.

He did not know how to react.

He did not expect any of this.

Yet he knew one thing, which he hated himself for, which he came to terms with just last night.

The fact that he had already forgiven you.

You both stand there like that for a moment, your cries dissipated from sobs to sniffs and that's when you pull away from the hug, staring at him back again.

Aemond tucked a stray hair strand behind your ear before resting his hand on your cheek, he didn't want to admit this to you but he had to; for his own sake— watching you cry felt like a thousand swords being pierced into his heart, he didn't want to see you like this anymore.

“You're forgiven.” Those two words left his mouth as he held you close and you did not know how much of an impact they'd have on you until you felt the pit in your stomach vanish completely as if it ceased to exist.

You felt calm.

Euphoric.

You felt lightheaded, the world spinning as you stared at him. You gave him a small smile in return, caressing his scar as your vision grew weary.

The last thing you remember seeing was Aemond's panicked expression before you completely blacked out.

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[yuorumi]

─ when annoyances turn to comprehension

dr. ratio's vexation in being friends with a fool in love.

note. gender neutral reader & inspired by @/genshinarchives. be warned that I have not yet caught up with the quest so they might be a little ooc but if it works it works. unedited.

dr. ratio's just about had it with you.

no, you weren't one of ailing students who couldn't comprehend his brilliant and meticulous lectures on things many couldn't decipher heads or tails of unless they've had his guidance. and even then, the amount of students who would reluctantly approach him after class is a number far greater than he'd like for there to be.

you were not a coworker either, getting on his last nerves just as he was about to retire for the night and soak up a long needed bath (aeon knows just how much he's depending on that just to make it through the next day) and asking him questions that make him ponder why they were even a teacher at all.

no, dr. ratio's never even met you.

however, from the stories he's heard about you from the insane gambler, he's had just about enough information to write an entire encyclopedia about every single detail in your life and over. things like your usual routine, what you like for breakfast, what snacks you pick up from the store and the adorable habits you seem to have when you're just sitting around breathing.

for once, the luminous genius finds himself cursing his ability to remember things down to the last detail and growing overly concerned over the fact his eyes might actually roll to the back of his head from doing it so many times. the number of migraines you induce on him when he doesn't even know what you look like is a figure he doesn't bother to keep count of anymore.

ratio swears that when he's in the presence of the blond there's a guarantee he's going to hear your name from his lips at least thrice. anything and everything can remind aventurine of you, apparently.

they could be talking about chalk or the most complicated mathematics to mankind and he'd still hear your name.

"... fools I tell you! I've given everything they need to solve such a simple problem and they still can't even begin to comprehend it! "

"speaking of problems, I wonder if [name]'s managed to find a way to get their computer fixed yet..." cue yet another eye roll.

by now he's sure that you and aventurine had to be dating, there's just no other explanation for his infatuation and his need to bring your presence everywhere with him. but when he found out that you two weren't, he was left momentarily stumped.

"tell me, should I go this shade of green or this purple? "

"I don't know why you're asking me such a question when you already have a lover to answer them for you."

"... we aren't dating, doctor."

"... what? "

ratio's never been more confused in his entire life than in that moment.

and when aventurine finally has the gal to introduce you to him, he finds that perhaps the information he has about you stored somewhere within in vast brain might come in handy after all.