#might see about talking to one of the couple mutual friends i still talk to tomorrow but idk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyprfixate · 3 months ago

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

read on AO3

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

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

pairing: bang chan x reader

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

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

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

word count: 21.6k

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

Chan was acting weird.

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

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

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

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

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

The guy you're secretly in love with.

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

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

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

Right. Your appointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's Chan.

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

something came up.

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

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

Something is definitely wrong.

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

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

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

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

Channie: i'm so sorry.

Channie: i can explain. i promise.

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

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

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

As usual.

You: breathe, Chan. it's ok.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

Channie: had plans?

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

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

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

Channie: give me some creditt

Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned

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

A win-win.

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

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

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

Channie: i'm here babygirl

Channie: coming up to help w ur bags

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”

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

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

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

“You're in pain.”

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

“Yes, I am, but how did you–”

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

Hm. He caught you there.

“How bad is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

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

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

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

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

No biggie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're just happy to have answers.”

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

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

“Maybe a six,” you breathe.

“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”

“It did, it's just wearing off.”

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

“What do you need, babygirl?”

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

“‘Course it is. Here.”

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

“Is that your couch blanket?”

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

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

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

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

“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”

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

This is home.

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

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

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

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

“Is it supposed to rain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

"You okay, babygirl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is not the protein bar box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.

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

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

And Chan happened to be one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still Chan.”

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

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

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

It does not frighten you the way it should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you pawsitive?”

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

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

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

"What is it?" you ask softly.

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

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

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

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

Your brain short circuits as the request processes.

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

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

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

Fuck it.

“Of course, Channie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ignore the heat in your stomach.

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

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

“Your hip,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“This good, babygirl?”

“Mmf.”

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

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

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

Things seem less charged in the morning.

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

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

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

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

You pause in the archway of the kitchen.

Food is… an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"It's going to rain?"

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

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

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

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

“During the full moon?” You supply.

He nods quickly. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

It's fine.

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

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

“My hands.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

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

“Try again.”

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

“It's a seven,” you breathe.

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

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

“Which bottle is it?”

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

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

Wow. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comfy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You repeat your mantra in your mind:

Everything is fine.

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.

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

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

You are immediately invested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.

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

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

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

Chan.

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Okay. Okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worst Cooks in America?”

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

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably.

… Maybe.

Everything is not fine.

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

Or pretending to.

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

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

You weren't sure what to do.

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

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

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

“Chan,” you start.

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

He's not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop on a thread that catches your attention:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's the one,” he grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.

Chan is not asleep.

Chan is very much awake.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

You can't look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His pupils blow.

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

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

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

You take another step closer.

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

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

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

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

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

Then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, there's silence.

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

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

You almost choke.

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

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

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

"Please?”

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

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

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

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

"Use your words babygirl."

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

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

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

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

Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you breathe.

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

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

"Oh god," you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh shit.

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

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

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

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

Typical stuff. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello?" You breathe.

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

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

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

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

The floor falls from under your feet.

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

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

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

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

You need to move. You need to get out.

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

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

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

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

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

But Chan…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's been crying.

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

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

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

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

Your heart breaks in two.

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

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

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

“Tell me what I did.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask me why,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan,” you breathe.

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

The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy.

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

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

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

To you he is just Chan.

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

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

It feels like home. It feels like safety.

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

It feels like perfection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, Alpha?" you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you not love all that he is?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bites you then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His everything.

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

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almostempty · 9 days ago

Text

it’s not that deep but it is that serious!

(editing and reblogging to clarify a couple things at the end of the post - edited once more to combine the second reblog into one)

I just want to come to this app to talk about deep throating mean!Joel and to make friends with other hot freaks. But I need my fellow heathens to hear me out for a moment.

I’ve tried to keep this space a little escape from reality, but that’s not a realistic privilege because life and art are inherently political.

I've seen friends and mutuals receiving hateful, racist, and cruel anons recently. I know these issues aren’t new for our Black and brown peers.

I see a lot of folks jumping to offer support and to express their disgust at the racist remarks.

I also see a lot of shock and disbelief and I want to talk about that.

Racism, bigotry, and prejudice are not new issues for Black and brown folks. If you find yourself shocked, surprised, and outraged when folks share the hate they receive I ask that you reflect on this. It’s a privilege to be surprised, to not be used to navigating and experiencing that vitriol.

I know it’s well intended when folks say things like, ‘if you’re a racist piece of shit get off my blog’ or similar messages, and i understand the anger and frustration. (*i appreciate seeing solidarity and i also do not want to police (acab) how people respond to the hate they receive)

I also don’t think anyone who is aware and actively spreading hate will be deterred. I imagine there are 4chan incel type trolls that just thrive on the attention and reaction of using the most inflammatory language they can, and trolls will troll. They inevitably will pop up.

What I want to address is the levels below the overt and active hate. The accidental or inadvertent covert racism. The micro aggressions. The passive silence or enabling of rhetoric that lets folks perpetuate harm without even thinking.

Black and brown creators in our community have been disregarded or overshadowed when they speak up about diversity or inclusion in this fandom or feeling unwelcomed.

They wade through oceans of moodboards with faceless, thin, white women paired with our favorite characters. They power through reader inserts with freckles, red marks, and pink pussies that say and do things they might never feel safe saying or doing in those universes. They scroll through bad Spanish or fetishized latino caricatures and romanticized colonial values. And they still show love and support by commenting and reblogging and uplifting other writers.

Maybe there are footnotes about the moodboards only being for inspiration, but that doesn’t erase the constant messaging that it was easier to find those pictures and add a note than to search harder or leave the pictures out.

When I saw a fic with a detail about the pedro character having a confederate flag in his trailer I had to pause. This is a perfect example. I don’t read this as malicious or intentionally harmful. I understand the stereotype it’s rooted in and the general humor of the story as a whole. I get that it’s a small detail and that racism wasn’t a core part of the character or the story.

But if we sit with this longer.. what does this tell our Black and brown peers? When the reader notices it and it’s just as notable as a calendar on the wall? And she fucks him willingly anyway?

Hate symbols aren’t unserious. Background or not. Imagine writing a Joel fic and giving him a swastika tattoo just as a background detail. Sounds extreme right? Maybe you’re writing an AU felon Joel and just trying to show how hardened and dark he is. Maybe in your headcanon he only got it in prison to protect himself and he isn’t a racist.

But to nazis it says this is a safe place to be. To the general audience it says you don’t care if this makes them feel unsafe or invisible.

To folks reading that a confederate flag isn’t a big deal, it signals that it’s an acceptable symbol. It shows that people are reading and commenting and sharing this story and are unbothered. That maybe people don’t even notice.

I’m not asking anyone to send hate and I’m not writing this as an attack on the author or anyone who shared the fic. We don’t know what we don’t know, but we have the opportunity to learn!

I am asking my peers to step in and step up, because I think y’all are smart and capable of more.

I am not an expert on anything. But as someone who went to grad school for social work — a field that only exists to combat the societal harm of power, privilege, and oppression — I don’t take it lightly. I work in advocacy fighting discrimination and prejudice from institutions built on systemic racism daily. I’m aware that I have the privilege of training, language, and awareness around diversity and inclusion, and that not everyone has the same knowledge or experience.

I also know this fandom is full of incredibly smart and well spoken folks who craft moving stories and analyze characters with nuance and passion.

I’m not interested in censoring what anyone writes and I happily abide by don’t like; don’t read.

If I only wanted to read I would stick to ao3. But I’m here and I stay here because of the community. The friendships and the extra tag games and challenges and support and camaraderie.

I know I make mistakes myself. And I know it can be uncomfortable to be called out for something you never intended to hurt anyone with. I know it can feel like your voice won’t be heard or your experience won’t be validated in such a big space.

I shared a post a while ago by a creator that doesn’t write for this fandom. It was an ode to Black fanfic writers in general, and in the comments Black writers were tagging each other to show love. And I knew there was something wrong when I wanted to share it but felt deeply hesitant about tagging anyone because I didn’t want Black writers to receive hate.

One of my favorite things about this fandom is how global it is. Getting to make friends with folks around the world is such a treat. I also know racism and fascism are not unique to one region.

It’s Black history month in the states and in Canada. I know other countries observe Black history month in other months. It’s an intentional observation for a reason.

For us, this is a hobby. We’re here voluntarily, and mostly anonymously, but we’re all people. Community is so vital to thwarting the dangers of fascism and hateful rhetoric.

This IS a post about racism.

But racism is absolutely entangled with sexism, classism, ableism, ethnocentrism, capitalism, colonialism, imperialism, patriarchal hegemony, etc.

This isn’t just a rant. It’s an ask. I’m asking my peers—writers, readers, gif makers, lurkers, etc.— to help.

Reflect on what you share and post. Think about how others perceive you.

I’m asking my peers to be curious and open to discussions. To ask questions if you see covert racism. To be willing to accept feedback.

We can be gentle with one another.

Like, ‘hey, I saw this and am wondering if you’re aware of the origin or the impact it might have?’ or ‘can I share how this may be misinterpreted or harmful?’

Be kind sure, but be an advocate!

If you see someone posting about a character being their ‘spirit animal’ — send them a DM! If you read something that stereotypes a race, let the author know! There’s plenty of online resources for writing characters from other races without falling back on harmful tropes.

And even better… support your Black and brown peers. Share their work. Show them you value their presence in the fandom.

I encourage folks to read fics with original characters or reader characters with explicitly diverse ethnicities and tell the author you appreciate that character! Recommend the work to friends.

I never shut up about how much I love Heat and the story is incredibly compelling *because* the reader is a Latina written by a Latina.

Anyway, I come to this hellsite to laugh and be horny—but at my core I am an ethical hater and I only wrote all of this because I care and I want this space to be inclusive.

I’m not speaking on behalf of anyone else and I don’t want to speak over anyone. I’m open to feedback or ideas.

I’m tagging some mutuals I interact with and some that I don’t know very well, not to curse y’all with reading my long winded post but to ask: when you have the capacity will you help take action to make this community stronger? Will you commit to being open to feedback and growth?

Bottom line I just wanna read about getting railed by that fictional guy and I want my Black and brown peers to have the opportunity to enjoy the same escape from reality.

I feel like this is worth posting because I think y’all can make a difference. So many of y’all write and analyze stories and characters with such nuance and passion and detail—and that’s why i believe you can help spot subtle and insidious forms of racism and make real changes.

TL;DR: I’m asking everyone to be proactive when you see microaggressions or covert racism in the fandom, and to be willing to accept feedback and learn from each other. Being passive is a luxury and a privilege our marginalized peers do not have. Let’s be more than performative or not racist. Be active. Be anti-racist.

some tags for folks (no pressure to share, I don’t want attention I just want to encourage folks to take time to reflect or let me know what you think idk): *not calling anyone out as having committed any offenses just feeling compelled to share the message i guess

@auteurdelabre @joelmillerisapunk @lotusbxtch @probablyreadinsmut @ace-turned-confused @baronessvonglitter @yxtkiwiyxt @slimybeth69 @bitchesuntitled @thundermartini @sin-djarin @strang3lov3 @mermaidgirl30 @for-a-longlongtime @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @evolnoomym @wannab-urs @sanarsi @yopossum @almostfoxglove @itwasntimethatdidit40 @syd-djarin @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

to anyone: please start conversations or reach out to me or send me an anon ask if you want to discuss something or share, idc but i’m begging y’all to listen to each other and advocate for one another and be open to self-reflection 💗 editing to add: if i tagged you it was not a callout that i think you've done something specific to reflect on-- just a general invite to join me in being intentional and to invite feedback if you have any! if i made anyone anxious i apologize! - to clarify when i said 'it's not that deep' i mean that maybe fanfic is easily brushed off as not that deep, but every blog is a real person (minus the army of porn bots) and we form real connections in this community <3

edit:

one more thing,

first and foremost! a reminder that i am speaking about the inclusivity in this fandom as a whole. i don't want to lose the plot over one specific example that blew up. my point is the bulk of the racism in this fandom is perpetrated through micro aggressions and covert racism EVERY DAY. we can make sweeping statements and tell racists to fuck off, but next week we will be back to the status quo (aka where many non-white folks feel unwelcomed, aren't represented, and are disregarded when they raise concerns, etc.) unless we commit to examining ourselves first and looking for the more subtle things that perpetuate the current culture (e.g. harmful stereotypes and racial tropes, fetishizing latinx characters, bad Spanish, writing reader insert fics with specifically white features and characteristics without tagging, using slurs or coded language, etc.)

(i am behind on everything today and haven’t gotten back to everyone who added insightful thoughts and considerations to my original post yet)

i did see some folks share examples of positive experiences calling-in peers or learning something new themselves and wanted to say thanks and highlight those positives.

maybe other folks have already brought up the rest of my points and if so i do not mean to speak over anyone, but i wanted to add on to my first post:

i originally asked everyone to step up and commit to advocating for each other— but i’d like to explicitly ask white folks to step up and look out for our Black and brown friends (who are tired and don’t get to check out irl or online). i am asking white folks to be open to learning and growing with compassion. i am asking white folks to be persistent, proactive, and brave enough to be uncomfortable or wrong.

when i say we can be gentle with each other i do not mean to minimize pain or anger. i gladly and willingly validate that everyone has a right to be upset and outraged by hatred and racism. i am not asking my Black and brown peers to soften their reactions or dismiss their experiences.

i am (again) asking my white peers to be mindful, to take a breath and listen to what BIPOC folks have to say. to sit with the discomfort and know that seeing hate or racism might be shocking but it is not surprising if you’ve been listening.

i am asking my white peers to be kind and also strategic. if you have the patience and capacity then do what you can to increase the odds that your peers will be willing to listen and learn. it’s free to try at least.

most of us that commit micro aggressions or covert racism don't consider ourselves to be racists. we see posts that say 'racists and bigots aren't welcome on this blog' and we agree! we reblog those posts! we pat ourselves on the back for being an ally and continue on without making any other changes-- not because we are bad people, but because we have the privilege of feeling welcomed, represented, and valued as a baseline.

this is also my call-in to myself because i’ve allowed myself to stay quiet. i’ve relied on the comfort that my close friends know who i am and what my values are, but i have been passive. i have seen comments or posts that i recognized were ignorant or offensive and continued scrolling. i felt like it wasn't worth the drama to speak up.

i’m fallible and open to feedback ! i am also comfortable being an example, being vulnerable and sharing my mistakes or opportunities for growth. i've gotten more comfortable because i have hours of training and practice but i don't expect others to feel good being called-in or to anticipate what might make them act defensively.

i know the core principle of cultural humility is that nobody is an expert on culture, that the best practice is to remain open and curious, to identify your own values and beliefs, and to confront stereotypes. it is an ongoing process of self-reflection and commitment to growth

and so i volunteer to be here for any of my white friends that want to make this fandom a more inclusive space, but are feeling uncertain or uncomfortable. (i am not offering to defend racism or excuse hate)

there is extreme cognitive dissonance in believing you are a good person, a not-racist person, and a friend and ally— and being confronted with the idea you are perpetuating stereotypes, inadvertently causing harm, or alienating folks you care about.

I know it seems like a safe option to stay quiet if you think you might say the wrong thing or make a situation worse.

I know it’s hard enough to send someone a friendly message or to know what to comment on a fic you loved, let alone to feel empowered to point out something that might make someone else react defensively. I’m not volunteering to be the morality police (acab) but i’m here for all of my friends, mutuals, and peers in the fandom who want support with calling-in others or learning. i encourage and welcome discussion and curiosity.

i ask white folks to make conscious changes so that when these conversations die down we don’t fall back into enabling white ignorance to infect the fandom and harm our friends.

bonus thoughts

i see and am grateful for the folks that called my first post eloquent and at the same time i am deeply aware of the ‘angry Black woman’ trope that undermines and minimizes Black women’s voices (especially when they are rightfully angry). i guess i’m just repeating that i don’t want to speak over anyone but i am committing to speaking up.

i don’t want to harp on the confederate flag example anymore, but i would like to be clear that this isn’t about censorship. Consider the context and don’t turn this into a straw man argument or dilute the message with whataboutery. It speaks volumes if you’d rather argue semantics than listen to your peers about the reality of impact vs intent with that example or others.

thank you for reading and being here <3

#discourse I suppose #pedro pascal fandom this is a call for advocacy #opportunities for growth and learning #I see a lot of well intentioned folks and also we can do better #let’s speak plainly and foster accountability #thank you for reading

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saeun · 1 year ago

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ex-husband!gojo, who wakes up every morning to his disappointment. it's been well over a couple months, yet he still extends his arm to feel for you.

ex-husband!gojo, who still has your contact saved as his main emergency contact. he uses this to his advantage— ringing your phone with the excuse of being "too drunk to drive." it works. he isn't exactly high off his brain, but he has alcohol in his system.

ex-husband!gojo, who happened to spot you with another man. who is he? is he your friend? your lover? perhaps you met after the divorce? whatever the status is, it doesn't help to soothe his jealousy. it's not like he can walk up to you — you might issue a restraining order against him.

ex-husband!gojo, who finds himself at your doorstep. it's late, storming, and you're probably asleep. he doesn't move. mind set in chaos as he ponders whether he should leave or ring the bell. he wants to see you, but the look of disgust he might receive is something he isn't ready to face.

ex-husband!gojo, who's shocked that you opened the door. he didn't ring the bell. were you already there? probably. his throat ran dry, unable to speak a word. you're leaning on the door's frame, arms crossed as you tilt your head. "you need something, gojo?" you asked, not willing to receive an answer.

"can i — can i come in?" he stutters, a little shocked at the use of his surname. the little sparkle of hope that you continue using his first name has been dusted.

ex-husband!gojo, who's fidgety in your home. your silence isn't helping him relax. hell, he hasn't known relaxation ever since the divorce. "help yourself to the kitchen. sleep wherever, i'm going back to bed," your voice held no volume of softness. it was as if you were but a stranger, yet he refuses to let you become one.

"then, may i sleep in your room? on the floor, of course," he's hesitant with his request, deciding it's best to justify himself, "i don't know my way around this house."

ex-husband!gojo, who's yet again stunned that you allowed him in your room — let alone your bed. now he's as still as a stick, unable to fall asleep due to his itching urge to pull you into him. you're most likely sound asleep, uncaring to the man you once called your husband.

ex-husband!gojo, who calls out to you, keeping his voice low as he speaks, "can we talk?"

you replied to him, voice still holding its tone of harshness, "what is there to talk about?"

"anything. how's life been for you?" he keeps his speech short, afraid of annoying you. it's a little late for that, however. you're already annoyed by the attempt of useless talks. "just get to the point, gojo."

and so he follows, sighing before he reveals his intentions, "i fucking missed you, that's all."

ex-husband!gojo, who's surprised when you sat up. although your room holds no light due to the black-out curtains, his eyes adjusted to its darkness, being able to see your every feature. your face, hands, neck, collarbone, chest — everything. he misses being able to run his hands through your body ever-so lovingly. when you lowered yourself right above his face, his eyes kept your gaze. your jaw's clenched. why does he look as if he lost everything? wasn't the divorce mutual?

ex-husband!gojo, who's rendered speechless when your voice cracked. he didn't expect it, nor did he expect you to say what you did. "i missed you, too." did you really miss him? he feels as though he's being lied to. raising a hand to cup your cheek, he shares his words, "really? then why not act on it if you're not lying?"

ex-husband!gojo, who happily accepts your kiss, moving his hand from your cheek to your nape. softly pushing you closer to himself — and to deepen the kiss. it's soft but rough. passionate but seeping with hatred. it's everything at once. you're pulling at his hair, purposefully tugging it as if you're using it to distract yourself from the escaping emotions. he's the same. using his other hand to travel along the junction of your neck and shoulder, squeezing it each time he feels to let the tears flow.

#. ae-generated: jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru headcanons #jjk headcanons

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months ago

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Black love hearts

a/n this man’s existence is singlehandedly ruining my angel image. I will be burning in hell actually, thank you.

warning: good old roommates smut hahah… mention of cheating, alcohol consumption and my dignity being on the floor. Have fun.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The clock on the stove read 3 am, and the apartment was dim. A couple of over-the-island lights that had been left on and forgotten, softly illuminating the living room in a deep warm yellow. “That’s what I fucking told him”, iii giggles, throwing his head back over the sofa armrest. You two had been roommates for barely two months but the chemistry had been wild from the moment he opened the apartment door and found you standing there with a plushy duck that was one-third of your height. “And then what?”, you giggled biting your lip as you watched him.

“Told him to shove his dick back where it was”, iii shrugged, downing the last bit of wine still left in the bottle. Some might say it was pathetic to spend a Friday night like this but you two had no fucks left to give. “Honestly she looked like a cheap bitch to me anyway”, you scrunched up your nose, swirling the wine in your glass. “Oddly enough I feel free”, iii chuckled, running a hand over his face. The poor guy had been cheated on but you and the shower head had more chemistry than what you heard coming from iii’s room when they were together.

“You went on a date this week, how was it?”, he nodded your way, unscrewing another bottle before leaning over to refill your glass. “Uh you had to go and remind me of that”, you gagged up, shaking your head. “That fucking bad?”, iii snorted. “I mean… he was decent to look at but…”, you trailed off. “But…”, iii motioned for you to continue. “Promise me you won’t judge”, you gulped your wine down as iii made a cross over his heart with a cigarette. “I just wanted to fuck and he told me he could rub it out for me”, you mussed, grabbing the bottle from his hands. “Shit… bet you got real wet after hearing that”, iii shook his head. “Man are fucking lame”, you rolled your eyes, tipping the bottle over.

“I hear you, you know”, iii cleared his throat. “You agree that men are trash?”, you snorted, looking up at him. “No… well yes, but I wasn’t referring to that”, he turned to you, licking his lips. Only now did you realize how close you were. The thrifted leather sofa was a gem but for his long limbs and your body was way too small. “You struggled last night, huh”, he says it so casually but your body goes rigid. “Hey, I wasn’t listening just… you were at it for hours”, iii added only making your cheeks heat more. “I don’t know what you want me to…”, you shake your head feeling flustered, but iii is quick to cut you off, “Did you cum?”

You just stare at him, chest rising and falling as you watch him. Shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, that fresh blonde trim he had the other day still making your insides turn. You blink slowly before shaking your head. “I think I was too much in my head”, you whispered. “Would you like to cum?”, his question makes you let out a laugh before you see his dead serious face.

“Iii, we… we agreed that we wouldn’t”, you shook your head. “We don’t have to go all the way”, he says sitting up, before sniffing the cigarette out on the ashtray. “We have mutual…”, you muttered, letting out a sigh as iii slowly parted your legs reaching for your ankles before pressing a kiss against your leg, “friends… mutual friends”. “And that’s important because?”, he frowned, looking at you. It wasn’t really but you had thought about fucking him for weeks. Had done a decent job of talking yourself out of it. Until now…

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this”, he mussed, eyes on you the whole time. “I don’t want you to”, you muttered, shaking your head. “Spread them open, baby”, iii’s palms ran up your thighs. There wasn’t much left for the imagination. You had one of his shirts on that looked like a dress on you. The material bunched up against your waist to reveal pink panties with little black love hearts on them. “Cute”, iii smirked, “I didn’t know I was gonna get fucked tonight, okay”, you grunted. Iii chuckled, leaning over your body, hands digging into your hips as he bit the side of your thigh, “Who said I was judging?”, you could feel his breath on your skin sending a shiver down your back, “I’m admiring, baby”, he bit the waistband of your panties pulling it away from your skin before letting it snap back, making you gasp. “Iii”, you moaned, hand instantly moving to reach for his head.

“You ruined the material”, his fingers pressed against your heated center, your amped-up sexual arousal no doubt clear for him to see. “Just fuck me”, you pleaded, pushing against his fingers desperately. “I have a better plan”, iii smirked, hand already down his pants as he stroked his length. You watch him with hungry eyes, pulling his sweatpants off. Having to bite your lip to not whimper at the size of him in his palm. “Jesus, that’s a fucking cock”, you whined, “Good girl, you still remember what one looks like”, he chuckled making you grunt, “Asshole”. “You’re the one dripping down our sofa, love”, he mused, hovering over you. The word our alone making you arch your back. You feel him, slowly pushing against your walls the material of your panties the only barrier between you.

“Move it”, you whisper, finger moving to reach for your underwear only for iii to catch your wrist. “attagirl”, he mused, “i want to watch you gushing as I rub against you”, he whispered against your ear. Pushing the head of his cock against you entrance before slowly moving it up and down your folds. “Mean fucking asshole”, you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Maybe you could cum just from this”, iii mused, slowly rubbing against you as you buck your hips, following his movements.

“Please”, you moaned, “Just…”, “Just the tip?”, he muttered, “I can give you that”, pealing the side of your drenched underwear up, he let his cock slide beneath the material and your skin, both of you letting out a moan in unison as you rubbed against each other. “Iii”, you bucked your hips, trying to get as much friction as possible. He thrusted like that a couple more times. Lip between his teeth as he watched himself bulging in your underwear. “Fuck it”, he cursed pulled out, his fingers reached for the material. The sound of tearing fabric curing through the sound of heavy breathing, making you gasp.

“What did you…”, you lifted your head, “Made myself a fucking entrance”, he grunted, “hold onto the armrest, I don’t play nice”, you had barely managed to register his words before he thrusted into you. Giving you no time to adjust as he stretched you out, filling you in a way you had never felt before. “Oh fuck”, you cried out, nails digging into the leather, “my… faaa…”, one of your hands reached to brace yourself against his chest as he rutted into you. Firm grip on your hips no doubt leaving a delicious bruise there in the morning.

“So fucking warm and tight”, iii grunted between clenched teeth. Leaning down to spit against your pussy, making you throw your head back as he rubbed the extra wetness into your skin. “You’re the devil”, you panted feeling that warm bubble building in your stomach. “Was never against ruining good girls”, iii mused, hand snaking up your chest before clasping around your neck as he leaned in to kiss you. The feeling of his cock and the lack of oxygen driving you into an overdrive. “Good fucking pussy”, he groaned against your lips, the ruthless thrust making your body shake. “I’m…I”, you whimpered, toes curling as he hit just the right spot over and over and over again.

“Cum, baby, you earned it”, he mused, giving you yet another powerful thrust. Everything exploded around you. You felt him twitch inside you, the warmth of his release the final thing sending you over the edge. “Baby…fa”, you moaned, or probably screamed considering that iii’s hand clasped around your mouth. Wave after wave of his cum painting your walls. Thrust sloppy but enough to prolong your orgasm as it drowned you.

iii let himself fall against your chest, still mindful of his weight as he breathed heavily. “You were amazing”, he sighed between breaths. “I think I saw Jesus”, you whispered, making iii let out a lazy chuckle, “No, that was my dick”, you can’t help the laugh that slips past your lips, “You’re insane”. “I’m fucking hard, that’s what I am”, he grunts, giving another lazy thrust, making you whimper. “After that?”, you gasp, “I want you on all fours”, he whispers, biting at your neck. “Jesus have mercy”, you look up at the ceiling before turning to crash your lips again his once more.

#sleep token smut #sleep token x reader #sleep token imagine #sleep token x you #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token iii smut #sleep token iii x reader #sleep token iii fanfiction

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hannieoftheyear · 4 months ago

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everybody gets horny on halloween (lsm)

Seokmin dressed as a clown shouldn't be looking this hot, but in the spirit of halloween, you let that deep desire come out to life for one night when he bets he's the best kisser out of the whole friend group.

✧.* pairing: dokyeom x fem reader

✧.* w.c: 7,9k

✧.* genre: college au, basically pwp, friends to ?? (minors dni) | content: clown d(ic)k, frat boy dk, he's a dork but also a tease, everyone has a severe case of horniness, alcohol consumption, cursing, this has no business being this long but I just couldn't stop | smut: mutual masturbation, oral (m), fingering, protected penetration (clowns use condoms✊ and so should you).

read part 2 here!

✧.* note: i just know he's the best kisser in svt... you get it. this is the most unserious thing i've written so far, but i ended up really liking it? i might do a christmas version im not sure yet. last thing, I apologize if there are any mistakes🙏

dividers used

Halloween is the one night a year when you can be someone else and not feel bad about it, when you can let your deepest desires get to the surface and let them take over, because, who cares? Right?

Who cares that you spent half an hour doing shots and discussing your best hook ups with a bunch of girls, which led to them going into heavy detail about their hookups with your best friends and now you can’t forget about it? And now you’re sitting too close to them in a couch too small for the four of you, with vivid images and descriptions of how your friends like to go down on girls and a feeling on the pit of your stomach you can’t shake off?

It doesn’t help that all of them are dressed like idiots and acting like horny teenagers who desperately want to get laid, but somehow, the costumes work for them. If you weren’t drunk, it would be embarrassing. A potato with stab wounds, a firefighter with a tiger-printed uniform, and a clown that has no sense of style? You can’t be seriously getting the hots for any of them, but you’re not the only one with that issue.

Earlier, from the kitchen, you could see where they were sitting and how girls went up to them again and again, twirling their hair and biting their lips to get their attention, Chan even going up to his room with one of them. Those things happen at every single frat party, but something about tonight’s is just different.

Looking around the room, very little people are alone, doesn’t matter the costume. Everyone’s either hand in hand with someone, flirting standing against the halloween decorated walls, taking up space on the other couches making out furiously (Mingyu has been jealously throwing popcorn at one specific couple for over five minutes and they still haven’t noticed), and approximately every ten minutes you see another frat guy going upstairs with a girl. It's not easy not to get horny when this is the vibe you’re surrounded with.

From the corner of your eye, even with the dark purple and red lighting, you can see a group of girls ogling your friends, probably not pleased at you for keeping them hostage.

How they all managed to get fuckboy reputations is beyond your comprehension, because they’re still the same boys who like to stay up all night playing videogames and ask you to leave when talking about jerking off, but apparently getting into a fraternity just does that for men. Anywhere you go with them, they always gather a group of girls, and even sometimes boys, gawking at them so furiously you sometimes think they’re capable of undressing them with their stares. And now you’re becoming one of them. Knowing how popular they are and knowing how each of them behave during sex are two fundamentally different things. Sure, you have eyes. You know they’re handsome and hot, but the thought of having sex with any of them never crossed your mind for some reason.

The effects of your little chat are starting to be obvious as they talk about something right by your side, and your eyes are trained to the way Seokmin’s lips move as he talks, mind going to dangerous places imagining how they would feel against yours.

The ridiculous make-up he has on accentuates the way his mouth moves in an weirdly enticing way, the red across his lips and the lipstick streaks going down his face drive your eyes instinctively to his lips, and they stay there, like they have a life of their own. His nose is painted red, imitating the fluffy noses clowns usually wear, accentuating one his undoubtedly best feature, and it makes it virtually impossible for you not to focus on his face either way. You wouldn’t mind getting your pale make-up ruined by the cheap lipstick he bought if it meant you’d get to smash your mouths together and test what all those girls told you about him.

The man in question shakes your leg, his hands on your knee giving you infinite goosebumps, and they’re all looking at you, like they’re waiting for an answer to a question you did not hear.

“What?”

“We saw you talking to those girls earlier. Did they say anything about us? Should we go up to them?" Mingyu repeats, his head peaking out from behind Seokmin.

“They were rating their hook ups with all of you, feedback included.” First mistake of the night, telling them the truth.

“Really?” Mingyu sounds way too excited hearing your reply. “What did they say?”

“I bet you think it was good… but I’m not telling you.”

“C’mon! You can’t just tell us something like that and not follow up!” Soonyoung comes up right behind Mingyu, just as eager.

“Why do you want to know what a few girls, that you clearly don’t even remember by the way, think about you? All of you already have half the campus waiting for the chance to hook up with you.”

“This is an opportunity for us to get better! What if Mingyu’s terrible at making out and doesn’t know it?” Soonyoung doesn’t miss the chance to tease the other.

“Hey!” Mingyu pouts as the others chuckle at his cuteness, “not that you need to know, but I’m actually a really good kisser.” The declaration makes all of you burst out laughing, but it only eggs him further.

“Yo! I’m being serious! Why don’t you ask your sister?” Soonyoung shuts up instantly, sending Mingyu a death stare, making you and Seokmin die of laughter. He’s been quiet until now but starts clapping to accompany his loud laughter in a second.

Sitting right by his side, every move Seokmin makes, you feel. His arm brushes against yours every now and then, and you're so close you could prop your legs on top of him if you wanted to sit more comfortably. Even the slightest touches make your tummy do cartwheels. Touches you wouldn’t normally think about twice, as it’s usual for friends to be physically close to one another, but tonight, every touch, graze and glance of his sends electric waves rushing through every vein of your body.

It can’t be normal. He’s acting goofy like he always is. Nothing in his demeanor changed. He still screams when laughing, claps and moves around when he’s entertained, and sings the songs coming out of the speakers out of nowhere. There’s nothing out of the ordinary besides the ridiculous costume he decided to wear and an uncommon, confident attitude you’ve seen only a few times.

“Everyone knows that a true good kisser doesn’t say they’re good.” Soonyoung’s still laughing hysterically, but doesn’t miss the opportunity to tease Mingyu further.

“Ah really? And are you one?” Mingyu replies smugly, trying to set a trap for him, but his plan backfires.

“Why don’t you ask your sister?” The smile on Mingyu’s face disappears in an instant, triggering another choir of laughter, echoing across the entire room and catching a few stares.

“Alright, alright.” A sulking Mingyu waits for the laughs to die down, not wanting the conversation to keep going, to not be the center of the teasing for any longer.

“Wait, guys! Let’s not forget the main issue here. Our dear, dear friend, is keeping important information from us!” You hoped they’d forget about it for a little bit longer, but Soonyoung refuses to let it go.

“I don’t know, guys, it feels wrong.” It’s not like those girls asked you to keep it a secret, but still. Your gaze connects with Seokmin’s for the first time tonight after you’ve started avoiding him, pleading him with your eyes to help out of the situation, but a voice gets between you.

“C’mon! You don’t even have to tell us who said what. We only want the feedback.” Mingyu tries again, and it’s a rather good argument. You can get them off your backs, and you don’t reveal the girls’ names.

You pretend to think about what to say, like one specific thing the girls said hasn’t been plaguing your mind, like you haven’t been thinking about it since you sat by his side, like your stomach doesn’t flip and your ears don’t turn burning red at the single thought of testing if what they said was true.

“Well, there’s something they all agreed on…” They turn completely silent waiting for you to continue, “since we’re talking about kissing, they all agreed on who’s the best one out of you.”

Something deep within you heats up with a jealousy you’ve never felt before. So many girls got to kiss him, feel his lips against theirs, his hands on their body, and none of them were you. Curiosity, jealousy, and want all combine inside you.

“Well? Are you gonna tell us who?” Soonyoung‘s voice brings you back to reality. They’re still looking at you expectantly, small smirks starting to show on their faces, expecting their respective names to be called.

“It was… Seokmin.”

The air stills as you pronounce his name, and your eyes grow wide, waiting for their response. Nothing in your line of sight looks useful to relieve the heat growing inside of you at the embarrassment. The two men you didn’t name look at each other with wide eyes, raising their eyebrows before erupting into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Seokmin’s voice only makes the sound of laughter grow. “You’re so envious, both of you.” A tinge of pride manages to escape through the tone of his voice. He looks so hot when he’s confident.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it was just… unexpected.” Soonyoung replies, still cackling.

“My man! You have to tell us your secrets!” Mingyu teases, fully believing what you said but not stopping his giggles.

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Seokmin here?” Soonyoung asks you directly, but you don’t get to answer.

“I will literally kiss every one of you to prove it, right here, right now.” A sulky Seokmin interrupts the conversation, making a kissy face to Soonyoung, who feigns disgusts and slides away from him.

Their banter distracts them from your curious form, eyes fixed on Seokmin as he defends himself from the teasing duo. Their voices blur as they become background noise, everything slows down around you, only Seokmin’s face present in your mind, how his eyebrows quirk as he talks, how his nose scrunches at the teasing, the way his soft lips move at every word he pronounces. You realize you’ve never seen him kiss anyone with your own eyes, and thank god for that, because if you’re in this state with only a few references, you wouldn’t be able to manage with visual proof.

A loud cough distracts you from your train of thought, luckily before your imagination goes too far, but when you focus your eyes, you find the three men staring at you.

“Fantasizing about something?” Soonyoung asks teasingly.

“Yeah, about you shutting the hell up.” It comes out a lot more defensive than you want, definitely blowing your cover.

“If you want him to prove it to you, you can just ask.” Your eyes dart between Soonyoung‘s teasing smirk and Seokmin’s surprised face.

“Oh shut up.” Heat rushes to your cheeks, and before anyone can see you getting more embarrassed, you get up and start walking towards the empty kitchen. “I’m getting something to drink.”

The realization hits you right then and there, with all the shouting and laughing on the background, in the dirty kitchen of the frat house. You really, truly, desperately want your clown-dressed fratboy friend to fuck you. Well, not necessarily fuck you – even though you wouldn’t be opposed – but at least kiss you dumb until you can’t feel your lips anymore.

The poorly-lighted kitchen is sadly not empty, currently occupied by at least three couples making out, but you’ve learned to ignore them for tonight. The lonely bottle of water at the back of the fridge calls your name, and it might just be the only thing able to drag you back to earth and lower the little drunkenness left in your system. You can’t be fantasizing like that, not about one of your best friends, and especially not in front of him!

You’re still standing with your shoulder against the fridge as you try to fill your brain with any other thought that isn’t Seokmin’s mouth on yours and his big slim hands pushing you against him. It’s not working, and the universe taunts you further. The door opens, revealing that same clown costume invading your every thought. He stands by your side without saying a word and takes the water bottle out of your hands after you’ve gulped down half of it.

“Are you okay?” His voice startles you. But he sounds caring, and it just sends you down the spiral again. You don’t want to face him. Not right now. Not ever.

“Yeah, sorry for rushing off like that…” Your voice trembles slightly as he takes a few steps and stands in front of you, forcing you to look at him.

“They can go overboard sometimes.” He sounds actually worried, and it just makes you want him more. He cares about you, and he’s hot, and you’re surrounded by couples making out! It’s too much.

“I just wanted them to drop the topic.” No more than a few words manage to mumble out of you. You feel so stupid. Never in the history of your friendship were you ever nervous to talk to him. Fuck those girls for talking so casually about guys, fuck them for putting those thoughts on your mind, fuck them for being the ones who can experience getting kissed by him.

“Maybe they would’ve let it go after a few minutes.” Panic sets in as his words register on your brain. Shit, you’ve made him uncomfortable by putting him on the spot.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t. I don’t actually care what they think about it, they’re not the ones I’m kissing after all.” He tries to calm you down with a joke and you chuckle back as a reply, but your stomach does a funny little jump at the mention of kissing.

“It’s the only thing I could think of so it kinda just spilled out, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” You try to justify yourself and apologize once again, but Seokmin stopped listening after the first part of your sentence.

“The only thing you could think of? Why?” Something in the tone of his voice sends warning signals to the rational part of your brain, but it's already too dizzy to understand.

He takes half a step forward, looking at you intensely, like he’s Pennywise, and he wants to have you for dinner. You’d let him.

“I-I- I don’t know…” His sudden closeness makes a blank slate of your brain. He’s getting ever so slightly closer by the second, almost entering your personal space, and words take you double the time to process, like you’re just learning how to speak. “It surprised me.”

He places his hands on your side, caging you against the counter, forcing you to keep looking him in the eyes. His body heat embraces you, warming up your own body until red can be seen even under your white makeup. Is this how he usually flirts? Is this what all those girls felt? He’s taller than you, so naturally, you have a perfect view of his lips. Lips that move, asking something you don’t get to hear, too entranced in the way they quirk with each word to pay attention to anything else. A smirk begins to show on his face. He’s definitely noticing his effect.

“You don’t think I can be a good kisser?”

Does his smirk have superpowers? The clown makeup only seems to make it hotter, and you can’t look away. It’s hypnotizing, calling to you to fulfill your desires.

“Do you care what I think about it?” What he said before about not caring resonates in your brain.

“It depends.” His dark eyes dart down to your lips as his face gets closer to yours, so close your noses bump into each other.

“On what?” You manage to breath out. Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, waiting for him to finally connect your lips and end your suffering. But you feel nothing besides his breath fanning over your lips.

“You know, Soonyoung was right before.” His voice makes your eyes fly open. His face is still only a couple of inches away from yours, but his smug expression tells you you’ll have to work for what you want. “If you want me to prove it to you, you just gotta ask.”

You can feel his hands right beside yours on the counter surface, his skin calling for your touch. Does this mean he wants to kiss you too? If all it takes is you asking for it...

“What makes you think I even want that?” His smirk doesn’t even come close to twitching at yours words.

“So, we’re just gonna pretend you weren’t drooling over me before?” Yeah, you were caught, right in the act, and there’s no way out. If you back out now, your chance will be lost, and it will forever be awkward for the both of you to interact after this.

“I wasn’t drooling…” He doesn’t believe you, and you don’t either. “I was just thinking about the information I was given.”

“And did you come to any conclusion?” You’re sure you’ve never felt this kind of closeness before. Not even the ugly jacket he’s wearing is capable of breaking the spell casted by your personal spaces fusing together. The drunk dizziness left your body a long time ago, only leaving Seokmin’s effects to play with your body. You crave more of him. Your hands fly away from the counter down the hem of his clown t-shirt, playing with it as Seokmin's levels of confidence reach a new peak.

“Yeah…” A shiver runs down your spine and to your core at the feeling of being observed by him. His hands place themselves on both sides of your hips, making you almost stutter your words. “That I’m the best person you could ask for advice.”

“Right… and why is that?” He nods tauntingly, smirk getting wider as his eyes focus on your parted lips.

“First, I’m always the first one to tell you when you make a mistake, so you know I won’t lie, and secondly, I just think it would be fair for me to know,” your words make him chuckle and your stomach contracts. Fuck, you really love that sound. “If every girl on campus gets to know, then I should too, right?”

“Know what exactly?”

“H-how,” He really got you. You can’t even say it.

“How, what? How I kiss? You have to use words, baby, tell me what you want.” If he could hear the way your heartbeat speeds up at the pet name, you’d fall right to the floor out of embarrassment.

A look around the kitchen to check if it’s a safe space calms you down. The couples making out are all long gone, and you haven’t been paying much attention to your surroundings beyond Seokmin's body, but you realize people haven’t been entering the kitchen for a while either. It’s now or never.

“Fine,” you let him win, but not without rolling your eyes, “can you kiss me?”

“Hmm, you can do better than that.” He’s still playing his little game, waiting for you to say what he wants. You lay your hands on his chest, learning at the worst time possible that he’s actually quite ripped, and you forget his game, and your surroundings, and your worries.

“I want you to kiss me, and if you don't do something in the next two seconds, I swear I'm leaving this fucking party and never speaking to you ag–”

First, you feel his fingers on your chin, tilting it up to reach his height, and then he presses his lips against yours, so softly you can’t fathom him being the same person that was teasing you just a second ago. Both of your hands fly to the back of his neck, pushing him harder against you as your lips start to move. He reciprocates immediately, moving his lips over yours with a sweetness that would drive a diabetic straight to the hospital.

You get drunk of the feeling of him, deepening the kiss far more than you first intended as his mouth leads yours as he wishes, and his hands sneak to the sides of your waist. It’s not messy nor rough like you’re used to with other men, on the contrary, Seokmin takes his time savoring the raw skin of your lips, a tender deepness that keeps you in for more.

The last bit of air in your lungs leaves you as a sigh, and Seokmin separates from you just in time before you pass out in his arms due to the lack of oxygen. You absentmindedly chase his lips, but he doesn’t smirk cockily like you expected and just glares at you, his eyes dark and clouded with something you’ve never seen in him, and lips parted with red lipstick smeared around them.

Only breathing sounds are heard for a second before you’re both smashing your mouths together again. No time for thinking about how this will affect your friendship, letting yourselves dwell in this newfound desire.

He dominates the new kiss immediately, his hands pushing you against him even more if possible. There’s no softness this time, nothing to prove, only lust and want pushing your bodies closer and closer until there’s no space left. Your nose brushes against his when he switches the angle, lighting a fire all the way down to your core. But he’s still not rough. He moves with a controlled power that makes you whimper on his lips. It is the perfect opportunity for him to finally sneak his tongue and tangle it with yours.

You welcome the intrusion eagerly, sighing on his lips again as he explores to his liking. His hands don’t stay put and travel to your thighs to effortlessly lift you on top of the counter. Your legs open, welcoming him to slot between them, and his groin hits just on the crevice of your inner thigh.

Sounds are made that shouldn’t be heard in any public place when Seokmin bites on your lower lip, but he drinks them all in, his mouth not letting your little moans reach any other ears beside his. His hands grope your thighs, bringing you closer to his growing hard, nearly desperate for more friction, but he explores more of your body with the same attitude, like he wants you to feel him everywhere. Your arms wrap around his neck and flush your chests together, and the plastic hair of the clown wig tickles on top of your skin, but it doesn’t prevent you from caging him against your body so the kiss never ends.

A loud shattering sound makes you break apart, both of you worried trying to locate the source, but it luckily didn’t come from inside the kitchen, still empty as it was earlier, and when you look back at each other, eyes wide and jaws slightly hanging, realization hits the both of you simultaneously.

“Fuck!”, “Holy shit.”

While your reaction leans more to a ‘fuck, you’ll never be able to forget about this', his sounded more of a ‘holy shit, that really happened’.

“You’ve been keeping that from me this whole time!?” Your question creates a smugness in his face that weirdly sends a wave of arousal through your body.

“You could’ve always known, if you asked.” There's something more to what he’s saying, more than a reference to what Soonyoung said earlier. “So, what do we do now?”

“We’re gonna leave this gross kitchen, sneak past everyone on the living room, and then you’re gonna take me up to your room.” The words leave your mouth firmly, confidently, like you’re not proposing to change your friendship forever, like you’re not about to shit your pants waiting for his reaction.

“Are you serious?”

“You don’t want to? Fuck, this is embarrassing.” And your fantasy has come to an end. It was good, it served its purpose. Now you’ll just have to figure out how to transfer universities and get a new group of friends as quick as tomorrow.

“Wait!” His loud, almost desperate voice makes you remove your hands from your face. You’re positive your blushed state can be seen from a mile away, but he seems more worried about what you said than anything else. “Yes, I want to, so badly.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes your lungs as you scrape your runaway plans. He notices you visibly relaxing and grabs your hand, which shouldn’t feel electrifying, especially not after exchanging saliva for a hot minute, but it still sends goosebumps across your arms and chest. He makes sure to peek his head out the door to check if the way’s clear, and you only hear a light chuckle before he fully opens the door to let you through behind him.

The few people left in the living room don’t know you. They’re either too drunk, too high, or sliding their tongues down someone else’s throat to even care about you. Mingyu’s long gone, leaving Soonyoung on the couch with a girl dressed like a tiger sitting on his lap, mouths attached, and making sounds you wish you could unhear.

Going up the stairs, you catch your reflection on a small dirty mirror hanging on the wall. You’re lucky none of your other friends saw you in this state cause you'd be subjected to lifelong bullying –lovingly they'd say. Your make-up is ruined. Not only is there red lipstick smeared all around your lips and chin, there’s also a stain on the tip of your nose. Your hair is completely disheveled, and if you were to check your outfit, you’re sure you’ll find your black dress wrinkled up far more than what would be considered decent in public.

But none of that really matters. Not when Seokmin leads you through the path of caution tape and forbidden sings covering the entire second floor. Not even when you finally reach his door, breathing heavily and still holding hands. And especially not when you finally enter his room and he traps you against the door as he closes it shut.

Your mouths are quick to find each other again, lips moving against the other, so naturally you’d think you have been doing this for years. You hurriedly take his wig off and throw it somewhere on the floor, revealing his beautiful hair ready to be tangled in between your fingers. He wastes no time and presses himself against you, letting you feel how hard he already is as his tongue finds its way inside your mouth again.

You moan freely in his arms, a new sound escaping you every time his hands find another sensitive spot anywhere on your body, and now that you’re really alone and the music isn’t blasting right beside your ears, you can hear the sounds he makes too. Every time you suck on his bottom lip, he lets out the tiniest whimper, that he fights to hold back and keeps failing, and sends a wave of arousal all the way down to your core, making you grind on his hard length and encouraging him to kiss you harder.

Harder and down your jaw and neck, kissing and nibbling your sensitive skin that isn’t painted for your spooky makeup, while his hands travel up your torso and cup your covered boobs.

Your hands find their way inside his colorful jacket, forcing him to take his hands off of you so you can slip it off, but not daring move his lips off your skin. His mouth works relentlessly on every part of your neck he can reach, and you’re discovering there’s more things he can do with it than just making out. You claw your nails on his newly discovered biceps when he lightly bites on the uncovered skin above your clavicles. It’s unbelievable how he manages to hide his gym body under his usual comfy clothes.

“Before we do anything, can I ask you what you’re supposed to be dressed up as?” The question takes you by surprise, and he’s serious about it too. But with the feeling of his lips still lingering on every bit of skin of your neck, it takes a second to find the answer in your mushy brain.

“Wh– I'm Morticia Addams! I thought it was obvious?” Seokmin takes look up and down your body –as best as your closeness lets him, and nods with a raise of eyebrows, which would’ve had your legs turn into jelly a minute ago, but you’re too confused by his sudden intervention. “Fuck, you ruined the moment.”

“Did I?” In the most cliché way possible, he flutters his eyes closed as he gives you a peck on the lips, and then on the corner of your mouth, and on your left cheek, leaving you sighing for more. He kisses his way up to the shell of your ear, his breath tingling lightly as he parts his lips to whisper in your ear. “You looked really fucking hot, but I think you’ll look even better with this off.”

Your skin lights on fire under his fingers as he runs them up your thighs and inside your dress, lifting it slowly. His words and actions take a second to match in your brain, but as soon as you understand, you’re holding your arms up, ready to finally have the skin to skin contact you crave. You’re left only in your underwear, but he’s still fully dressed, and before he resumes his ministrations on your body, your hands start lifting up his shirt so he takes the hint.

How your eyes don’t pop out of your face seeing Seokmin’s defined chest for the first time will remain a mystery. A quiet curse leaves your lips, which you only know he heard because he chuckles before lifting you up by your thighs and heading to his bed.

He drops you softly on the mattress, and you prop on your elbows to admire him as he takes his pants off. He’s always been reserved with his body, never taking off his shirt, even at the pool or the beach. And you’re not going to deny and say that the thought of what he’d possibly look like under his baggy clothes never crossed your mind, but the reality knocks your imagination right out of the park.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You’re staring shamelessly, and his boxers tighten under your lust-filled gaze.

“I’ve never seen you so… naked before.”

“I’m guessing this is a good reaction?”

“You’re really fucking hot,” Seokmin crawls on top of you, his buff arms at both sides of your head and his hips between your legs, grinning at your words but not stopping your rambling yet, “like, you should just go around naked all the time, people deserve to see this.”

“You’re exaggerating.” In an attempt to shut you up, he lowers his head and starts a trail of kisses down your neck, his lips grazing your skin on the way down and giving you goosebumps.

“I’m not. I’m serious. I think you sh–” His fingers ghost over your damp panties, finally succeeding in deleting the stream of words coming out of your mouth.

“You think I should what?” You lift your hips to try and get more friction, but he removes it and pins you down with a cheeky grin as he looks at you again.

You feel his smirk against your hip bone, and a sigh leaves your mouth as his hand makes a comeback and presses his fingers harder against your core. But the closeness of his mouth to your covered folds sends one singular warning signal to your brain. And you decide to listen to it. “What are you doing?”

“I really want to eat you out right now.” Fuck. His dark eyes look at you so intensely, smirk widening as he most definitely feels the new rush of wetness damping your panties further.

“Shit, fuck,” the need for his tongue is so bad, your walls tighten over nothing, “I can’t, not with that makeup all over your face, I’m not about to get an infection.” His face just above your core, his breaths fanning over your wet panties making you shiver, is something you’ll never forget. It pains you to reject the best offer you’ve ever been given.

“That’s fine, I’ll do it next time.” He doesn’t give you the chance to process what he said, immediately aiming to kiss your neck again. “What should I do then?”

“I think you should get over here. Now.” He’s so close his chuckle reverberates through your whole chest. “And put that hand to use.”

Somehow, you find the strength to sound as serious as possible while you pat the empty spot beside you on the mattress. He complies with what you ask quickly, taking off your panties in a swift motion and circling around you to kneel by your torso, his hand never leaving his claimed spot on your inner thigh.

His hard strains under his boxers, and it’s so close to your head, so ready for your hand to take, so that’s what you do. Your touch over his clothed bulge makes him let out a long groan, followed by his hand sneaking down your body. The coldness from his middle finger sliding against your wet folds sends shivers up your spine, getting a breath caught in your lungs. You can’t speak, and the light teasing touches his other hand scatters across your bare chest aren’t helping.

Before he starts playing with your cunt, you use all your willpower to grab the fabric of his boxers and yank them down. A wave of arousal pulses out of you at the sight, his dick standing tall, pink and proud before your eyes, glistening from the precum already smeared on the tip. And just when he begins collecting the juices coming out of you, you swirl your tongue around his tip.

From your position, you have to wrap your hand around the base of his cock your mouth can’t reach. An unholy sound comes out of him, sensitive from being hard and caged in his pants for so long, and his hand falters against your needy core. Every sound of his encourages you more and more, you want to hear more, you want to make him feel good. And the more length you suck into your mouth, the more he presses his wet fingers against your clit, it’s a perfect combination.

You look up to find him already staring at you, his make-up smeared around his face, all because of you, not fully believing what’s happening. As you bob your head up and down his tip, his hips buck into you just as he pushes two fingers into you.

Your warm walls welcome the intrusion, ready for whatever pace he wants to set. And oh boy, does he. The wetness gushing out of you nonstop makes it easy for him to thrust his fingers in and out of you at the speed of light. Your mouth stops working, lips parted and moaning uncontrollably as you do your best to drag your hand up and down his cock to give him at least some of the pleasure back.

His fingers are so long, they reach places your hand could only dream of, slowing down and finding every spot that makes you squirm and clench around them embarrassingly fast. He’s slow but hard, letting the palm of his hand press against your clit before he slides out. It's dizzying, and your legs start feeling wobbly and threaten to close around his arm the second he finds your gspot and starts abusing it.

A stream of curses and praises mumbles out of you, and it barely makes any sense in your head, but his hand speeds up, drilling into you with a newfound energy. You’ve stopped touching him at this point, but Seokmin’s still so hard, getting off on your pleasure. He delights himself in the way your walls clamp around his fingers, feeling every new wave of wetness that coats them every time he reaches your sensitive spots.

The little control left you have over your body starts faltering, your stomach tightens, your hips grind against his fingers searching for more, even if you can’t handle it, and your legs begin trembling. Everything part of a chain reaction that culminates as he adds a third finger, finally getting you to the edge.

It hits you powerfully, making you lose control of your body as your legs shake and you spasm around his fingers that are somehow still sliding in and out of you, helping you ride out the earth-shattering orgasm.

“Fuck!” You breath out, voice hoarse, hinting that you might’ve screamed a little louder than usual.

“That was so fucking hot.” Seokmin slots between your legs again, his boxers nowhere to be seen, his cock slapping against his abs and barely grazing your sensitive cunt.

“You thought that was hot? You got me to like, another astral plane just now.” You’re so comfortable with him that the honesty just slips out. Does it really matter if it makes his ego grow? “The rumors are true.”

“Rumors?” His fingers run freely on your waist and the sides of your back, feeling your skin against his, touching and fondling where he pleases.

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you, not only about kissing.” The reminder of the kissing makes you blush, silly now that he’s literally had his fingers inside you just a moment ago.

“Really? What else have those girls told you?” Feathery light kisses up your chest and jaw make a million butterflies erupt in your stomach. He’s so captivatingly close to your lips, you’re ready for another round again.

“Hmm, let’s not talk about you fucking other girls when you could be fucking me.” Reality hits him as you pronounce those words. “Where do you keep your condoms?”

“Right, right, right.” It's like his teasing persona fades off as he clumsily gets off the bed to look for them, in a rush and forgetting to avoid some of the things scattered on the floor.

With the shiny packet in his hand, he’s back between your legs like Flash, opening it and sliding the condom on his still fully erect dick in record time. You wrap your arms around his neck, and your legs hug his hip right against your once again needy core, and he’s about to lose his mind.

“Are you sure you want this? Like sure sure.” Where does this hesitation come from? You scan his eyes and his expression for answers, and he silently awaits your answer.

“Did what just happened not answer your question?” One of your hands sneak between your bodies, grabbing his cock and pressing it against your wet folds, earning a pretty sigh from him.

“I just– fuck, I wanna hear you say it.” His hips get a life of their own, sliding in between your cunt and your hand, covering his cock in all your wetness.

“Say what? That I want your cock inside me?” He twitches at your words, his hips faltering and moving his tip closer to your hole. “That I want you to fuck me?”

Your words flip a switch inside him. His eyes darken right before your gaze, and you don't register when his hands hold your legs up and place your calves on his shoulders. And you're at his mercy instantly.

“I want you to beg.” His voice sounds lower, deeper than you’ve ever heard. His length drags against your folds one last time, collecting his last coat of arousal before giving in and pushing his tip barely inside your hole. “Beg for me to fuck you until your legs give out.”

He alternates between sliding his tip inside of you just enough to have you craving for more, and removing it to tease your sensitive clit further. Begging for him is not going to be a problem.

“Fuck, I want you to fuck me, please. I need you.”

The stretch is immediate. Everything about him is big. His arms holding your legs up, his thighs on both sides of your hips, and his cock opening you up, making you lose your breath for the tenth time tonight. Your walls slowly welcome him in, like molding to his shape, and when he bottoms out, you both let out long groans.

You can’t talk. You can’t even breathe as he starts thrusting his cock in and out of you, hitting your deepest spots back and forth, slowly getting to know what makes you react. And for the first time in his life, he was speechless too.

The way your walls hug him as if to keep him there forever, sucking him in deeper and deeper with every thrust. Your legs quiver every time he pounds into you so deep and rough that his thighs slap against yours, and your nails claw just above his knees, leaving marks only he’ll be able to see.

“Pussy so tight, fuck.” He mumbles more to himself than to you, but your body registers his words and clenches around him harder. “Taking me so well, so wet, can’t believe it.” He's barely making sense, but the choked up sentences he manages to let out have the exact intended effect.

You can’t answer, and even if you could, you don’t know what unholy sounds would come out instead of words.

The wet squelching sounds eager him to go faster, harder, and he lowers his torso until your knees touch your chest and his arm that’s holding them presses against your tummy. His face is so close to yours, yet you can’t kiss him. His relentless rhythm doesn’t stop, jolting your body upwards with every hard thrust. Your instinctive reaction is to look away and close your eyes, but he won’t allow it.

His free hand grabs your jaw and forces you to look straight at him. Maybe he said something, but you can’t hear him, not when his cock hits so deep inside you, you feel him on your throat.

“I’m c-close.” Your voice comes out so small you fear he won’t hear you either.

But his arm frees your legs, and as you open them to wrap around his waist and push him deeper against you, his newly free hand creeps down your body. His finger toys with your clit so fast, you barely have time to comprehend what’s happening. You hold his face close to yours, eyes connected with his as you let out a string of screams and moans as you come undone.

He pounds you hard, and your walls clamp around him so much that he has to hold your hips in place with both hands. The room becomes a blurry mess as he prolongs your orgasm, thrusting and pounding into you, searching for his own.

“Come inside me, please, I wanna feel you.” His hips stutter against you, and a guttural moan escapes out of him as a response.

The feel of his cock twitching inside you, spilling into the condom as your walls hug him tight, will be tattooed on your mind forever.

His body falls on top of you, breathing heavily as his face hides on the crook of your neck. You stare at the ceiling, thinking of every possible outcome after this. But your thoughts come to an end as a pair of plush lips press against yours gently.

“You okay?” Seokmin’s shiny eyes look at you softly.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.” He slowly slips out of you to lay by your side, making you both wince.

“You’re not regretting it, are you?”

“No, actually, quite the opposite.” You’re afraid to look at him. To see his reaction to your pseudo-confession.

“Thank god, because there’s no way I could live with this only being a one-time thing.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Seriously, it was so much better than my imaginat– shit.” He shuts up immediately, blowing his own cover. He puts his boxers back in a hurry while you process his words.

“What?! You’ve thought about this before?” That alone has you ready for another round.

“Fuck, you weren’t supposed to know, but yeah.” You fight another chuckle, not wanting to make fun of him, but he takes notice and continues to explain. “You have no idea how hot you look all the time, it messed with my head! Stop laughing!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, you look funny with the make-up ruined across your face.” You couldn’t hold back, and also, making him focus on something else might distract him from your blushed face and your heart racing.

“You look the same, by the way!” he says on his way to his connected bathroom.

“It’s your fault!” You shout back even though you don’t really care that your make-up’s ruined. “I'll just take it off before going to sleep.”

“Yeah, about that.” You think he’s about to ask you to sleep over, but one look at where he’s standing tells you the real reason. The soap all over his face and hands is stained pink, and even if he’s covered with pinky foam, you can see his worried expression. “This is not washing off.”

You run over to him after putting on one of his big t-shirts pooled over one chair by the bed, ready to look in the mirror and see just how much worse your face looks compared to when you left the kitchen. Seokmin’s drying his face off as you take in all the redness on yours. It’s going to fade eventually, right? After a few washes? At least you don’t have classes for two more days.

In the midst of your panicking, the door to the room shoots open, revealing Soonyoung with the couch girl. He sees Seokmin coming out of the bathroom and quickly realizes he’s in the wrong room.

“What the hell man!”

“Shit, sorry bro, thought it was my room.”

“Who was tha–” You stop in your tracks coming out of the bathroom.

Silence fills the room for the number of seconds it takes Soonyoung to analyze the situation. Seokmin in his underwear and you coming out of his bathroom with only a big t-shirt, both of you with matching red stains on your faces.

“Holy shit! I knew it! I can’t believ–“ He gets cut off by Seokmin shutting the door on his face.

You stare at him. And he stares at you. And Soonyoung‘s voice echoes through the hallway until he finally gets inside his actual room.

“He’s never going to leave us alone is he?”

“Nope, we'll have to own up to it.”

note: heyyyyy... I'm posting late i know... I forgot I had two final essays to write and had to prioritize them... but hey at least there's still one halloweekend left! halloween season it's not over

#dokyeom au #ema.works #dokyeom smut #seokmin au #seokmin smut #seventeen smut #seventeen au #svt smut #svt au #seventeen x reader

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prettygirl-gabi · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 19: Stormy Nights

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: heavyyy angst, reader calls Paige insecure, I think that's all idk...

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: in this moment nothing's perfect...

Welcome to the chapter 19 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

I could hardly believe it when Coach called me into his office after practice last week. He handed me a folder with credentials for two major games: a Seattle Storm game and a Lakers game. Apparently, he’d sent some of my best work to sports media outlets, and they were impressed enough to invite me to cover these games. It was an incredible opportunity, one I couldn’t turn down.

Paige had been supportive at first, giving me one of her signature grins and pulling me into a hug when I told her. “That’s huge, babe,” she’d said, kissing my temple. But as the day of my flight to Seattle grew closer, I noticed her enthusiasm dimming.

Now, as I sat courtside at the Storm game, camera in hand, I tried not to think about the way Paige had barely kissed me goodbye that morning. This was my moment, and I needed to focus.

The game was electric. Watching Nika Mühl command the court was surreal—she was as fiery as ever, her passion and energy infectious. She caught my eye a few times, waving and grinning during warm-ups. After the game, the Storm secured a dominant win, and I wrapped up my work feeling accomplished.

Nika approached me as I was packing up my gear. “Yo, superstar photographer! Long time no see!”

I laughed, hugging her briefly. “You killed it out there. How’s life in Seattle?”

“Busy, but good. What about you? Still dealing with Coach and the circus back in Connecticut?”

“Barely,” I admitted. “I’m trying to branch out, and this was my first big opportunity, thanks to coach.”

Her eyes sparkled. “We need to celebrate. Come out for a drink with me and some of the team. It’s on me.”

I hesitated, knowing how Paige might feel about it, but Nika was insistent. “C’mon, it’s one drink. You deserve it.”

The bar was loud and filled with Storm fans celebrating the win. Nika and I talked about everything: her adjustment to the WNBA, funny memories from our UConn days, and how much we missed some of our mutual friends. Someone at the bar recognized Nika and started recording. I didn’t think much of it—Nika was used to the attention.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized how bad it looked. My phone was blowing up with notifications. Clips of me and Nika laughing and sitting close at the bar, and taking shots together were everywhere, with captions like "New WNBA power couple?" and "Storm fans ship Nika and mystery girl!"

My stomach sank. I texted Paige immediately, explaining that it wasn’t what it looked like. But she didn’t respond.

When I got back to Connecticut, Paige was waiting for me in my dorm. Her arms were crossed, her face unreadable.

“Hey,” I said softly, setting my bags down.

“Hey?” she repeated, her tone sharp. “That’s all you have to say after what’s been going around all week?”

I sighed. “Paige, it wasn’t like that. Nika and I were just catching up. It’s not my fault someone filmed it.”

Her jaw tightened. “Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look? People are acting like I’m some fool while you’re out there with my old teammate.”

“It’s not about you,” I snapped, frustration boiling over. “This was a work trip. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was with our friend not some random bitch, now be for real, P!”

“But you didn’t think about how it would feel for me, did you?” Paige shot back. “You didn’t think about what it would be like to see my girlfriend all over social media with someone else, laughing and looking cozy.”

I threw my hands up. “What was I supposed to do, Paige? Lock myself in my hotel room? Stop living my life because you might feel insecure?”

Her eyes flashed with hurt. “Insecure? Are you serious? I trust you, but this—it’s humiliating. And the worst part is you don’t even seem to care.”

I took a step back, trying to calm myself. “I do care. But I can’t control what other people think or post. You have to trust me, Paige.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her voice softening just slightly. “I do. But it feels like you’re slipping away. Like everything else is more important than us.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” I said quietly. “You know how much you mean to me.”

“Do I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. It was Nika, texting to check if I’d made it back safely. Paige glanced at the screen, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I can’t do this right now,” she said, grabbing her coat. “I need some air.”

She left before I could stop her.

Later that night, I called Nika to clear the air. She answered on the second ring.

“Hey, everything okay?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Not really,” I admitted. “Paige and I had a huge fight because of that video. People are shipping us, and it’s causing problems.”

Nika sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would blow up like this.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “But it’s a mess now. She thinks I don’t care about her or our relationship.”

Nika was quiet for a moment. “You know, Paige loves hard. She always has. And she’s probably scared—scared of losing you, scared of what comes next after UConn.”

“She said she feels like I’m slipping away,” I admitted, my voice breaking.

“Then show her you’re not,” Nika said simply. “Remind her why you’re worth fighting for.”

Her words stayed with me long after we hung up. I didn’t know how to fix things with Paige, but I knew I couldn’t let this be the end.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 ,.... (more to be added)

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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

Text

and if I'm gonna be drunk, I might as well be drunk in love

You squint your eyes at the pink neon sign flickering against the fake moss tapestry to the left of the bar. A young couple poses in front of it, smiling at their mutual friend who holds the phone to take a picture. Beautiful, radiant, charming. All while you sit on the barstool, hunched over the half-empty cocktail that you swirl in your grip, relishing the condensation on the rim of the glass. With your straw, you stab at the maraschino cherry floating around in there, popping it into your mouth. The sweetness cuts through the bitter liquor, or loneliness, lingering on your tongue and you think that maybe tonight isn’t so bad, despite your sulking.

It's another happy hour, courtesy of your boss. Everyone on your team is here, who you genuinely get along with, no problem. But there’s one person missing, the one person you want to see the most. Nanami is the only one to decline tonight’s invitation to the new trendy bar downtown. During your lunch together, you don’t ask why. You don’t want him to suspect that you’re devastated by his decision, which you are. So, you talk about how much you’re craving cake instead, changing the topic all together, hoping he doesn’t catch the hint of sadness in your tone.

Ever since he walked you home in the rain the other week, protected under his umbrella, there’s been this obvious vibe between you. Still, it could all be wishful thinking on your end. You never did get around to confessing your true feelings for him; you’d rather enjoy what you have as it is. Why ruin something good? There’s the hope that maybe things could be even better if you take this leap of faith. But it’s always terrifying taking the plunge, isn’t it? Especially when you don’t know if you’ll sink or swim.

It was by the fourth cocktail that you decided to leave your group gathered around the back table. That’s why you’re here now, sulking between strangers at the bar, chewing on your tiny straw until it’s gnarled on one end. Your friends on the team know the real reason, trying to dismiss all the jokes from your more annoying coworkers about how you must be missing your “work husband”. Even they’re shipping the two of you together. If only you knew what Nanami truly thinks about all this. About you.

To your complete shock, it doesn’t take you long to find out. Still in his work attire, Nanami walks through the front door, hair swept beautifully as always. As soon as his eyes find yours, he smiles, making his way to you. It’s only when he approaches you that you notice a small box in his hands. “Good. You’re still here,” he says, smile growing wider.

You blink at him several times, as if you’re not seeing him clearly.

“Can you come with me? I have something for you.” His voice is trembling slightly, excited.

You nod, still rendered speechless, wobbly as you follow him outside. When you’re alone in front of the establishment, the voices of those inside muffled and distant, you stare down at your shoes, anticipating what’s about to happen. He holds the box out to you, opening the cover slowly, revealing a personalized cake decorated beautifully with your name written in neat frosting on the top.

You meet his gaze, putting your hand to your mouth, hiding a gasp. “Nanami.”

“I made this for you. Because of what we talked about today.” He swallows hard, taking a step towards to you. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now. I…” He trails off, nervous, scared, uncertain. Just like you.

This time, you follow through with what you’ve been wanting to do since that rainy night not too long ago. You close the distance, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Sparks fly and whatever buzz you have from the alcohol is replaced with this electricity. “Me too.”

Author's Note: A continuation of this. Yet another coworker!Nanami drabble inspired by a song that’s making me feel all sappy and soft. 🩶 Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #coworker!nanami #jjk fluff

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yapperblog · 6 months ago

Text

Thought you'd hate me

but instead you called and said I miss you

Tags: unresolved feelings, a little big of angst, she fell first but he fell harder, smut +18 only, softdom!joost, fem!reader, fingering, riding, unprotected PinV.

RPF below don't interact if you are not comfortable with that

You sigh as you find yourself in front of his door. Again. In the message he sent at 3:15 AM he told you the door will be open, but you still ring the doorbell. After no one opens it, you feel a slight nervous shiver down your spine. You decide to leave the dilemma of your weak morals for tomorrow, you are already here, might as well see where the night leads you. You reach for the handle and open it.

"Hello?" you say as you enter his apartment.

You turn to twist the lock on the door, a familiar smell envelops you. Not much has changed since the last time you've been here. More often you have been rushed past his front door, already tangled in a kiss, tearing at each others clothes. This time you weirdly want to look around and take it all in, you are still not sure if this is the last time you walk past his doorstep, but you want to remember it.

You and Joost have a messy history. It all started so simple, you met through a mutual friend and found out you two have a lot in common. As soon as you started talking, you knew something special could brew from this. It was so easy to be next to him, every bit of attention from him was intoxicating.

You also found out you live a walking distance from each other, which led to you two hanging out more often outside of the friend group. After one drunk night out, just the two of you, one thing led to another and you ended up on his lap, hands wrapped in each other's hair, having the best sex of your life. Your relationship turned into friends with benefits, never crossing into anything more even after a year. You did everything a couple would do together, but never put a label on it. Due to him traveling a lot and focusing on music, you felt he didn't want a serious relationship, so when he asked what you thought about dating, you just brushed it off, not wanting to be a burden to him.

You did this often. You were so overprotective of your feelings, you wouldn't let anyone near, in case they hurt you emotionally, which from your past experiences - they usually did. So you learnt to end things before you get too attached. You knew it was too late, he was the best partner you've had. So thoughtful, caring, funny, incredible sex, but you could just not open up to him the same way he did to you. It hurt, but gradually you made an effort to see him less, you would decline his invitations to hang out, until one day you just simply ignored his message to come over.

Until today, when you saw him again at a friend's birthday party. You knew he got back from tour already and would be at that party. You were nervous to see him again, but to skip it would be even worse. You immediately spotted him, even in a room full of people, somehow you could always tell where he was, your eyes just gravitated towards him. When eventually, after mingling with different people, you ended up in the same circle, he made it seem so easy to see you again, like it was no big deal. You felt a sting of pain, but you couldn't be upset, you were the one to push him away. So, you came to a conclusion that you made the right decision, if it is so easy for him to move on, it is better this way. You stayed until the end of the party, everyone got pretty drunk, your heart still felt heavy knowing he is close, but at the same time so far away, and it was all your fault for pushing away the one good thing you had.

You got back home around 3 AM. You were ready for bed, until you got a notification. You checked your phone and saw it was a text from Joost.

"Come in." his voice brings you back to your current situation. You notice a warm glow from the nightstand lamp coming from around the corner, where his bedroom is.

Your legs start walking as if by themselves, you don't remember making that decision. His voice just draws you in.

You stop by the doorframe, leaning against it. You take in the sight of him. Only one nightstand lamp is turned on, you remember your shared hatred of overhead big light. He is laying on the bed, his legs swaying off the side of it. His jeans are halfway unzipped, low on his hips, the belt undone and shirt half unbuttoned, like he couldn't decide what to take off first and gave up on both. He must be as drunk as you are now, he should look like a mess, but he doesn't. He always managed to look clean, one of the many things you liked about him. He turns his head to look at you and you notice a cigarette hanging from his lips.

He got into a bad habit of smoking in bed, you used to joke he would end up living in one of those houses that have yellow walls from the constant smoking.

"You should start locking your door." you say, your arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. You want to look nonchalant, like your heart isn't trying to get out of your chest.

"I don't usually leave it open." he says, his voice raspy, like it usually got when he was drunk. "Only on special occasions." he puts one hand behind his head not to crane his neck to see you better.

"Have a lot of special occasions?" you ask. You do wonder if he was with anyone in the time you haven't seen each other.

He huffs in amusement and turns to look at the ceiling. You think he looks so pretty, just laying there.

"Come here." his voice barely above a whisper, but he knows you will hear. You always do, sometimes he thinks you can hear his thoughts, his deepest secrets.

You don't move from your place, your hands crossing tighter on your chest. The distance you want to keep breaks his heart, he needs to stop this feeling and distract himself. He reaches for the lighter in the pocket of his jeans.

"Joost, open the window at least." you say softly before he lights the cigarette. It is not your place to tell him what to do, but you still care.

He smiles and remembers your joke about the yellow walls. Always so quick with a funny remark. He misses it. He sits down on the bed, his movements slow. He zips up his pants and puts the belt back on, his hands fumbling trying to put it through the loops. With his shirt still half unbuttoned, he stands up and walks past you, around the bed and heads towards the window. There is a chair next to it already, you notice a sketchbook you got him on the windowsill by an ashtray. You never saw this little routine of his, you imagine him drawing next to an open window, a cigarette in his hand. You want to flip through it.

He sits on the chair, lighting a cigarette. "Will you come in now?"

You finally walk in and head towards the bed. You prop yourself against the bedframe. His bed is as comfortable as you remember, you even bought the same duvet and pillow set he has, but you swear it still doesn't feel as good his. Maybe you expected it to come with that familiar aftershave smell, which of course it didn't.

"What did you want to talk about?" you break the silence.

"Us." he says quickly. Always honest and straight to the point.

"What about us?" your eyes focus on him. His legs are crossed, a light breeze coming from the window tussling his hair.

"You have been ignoring me and I want to know why. I really don't understand what I did wrong."

"I told you we should have ended this a long time ago." you did tell him this in the last time message you sent him. But he wasn't going to accept that, so he walked to your apartment, when you opened the door, you could barely even look at him. Very abruptly you told him you need to stop seeing each other, it's not healthy for the both of you. He was so confused at the sudden change, he couldn't even come up with anything to say in defence. He thought you must have met someone else, you haven't promised each other anything, but he felt betrayed. So he turned around and left.

"Why did you come then?" he asks, looking at you intensely.

"I knew you were drunk after the party and would pass out on the bed, I didn't want you to sleep with the front door open." you come up with an excuse. He has always been like an open book with you, however you are now doubting yourself if you've read him correctly. It was you who was scared of the relationship and deeper feelings, not him. You realise the huge mistake you made all those months ago.

"You know..." he takes another drag of the cigarette. "I really used to think I had you figured out. And then you pulled that surprise on me. Really took me for a spin." he points to his head with the hand that has a cigarette in between his two fingers.

"Have to keep you on your toes, you know. You always said you wouldn't like the simple life." you try to joke. The room is silent for a second, you are worried, did you overstep, will he find it inappropriate. But he laughs with his whole chest, the tension resolving a little bit. If you can joke about it, he feels he still has a chance to fix things out between you.

"So why did you come?" his voice more relaxed now.

You both know the answer, he wants to hear you say it, but you are willing to drag this game a little longer. "You've got a great view from your apartment. I missed it."

He laughs again. You realise it might be your favorite sound in the world. He blows the smoke out of the window, then turns to look back at you. "You missed the view?"

"Yeah." you try to keep a straight face.

"It is a nice view." he looks out of the window. "I don't think you see it well from the bed though." he puts a cigarette in between his lips. "You should come closer to enjoy it." he beckons you closer with his hand. He tries to act cool, to hide the fact that you also still make him nervous, like it's the first time you met and he is trying so hard to win you over, to see you smile at something he said.

You stand up from the bed, and slowly make your way towards the window, you cross your arms to shield yourself from the breeze and lean in against the windowsill admiring the view. You can faintly see your own window from here, you wonder if he ever tried to see you. You can feel him next to you even without looking at him, your legs almost touching. You can almost feel the heat radiating from him, always so warm, even on coldest nights. You miss the feeling of him under your hands.

Slowly as if careful not scare you away, like a cat, he stands up and comes to stand next to you. Neither of you speak for a while, enjoying a silent night, it feels so natural to be next to each other. The months apart and previous tension slowly melting away. He notices you shiver.

He stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray and stands up to reach for a hoodie hanging on the back of the chair. "Here, put this on."

You turn to face him and he puts the hoodie around your shoulders. His hands brushing your exposed shoulders and arms in the process. A sigh leaves you, which he catches.

"Better?" he asks.

"I think this is the first time you put more clothes on me in this room and not the other way around." you joke.

"You are probably right." he laughs and you feel him physically relax. Humour has always been a common ground for the both of you to get more comfortable.

"I missed this." he confesses, his voice quiet. "I missed us." he reaches to put a strand of your hair behind your ear. As soon as he touches you, he studies your face, trying to see if it's okay.

You touch his hand. "I miss it too." you say and turn to look outside of the window again, you feel so stupid for the way you handled things. He moves to stand behind you, slowly wraps him arms around your waist, giving you space to retreat if you want. You don't. It feels so good to have him close again. You lean into his touch. He puts his head on your shoulder, next to your face.

"How did it take us so long to find each other again?" he asks, happy you didn't deny his embrace.

"I'm sorry" you say and you mean it with your whole heart.

He moves to sit back down on the chair and you turn to look at him. "So, is the view everything you remembered?" he says with a smirk.

"It might have become even better." you say and walk up to him, he spreads his legs to let you in even closer.

He looks up at you, his eyes are so blue even in the dim light. You place your arms on his shoulders. He hugs you around your middle, and puts his face on your stomach. You slowly brush his hair, enjoying the closeness of him.

"Have you been with anyone?" he asks, afraid to hear the answer.

You tried, you had a date planned with this guy you met at work, but you didn't end up going. It didn't feel right.

"No." you say honestly. "Have you?"

He is still holding you close to him, "I kissed someone." he says.

You shut your eyes. Your confidence slightly falling apart, the self-doubt creeping back in, he can move on and eventually will.

He feels you go solid under his arms and continues "But all I could think was you. It was not long after you broke things off with me. I was mad at you, I kept looking for things to distract myself with. I was mad that you wouldn't leave my head. Mad at the light I could see coming from your window" he looks up at you, his hands on your hips. "So I kissed this girl, who seemed interested in me, and all I could taste was you."

You look into his eyes, he looks so vulnerable like this, all you wish for is to go back in time and change everything, but you can't. You wait for him to continue.

A small laugh escapes him. "I ran away from her. I ran all the way home. It's embarrassing, I never figured out how to forget you." he hides his face into your stomach again, you smell just like he remembers. If he could freeze time and stay like this forever, you running your hands through his hair and so close to him, he would.

"Joost" you let out a breath you were holding. "You don't understand how sorry I am. The amount of pain I caused both us" you voice breaks and he looks up at you. "I don't know how I can ever fix this mistake I made."

"Baby." his hands on your hips move in soothing motions. "Come here" he says and this time you do, he moves you to sit on his thigh, your legs stay in between his.

Your face is right next to his, you can't stop looking at him. His stubble has grew in a little. You put your hand on the side of his face, he immediately leans into it, chasing your touch. All the walls you both tried to put up, crumbling completely. You close the distance between you, your lips moving against his, he wraps his arms around your waist, your chest now closer to his. One of your hands is holding his shoulder, the other is on the nape of his neck. He licks your bottom lip, asking you to open your mouth, you do and his tongue explores your mouth. He missed you in his arms so much, now he can't get enough, he can still taste the cocktail he saw you drink at the party. You feel him groan into your mouth as you pull at his hair, remembering how much he likes it.

You pull apart to catch your breath. You smile and wipe his lips, shiny with your lip gloss, it makes you throb between your legs, that it is your gloss on his lips. You close your legs looking for at least a slight friction, he moves his hand to your thigh, squeezing the soft skin, which startles a moan from you. It makes him twitch in his pants, you sound so much better than the scenarios he kept replaying in his head late at night, his hand moving in a fast pace under the covers, wrapped tightly around his dick, trying to imitate the tight squeeze of your pussy around him.

He moves his hand under your knee, moving you to sit on his lap your back to his chest. He spreads his legs, moving yours apart too.

"I want you." he feels so warm against your back, you can feel an outline of his hardening dick through his jeans pocking at your lower back.

"You have me." he says leaning closer to your ear. He stays close and leans into your hair, kissing softly. You swear you can feel him sniff your hair and moan quietly. This is not the first time you notice him doing it, he denied it the one time you asked him about it, but it turns you on even more. He leans in to kiss your shoulder, placing open mouth kisses to your neck. He bites gently on your skin, you hold his bicep by your side. You need something to ground yourself or you feel like you will float away, his mouth feels so good on you. His hands move from your thighs under your top.

"Is this okay?" he asks, you feel his hot breath on your shoulder.

"Yes." you reply. He smiles and places another kiss, his hands continuing to move under your top caressing your skin. He hasn't done anything yet, but you already feel how aroused you are, your panties sticking to you. His heavy breathing so close to you, only making you even more hot. The open window next to you is of no help. You feel him everywhere, but also want to speed things up.

"Touch me, please." you plead. Your needy voice feels like music to his ears.

"A little bit of patience." his hands move to cup you through your lacy bra. He massages your tits, feeling your nipples harden, you moan and cover your mouth with your hand. "So sensitive." he murmurs. He wants to watch you unravel for him just by touching your nipples, but decides to stash this idea for another time. He hopes there will be another. He moves your bra down to reveal you fully to him and continues his ministrations twisting and pinching your nipples, squeezing your soft skin, until you are writhing on top of him. Your ass moving right against his now fully hard dick, but he can wait.

"Let me hear you." he moves your hand away, which was covering your mouth.

"But the window" your voice is weak.

"Everyone else can also know how good I am making you feel." his hands move to the plush of your thighs, makes sure to push them apart. "Keep them like this, love" he tells and you nod. He pushes your skirt up, moving his hands higher up your inner thighs, your head falls on his shoulder while you let out a soft moan. There is already a wet pre-cum spot forming in his boxers from all the sounds he is pulling from you.

He swipes a finger in between your folds through your panties. "So wet." he says quietly, sitting up straighter, pulling you up with him by wrapping a hand around your middle. He moved his neck to see his hand in between your legs better. He spreads his legs even further, your hips are so wide apart, you feel a breeze touch your wetness, as he moves your panties to the side.

"Were you this excited to see the view?" he says feeling how wet you are. You can't even come up with anything to joke back as he finds your clit and starts moving his finger in slow circles around it, applying slight pressure.

You moan holding his wrist, your head still resting on his shoulder.

"Feels good?" he asks, you can hear him smiling.

"So good." you say and he speeds up his finger pulling even more delicious sounds from you. He wonders if anyone can actually hear you, would the neighbours complain, but decides it is worth it seeing that you don't mind. His finger moves lower through your folds, collecting the wetness as he circles around your hole. He feels it clench around nothing and you whine at his teasing.

"Shh, I've got you." he puts one finger inside of you. You feel so tight around him, he puts in a second finger and starts to make scissoring motions to stretch you for him.

You start to feel the pleasure building, moving to hold his bicep for support. You turn your neck to the side trying to find his lips. He lowers his head towards yours and you collide in a heated kiss. He puts in a third finger in and speeds up his motions, swallowing your moans.

"I'm so close." you turn to look at his fingers disappearing between your legs reaching deeper than yours ever could. Your skirt bunched up, legs spread wide, his hand that is wrapped around your middle is now applying pressure to your lower stomach, you must look a mess, but this is the most beautiful sight to him. His brows are in a frown, focused on a task at hand, so lost in bringing you pleasure.

"Cum for me. Cum on my fingers" he says and you feel the band snap and release on his fingers. Intense pleasure spreading all over your body. Your back arches, as he lets you ride your orgasm.

He pulls out his fingers, shiny with your slick and brings them to his mouth, licking it clean. You hear him groan, as you are still feeling aftershocks from your orgasm. It has been so long, you forgot how good he is at listening to your body, knowing exactly what you need.

He kisses your temple, as his lips slowly reach yours. The kiss is not rushed this time, tender. His lips feel soft against yours. You leave his tight embrace to stand up. Standing in front of him you take off your top, as well as your bra, which is still pulled down, revealing your chest to him and kneel in between his legs. You slide your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles tense under your touch and reach for his belt. You quickly undo it, unzip his jeans while looking into his eyes, he is watching your every move. You reach to take off his jeans, he lifts his hips to help you and kicks them off, leaving them in a pile next to your top.

"Take off this too." he points at your skirt as he reaches for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the windowsill. You stand in front of him, placing your hands on the zipper of your skirt and pull it down slowly, making a show of shimmying it down your legs. Your panties are next. His eyes never leave you as he sits with his legs spread only in his half unbuttoned shirt and boxers, he lights the cigarette and takes a drag blowing smoke away from you towards the window.

"So beautiful." he can't stop looking at you.

Meanwhile you are thinking the same about him. You want to take a photo right now. He is leaned against the back of the chair, you can see an outline of his hard and waiting dick, the collar of his shirt reveals his chest hair. He brings a cigarette to his lips, the end of it glowing as he takes a long drag. You want to remember this forever.

You come closer to him, he leaves the cigarette hanging between his lips, as he puts both of his hands on the backs of your thighs and brings you flush against him and looks up at you. You can't help but giggle at how good he looks and all for you. You start to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders. Once again you kneel in between his legs, your hands reach the waistband of his underwear and you look up at him for confirmation. He nods and you take them off, his dick springs up free and rests against his lower stomach, leaving a wet spot of his own pre-cum. He looks like a dream come true.

"Show me how much you've missed me" he says, his voice raspy from the cigarette and his arousal.

You move to straddle him. You take his dick into your hand, he sighs at your touch immediately. He needs this he needs to know you want him as much as he wants you. You spread his pre-cum around his length, moving your hand slowly up and down, twisting your wrist on his head, moving your thumb through the slit. He groans loudly. "Yes, just like this." You always loved how vocal he is during intimate moments. One of his hands is holding a cigarette, the other is on your hip, holding tight. You lean in to kiss along his jaw moving down to his neck, listening to his soft moans, as you keep touching his dick. You continue kissing his neck, he feels you start to suck on his skin about to leave a love bite, but you stop abruptly.

"Can I?" you ask unsure if he would want you to leave marks. You both know each others bodies so well, but this feels new at the same time.

"Please do." his head falls back, giving you more space. You lick up his throat and leave a few marks along your kisses. You smile at your work, this will be a fun reminder in the morning.

You decide not to tease him any longer, you want to feel him inside right this second. You lift yourself up using his shoulders for support, he is holding a cigarrete in one hand, and puts the other under your ass spreading your folds apart, helping you lower yourself onto him. You hold his dick and hover above him, swiping the head a couple of time to cover him in your slick. You are still wet from your previous climax, so it's easier to take him in. You both let out a moan as you start to lower yourself onto him, your walls stretching to accommodate his length.

"You are so tight." he puts a cigarette in between his lips and starts to circle your clit carefully aware of your recent climax, not to overstimulate you. "Relax for me baby." the words coming out funny due to the cigarette hanging from his mouth. You take the cigarette and take a drag yourself. You inhale, keep it in for a while and then blow the smoke in his face slowly. He watches you and you can feel him twitch inside of you.

You pass the cigarette back to him, when he is fully inside of you. You start to lift yourself up and lower back down, setting a steady rhythm, trying to bring him as much pleasure as you can.

His pupils are blown wide, the blue irises barely visible, he is so hard, he could cum right now. But he wants this to last. One of his hands leaves your hips, he leans on the back of the chair and smokes, enjoying the view. Your head is thrown back, eyes shut, tits bouncing, you reach to pinch your nipple and clench around him. He thinks you look so good right now, lost in pleasure, this is what heaven must feel like. He can't ever loose you again.

"Good girl. Making me feel so good." he praises you and feels you clench even harder, as you continue moaning and moving on his length. He moves his gaze from your face, down your body and watches himself disappear between your folds, a mix of your arousal pooling at the base of him.

"I'm so close, Joost." you whine bouncing on him.

He wraps a hand around your back and reaches to put the cigarette out in the ashtray. Now both his hands free, he takes hold of your hips to help you move on him. He starts kissing your neck, and matches your moves with his own thrusts.

You feel him so deep inside of you, you scream in pleasure, as he starts to move you faster on him, holding you by your hips.

"Fuck. You feel so good." he is breathing heavy against your chest, his own climax getting closer. He brings his thumb up to your lips, you open your mouth and suck on his finger. "The things you do to me" he sighs at the picture before him. He hopes he remembers this forever. You swipe your tongue around his finger and he pulls it out, wet with your spit bringing it to your clit and starts to draw fast circles.

He leans in to whisper to you. "I think you were made for me." Somehow he always knew what to say to make you melt under him. It's like he knows exactly what you are worried about in that exact moment.

Your back arches, he puts an arm on your back to hold you. He feels you clench around him rapidly and with a loud moan you cum on him.

"That's it. That's my girl." his own rhythm becoming more sporadic. "Just a little longer. I'm right there." he starts to chase his own release.

"Where do you want me?" he asks feeling himself getting closer.

"Inside." you feel overstimulated, but still it feels so good. "Please." your nails on his shoulders are bound to leave red marks from how hard you are holding on to him.

After a few more wild thrusts, he pulls you flush against him and you feel him release into you. Some of his cum spilling out of you. You put your forehead against his, breathing heavily into each other's mouths, trying to come back to your senses.

He holds you close to him. "I'm glad you read my text today."

"Me too. And I really am sorry, Joost. I hope you can forgive me."

"Let's talk in the morning. We will figure everything out, yes?" he asks bringing your face closer to him, to look into your eyes.

"Yes."

"Can you stay over tonight? or do you want me to walk you home?" he asks.

"I don't think I can walk right now, Joost" you laugh.

"That was incredible, wasn't it?" he laughs too.

You start to stand up with a wince when he pulls out. He cleans you up and you fall asleep on his bed. The pillow still more comfortable than your own. You will try to figure your feelings for each other in the morning.

#joost klein #joost klein smut #joost klein rpf #joost klein x reader #yapperwrites

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