#skz x reader fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chahnniesroom · 2 months ago

Text

night again

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in hindsight, visiting chan's studio right before a comeback isn't one of your best ideas. what was supposed to be a pleasant surprise leaves you spiraling into self-doubt, wondering if chan even wants to be in a relationship with you at all.

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, insecurities, reader not eating due to stress

a/n: the long awaited 'he calls you clingy' fic! title is from the english translation of 또 다시 밤 (twilight)

read it on ao3 | masterlist

You love your job. It's challenging for sure and the expectations from upper management are often unforgiving, but you’re proud of how hard you've worked and everything that you've accomplished in the past few years at your company.

As you've gained experience, you've slowly been given more and more responsibility. You've grown out of your junior role and though you're thrilled by the pay raise and prospect of being a team lead rather than being led by one, it's also daunting.

When you and your new team are assigned an important project with tight deadlines, you're determined to prove yourself. It's implied that you're going to have to have to dedicate a significant amount of time to finish it and while you're no stranger to long hours, it means that any plans you have of seeing your boyfriend, Chan, are out the window.

The timing is not terrible, Stray Kids has a comeback scheduled in about a week so you didn't think that you would be able to spend that much time with Chan anyway, but you usually try to surprise the boys at one of the music shows with a cake and some home cooked food.

Luckily, you've already been planning for this. Although nothing had been confirmed, you had expected that this project would be awarded to your company and you've already been trying to spend more time with Chan than usual in preparation for the busy season ahead for both of you.

Still, you can't help but agree with your best friend at work after she complains how little she's going to see her partner this month. Jinjoo doesn't know who your boyfriend is, but the two of you are close enough that you’ve shared that you have one and that work takes up a lot of his time. You've gushed to her about the sweet things that Chan has done for you and you've admitted that you think he's the one.

“You should bring him dinner sometime!” she exclaims when you mention you're not sure when the next time you'll be able to see Chan will be.

“Well, he’s really busy-” you start to say.

“That’s the beauty of it. I’m sure he would appreciate if you brought him food at work, especially if he’s anything like my partner and gets so caught up with work that they forget to eat sometimes,” she insists.

“That’s true.”

“Just trust me, Y/n. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t sure that it’d work. My partner loves when I do this. It’s literally the perfect way to take some time for each other before you’re both too busy. Even if he's super busy, his work can't be bad enough that he’s not allowed to eat, right?”

You agree somewhat reluctantly. You're still unsure about whether or not Chan would appreciate you barging in unannounced, but it is a cute idea and Jinjoo's confidence is enough to convince you.

The next day after work, you head to the company and order takeout for a late dinner for you and Chan, picking it up along the way. It reminds you of earlier in your relationship before you had gotten your current position and when Stray Kids were just gaining popularity. Both of you enjoyed having more casual date nights that provided more privacy as opposed to going out to fancy places and it makes you even more excited to see his reaction.

About a year after you started dating Chan, he insisted that you get a pass to get into JYP Entertainment without having to fill out a visitor's form and have someone pick you up. It has definitely come in handy more than a few times, although you try to limit the number of visits you make. Even though you're allowed to be there, it still feels intimidating to be in the building, like someone is going to recognize that you're not an employee and accuse you of being a sasaeng.

Luckily the late hour means that you make it to Chan's studio without having to interact with anybody except the security at the door, who had waved you through without a second thought. You had double checked with Felix earlier in the day to make sure that Chan didn't have any schedules or dinner plans, so you directly knock on his door without texting or calling him beforehand.

“Y/n?” he asks, a bit baffled when he sees you. “Did we- Did I forget that we had plans tonight?”

“No,” you say, a little nervous for some reason. It's just Chan, you tell yourself, but it doesn't make you feel any better. “I didn't think that you had dinner yet and wanted to see you.”

“Oh, I see. Come in,” Chan responds slowly, still processing your sudden appearance. “I just have something that I need to finish up-”

“It's fine! You can work,” you assure him quickly. “I don't want to interrupt you too much, I just wanted to drop by since I don't have plans and wanted to make sure that you're eating well.”

Chan’s studio isn’t messy at all, but he still gets up to clear some space on a side table for you, before returning back to where he has Cubase opened up. You pass over his food and feel relieved when he immediately digs in, but your appetite seems to have vanished, you can only get yourself to pick at your meal.

Chan is short with his responses all evening and continues to work on his laptop, even while eating. It throws you off a bit, you thought that he would be able to get to a stopping point and at least make a bit of time for you, but you did tell him that he could. Even so, you're determined to make the most of the last time that you’re going to see them for a while. You know they’ve been super busy the past few days, or more like the past few weeks, but still you had thought he would be a little bit more engaged or at the very least seem happy to see you.

Finally, after half an hour of eating with minimal conversation, you decide to broach the subject that’s been on your mind this entire time. Chan’s finished his food and you know that you won’t be able to get yourself to eat anymore, so you shuffle everything off to the side and inch closer to Chan.

“You know that client we’ve been trying to work with for a while?” you start tentatively.

Chan hums noncommittally, continuing to type on his computer. Not quite the reaction that you're hoping for, but you forge on anyway.

“We got awarded the job! It’s a great opportunity for the company and everyone is really excited, but-”

“Y/n,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry, that’s amazing and all, but you know that it’s not a good time for me right now. I have something I really need to work on and now that you’ve finished eating, can we please not bother with the small talk?”

“Oh,” you say, a bit caught off guard. Chan has never been the type to cut you off when you're speaking. “No, yeah, I get it. Uhm. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, just-” he sighs, sounding frustrated. “Next time can you please ask me when you want to visit in advance so this doesn’t happen again? You chose the worst timing to come by. I just need some space, from all of… this,” he says, waving a hand between the two of you.

“Sorry, I know it’s a busy time, but I just wanted to see-”

At that moment, an alarm on Chan's phone goes off, interrupting you. When he turns it off and notices the time, he swears lowly, unlocking his phone and typing out a message to somebody. You’re scared to break the silence. Less than a minute later, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Chan calls. When Changbin and Jisung step into the room, they eye you curiously. You keep your head down and try to prevent your hands from shaking as you stand and start to haphazardly shove away all your belongings and the garbage from your dinner into bags.

“Noona, it's good to see you!” Jisung says brightly, although his smile dims when you make eye contact and can only manage to weakly return the smile. “Sorry for interrupting you two.”

“Hi Hannie,” you reply quietly, not wanting to make conversation, but not wanting to be rude.

“It’s okay, Y/n was just leaving,” Chan says, his obvious annoyance making things even more awkward.

You say bye to the boys quietly and apologise as you shuffle past them to the door.

The handles of the bag from your dinner are digging into your hand painfully and your purse can’t close with the way that you’ve thrown everything into it. You only take a few steps before you have to stop for a moment to save a container from falling and decide to put down everything and reorganise it all.

When you crouch down, you take a second to mentally berate yourself. Everything you had worried about had come true. Instead of being a pleasant surprise, you had come across as a nuisance.

In your rush, you hadn't fully closed the studio door behind you and you're close enough that you can just barely pick up the conversation that happens inside.

“Sorry,” you hear Chan say faintly. “I don't know what's been going on, but Y/n has been… really clingy these days. She just showed up today without asking and I hate-”

You leave before he has the chance to say anything else. You look like a mess for sure, you had just grabbed all the empty containers without bothering to put them back into the plastic bag, your jacket is partially dragging on the ground, and your purse is hanging off your elbow, having slipped off your shoulder. You're pretty sure you hear an empty drink bottle clatter to the floor behind you, but you don't look back to check.

You don't have it in you to care, you just need to leave.

Even waiting for the elevator feels humiliating, so you bypass it and stumble down the stairs. You dump the garbage into a bin on the first floor, not bothering to sort it properly, and step out onto the street, bee-lining to the nearest subway station.

The ride home passes by in a blur.

It hurts, of course it hurts.

Honestly the reason that your relationship had worked out so far was because you weren’t the kind of person that needed a lot of attention. You understood that both of you were busy and were content to just exchange messages every couple of days because you knew how important Stray Kids was to Chan. Of course you did, they were just as important to you.

If Chan wanted space, well. You were more than capable of giving it to him.

In fact, your upcoming schedule had been the reason that you had wanted to meet up in the first place, the source of your so-called clinginess. You’d never been called that before. You were hyper-independent and tended to get lost in your own mind, easily distracted by different thoughts. It had gotten to a point that most of your exes had complained at least once about you being distant or inattentive.

With Chan, you had been determined not to be the same. It had been difficult at first, to make the effort to send messages throughout the day. You had to convince yourself not to spend too long drafting replies in your head and try not to worry that you were bothering him, especially if you knew that he had schedules at the same time that you were texting.

By the time that you make it to your apartment, your pain has faded into a mixture of resignation and numbness. You don't want to talk to Chan about how you feel, it's your clinginess that he didn't like in the first place, and you don't think you'll have time or the energy for a long, emotional conversation in the next few weeks anyway. If you keep your distance for a while, it just benefits both of you, you tell yourself. You won’t be a distraction to Chan as Stray Kids has their comeback and he won’t be one to you as you take on this new project.

As much as you want to spend the rest of your night overthinking- something you’ve done more than you’d like to admit- you know that you have a busy day at work tomorrow. Feeling a bit like a zombie, you force yourself to shuffle through your usual nighttime routine, swallowing a melatonin pill before climbing into bed.

Normally, you would send Chan a good night message. Actually, normally you would have sent him a message the second that you arrived home. It was something that he was insistent on starting from early on in your relationship, wanting to make sure that you were safe.

Tonight, you just turn off your phone, plug it into its charger, and sleep.

—

In the morning, you allow yourself to wallow in bed for 5 minutes, before you get ready for work. You’ve never been good at eating breakfast and today’s no exception. Your stomach turns uneasily at the thought of food so you only force yourself to drink some water before you leave.

Your team at work has agreed to get to work earlier than usual just to get a headstart on everything. Though you’re more of a night owl, you’re grateful to find that deviating from your usual routine means that the subway is empty enough that you can find an empty seat, a luxury that you’ve rarely experienced.

It feels eerie to walk through the streets of Seoul when the sun has just started to rise and you’re relieved when you finally make it to your office.

Unsurprisingly, you’re one of the first to arrive. You’re grateful for the time that you have to unpack your things and make a much needed coffee before the rest of your team shows up.

“How did it go last night?” Jinjoo asks you excitedly when she comes in.

“Uhm, it was okay,” you reply noncommittally. “He was definitely surprised.”

“Oh,” Jinjoo pouts at your lack of enthusiasm.

“I mean, it wasn’t bad,” you backtrack, hating to see her disappointed. “It was just so short, he was kind of… busy. But that’s what I expected anyway so that's fine I guess. Thanks for suggesting it to me though! I really appreciate it.”

“That’s good,” Jinjoo brightens. “At least you got to see him one last time.”

“Oh yeah for sure! I think that after seeing him yesterday, it’ll be easier to deal with how busy we’re going to be for the next few weeks,” you say truthfully.

It’s not a lie, you justify. For the first time since you started dating, you’re not looking forward to the next time that you’re going to see Chan.

You know that your communication is about to reduce to an all time low for the next few weeks, and while you had originally been worried about how Chan would react, now you’re thinking that he’s just going to be relieved not to hear from you. You’ve never thought yourself to have been overly chatty with Chan during the day though, preferring in-person conversation over texting and knowing that he’s generally not available to read your messages anyway, much less send you a reply. It seemed that you were wrong.

Luckily your team now has to use a shared box that you’re required to put your personal phones into during working hours and only have a little bit of time during lunch and dinner breaks, if you take them, to fish them out. It’s a policy that your company enforces when teams are working on confidential projects and you can’t blame them due to past litigation that they’ve been involved in after a former employee leaked sensitive information.

For once, you're glad for this excuse to not look at your phone, even if you feel a little bit naked to look at the side of your desk or reach into your pocket and not have your phone there. You’re relieved to bury yourself in your work and forget all about your personal life. Even though your project is just starting, you feel like you're already behind.

When you're finished work for the day and take back your phone, you find yourself reluctant to check your notifications. It's only when you're waiting for the subway to arrive at your station that you finally force yourself to take a look.

No new messages or calls from Chan.

You’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you’re still disappointed.

You get back to your apartment late, you had wanted to finish a couple of things before you left the office and it had led to you being one of the last to leave. You had also stopped by the convenience store closest to your place, not having the energy to cook anything for yourself.

You pick at your dinner half-heartedly. You're used to eating alone, Chan often had his meals at odd times due to his schedules, but tonight the silence feels more oppressive.

It haunts you, the tail end of the overheard conversation. You have no idea how Chan was going to complete the sentence, but your mind unhelpfully fills in the blanks with worse and worse suggestions.

He hates the timing of your visit.

He hates that you visited at all.

He hates that he has such a clingy girlfriend.

He hates that you are his clingy, annoying, bothersome girlfriend.

He hates you.

In moments of clarity, you can recognize that it's not true. That's not the Chan that you know and he would never say something like that about anybody, least of all you. It's just hard when a small part of you has never really been able to believe that someone as talented and amazing as Chan would want to date someone as unremarkable as you.

You find yourself falling into a new routine, waking early, working overtime, and trying not to cry yourself to sleep. You succeed most of the time, you keep yourself occupied by thinking about work and you're so physically exhausted by your long hours that you fall asleep the second that you get into bed. Luckily, your coworkers are just as overworked as you are and it’s easy to blame your declining condition on the project. Weekends don't help you rest at all, you've committed to your manager that you can work on Saturdays and Sundays are spent completing the chores that you've neglected during the week.

You still talk to Chan sometimes, either right when you wake up or on the way home after work. The conversation is stilted though, both because of the long delays between messages when you text and the limited time that you have when you call. It's enough of a difference that Chan asks you multiple times if everything is okay. Even though you try your best to assure him that you're fine, just busy, you're sure he knows that something is off, although he doesn't question you further.

Most exciting is the day that the new Stray Kids album releases. You've already heard most of the songs for this comeback, perks of dating the member that's the most involved in the writing and production of the album, but it's different now that they're available to the public too. You make sure to organise your schedule so that you're on break when the music video drops and you send a number of messages in the group chat that you have with the group cheering them on. Usually, you try to take a day off to deliver some food to them at the music shows, but you've had to settle for arranging with one of their managers to treat them to a meal.

You can tell when they get breaks because when you check your phone after work, notifications from the members are all in the same blocks of time. It's mostly them thanking you, taking pictures of the food you sent, flowers that they've been gifted, and letters from fans. They have a short promotion period this comeback, but it's packed with different interviews, performances, and fanmeets. At one point, Felix even sends you a picture of Chan sleeping slumped over on one of the waiting room couches. As much as you're relieved to see that he's able to get some rest, the picture has your stomach twisting uncomfortably.

You're proud of Chan, of all of the boys. They've worked so hard and each comeback seems to be more and more successful. Even if you're not confident in what's going to happen with you and Chan in the future, you want to celebrate with them while you still can.

—

After almost four weeks, your project is nearing completion and you've never been more grateful to have a deadline arrive.

You only have a couple more days left until your last submittal is due and after getting off work, you want nothing more than to collapse into bed even though your stomach has been growling the whole walk from the bus to your building. You had caught a significant mistake in a document right before it was going to be sent to a client and the whole afternoon had been spent trying to fix it in time. Your team had just barely managed it, but your head has been pounding for hours and your whole body is tight with stress.

You’re not quite sure how you make it to your apartment, your exhaustion has made you clumsy. You struggle a couple times to enter in the code to unlock your door and trip over a pair of shoes that are scattered in the entryway.

You manage to catch yourself before you fall, then squint back. Yes, you haven’t had the chance to tidy your apartment in a couple weeks, but you’ve never been the type to leave your shoes on the walking path.

A light is on, further in your apartment. You know for a fact it wasn’t like that when you left this morning, it would have been obvious since you've been leaving before the sun rises. Someone else is here.

You stare at the light for a few seconds in disbelief, then slowly reach to grab something, anything that you might be able to use to defend yourself. Your shaking hands close around a full sized umbrella that you keep beside your closet.

You’ve already made enough commotion that there’s no way the intruder didn’t hear, but you try to keep your footsteps light as you creep down the hall to where your kitchen is. It’s stupid to try and confront them, but the idea of someone in your space, potentially taking your things, is enough to inspire a sudden bout of bravery.

You hold your breath as you turn the corner, launching forward to attack the second that you see someone. You recognise the figure halfway through your swing, and though it’s too late to fully stop, you manage to pull back enough that they’re able to easily catch the umbrella before it hits them.

Chan wraps his arms around you then eases the umbrella out of your hands, resting it against the wall. You sag into his embrace, adrenaline draining away, leaving you exhausted again.

“Chan?”

You've missed this. His warmth, his comforting scent, the reassuring steadiness that he always provides. You can almost pretend that everything is fine.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he says, sounding more amused than apologetic.

“You should be,” you grumble into his shirt. “I could have seriously injured you if I didn't realise it was you!”

“I don't think that was going to be a problem.” Even though you can't see Chan, you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hey!” You lightly smack his arm. “You take that back!”

“Fine, fine,” Chan acquiesces, holding up both his hands in surrender. “I'm very glad that I didn't have to experience the full power of your self defence.”

“Yeah yeah,” you huff. “What are you doing here anyway? Other than trying to give me a heart attack, that is.”

“I made you dinner,” Chan says shyly, turning pink.

“For what?” you ask suspiciously. It's easy to fall back into the banter that you typically exchange with Chan, but you can't help but be a bit wary these days.

“No reason. I uh, just haven't seen you in a while,” Chan says sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck where it’s now flushed red. “We had so much preparation to do and then all our schedules… Anyway, I wanted to surprise you, so I thought I could cook for us.”

Now that he's mentioned it, you can see that he's set your tiny kitchen table and that there's a couple of pots on the stove. Chan doesn’t cook often, but he’s expressed a desire to learn before and you’ve taught him how to make a few of your favourite recipes.

You stare at him for a moment, lost for words.

It's only been a few weeks, but you feel like you've forgotten how to act around Chan. Instead of a comfortable silence, it's almost awkward, neither of you knowing what to say.

“Oh,” you say finally, touched and still a little shocked that he's actually here. “That's- that's so nice, I just- is it okay if I wash up a bit quickly first?”

“No, yeah, of course. I'm sure you had a long day,” Chan says. “Go ahead, I’ll- the food should be reheated anyway so I’ll get on that. Take your time.”

You skirt around him to go to the bathroom, taking a moment to splash yourself with water. This feels like a bizarre dream and you wonder for a moment if you’re making this all up. But when you leave to go to your bedroom, Chan’s still there, puttering around in front of your kitchenette. You change your clothes slowly, mind racing as you try to puzzle together why Chan has decided to visit all of a sudden.

You eventually settle on the most logical reason that you can think of.

He’s finally decided to break up with you.

You’ve figured that this was coming for weeks by now, but somehow it still hurts. Instead of feeling resigned, it feels like you’re shattering into little pieces. You twist your work blouse into a tiny ball as you try not to cry, even though you know the fabric is going to wrinkle terribly. You finish cleaning up in a daze, already drafting what you're going to have to message your manager later. There's no way that you're going to be in any shape to work tomorrow if you’re right.

“Y/n?” Chan calls eventually. You know you're procrastinating leaving your room, but you want to put this off for as long as possible even though you know it’s just delaying the inevitable. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a heavy heart. “I’m fine. I'll just be another second.”

You can tell that Chan doesn’t quite believe you. He hovers around you when you emerge from your bedroom, knocking away your hand when you try to pull out your own chair from the table.

He's set the table, going so far as to fold little napkins under your utensils. There's even a tiny vase with your favourite flowers as a centrepiece. All this effort just hurts more.

“You look exhausted. You got home so late. Where were you?” he asks.

“I was at work,” you reply stiffly. You know that if you try and say any more, your emotions are going to spill over and you're either going to scream or cry. Maybe both.

“So late?” Chan's forehead creases with some sort of emotion. You can't quite tell if it's concern or scepticism.

“You're not the only one that has a demanding job.”

“Y/n, you know that's not what I meant-”

“Sure,” you say. “Whatever, let's just eat. Thank you for the food.”

You don't want to deal with this. You're so tired.

You have no idea why Chan’s dragging this out longer than it needs to be. Why he’s forcing you to sit through a meal with him like he’s not about to break your heart. Chan is one of the kindest people you know, he’s probably trying to make this easier for you, giving you one last nice memory, but it just feels cruel.

Chan reaches out, stopping you before you can pick up your chopsticks. He stares at the way his fingers overlap each other around your wrist.

“You’ve lost weight,” he says quietly. You look away, watching steam curl from the bowl of rice that has been set in front of you instead of returning eye contact.

“I’ve been busy.” Is all you can say in response.

You don’t want to tell him that you’ve been basically subsisting on iced americanos and various convenience store meals in part because of your work schedule, but mostly because of your lack of appetite. Every time you thought of Chan, it made your stomach turn and well, everything reminded you of him. You hadn’t realised how much it had actually affected your physical condition until now though.

“You're not taking care of yourself,” he scolds you. You can feel yourself bristle at his comment even though you know it’s true. “I haven't been around to take care of you either. I'm sorry.”

“Chan,” you protest. It has been weeks since you last saw him in person and you’ve spent more time that you’d like to admit micro analysing your relationship, but you still can’t make sense of his behaviour, especially how he keeps switching between criticism and tenderness.

“What?” he asks in genuine confusion.

“Why are you here?”

“I missed you,” Chan says, sounding hurt and confused. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“I just- I don’t understand what you want from me!” You run your hands through your hair in frustration. “One day you don’t want me around, we go weeks without seeing each other, then you’re at my place cooking me dinner? You said you needed space, I gave you space."

“Woah woah woah, what do you mean I don’t want you around?” Chan asks, alarmed. “When have I ever said that?”

“You made it pretty clear that you didn’t appreciate it when I went to bring you dinner that day,” you start.

“No, baby!” Chan stands up abruptly before you can say anything else. He falters when the loud scrape of his chair causes you to flinch back. He slowly walks towards you and kneels in front of you, reaching out to hold your hands in his. His eyes are wide with earnestness. “Of course I wanted to spend time with you. I always want to be with you.”

“So why did you call me clingy?” you ask in a small voice. Gone is your anger, replaced with a self-consciousness that you can’t hide. You look away as tears prickle your eyes.

Gently, Chan lets go of your hands and cups your cheeks instead, turning your face so that he can see you better. His thumbs swipe under your eyes, brushing away the tears that have managed to escape.

“Baby,” he says, sounding even more upset and angry than you feel. “I'm sorry. Did someone tell you I said that?”

“Nobody had to tell me, I heard you say it myself!” you burst out, pushing Chan away. You know that you’re being dramatic, that you keep oscillating between different emotions, but you don’t care. “That day, in your studio, you told Han and Changbin that I was really clingy.”

“You heard me talking to Binnie and Hannie?” Chan asks slowly.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you sniffle. One of Chan's hands shifts and he carefully tucks behind a lock of hair that has fallen in front of your face. The gentleness makes even more tears well up.

“It's okay, I think I know what you overheard now. It must have hurt, right?”

You can't muster up a response, choosing instead to just nod slightly.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” he soothes you. “Can I explain myself?”

You pause for a moment, then slowly nod again.

“I don't mind that you're clingy, actually, I like it. I shouldn't have used that word. I like that you want to spend time with me, Y/n,” Chan says carefully. “I like that you take time to visit me, even though I know that your work is busy too. I think that it's cute and thoughtful that you think of me and try to take care of me by bringing me food. I know that you intentionally take the time out of your day to text me because you know that I like hearing from you, even though I might not see it or respond right away.”

Chan pauses for a second and you use it as an opportunity to pull away slightly. His hands tighten briefly, before he lets them fall away, giving you the space to process.

It's not that you don't like what Chan is saying, it's just hard to reconcile it with the thoughts that have been eating away at you for the past few weeks. You still don't understand what you overheard though, how it fits into all of this. When you voice your concerns to Chan, he sighs, before continuing to speak.

“I don't know what I did to have someone as caring and thoughtful as you in my life.” You want to protest, but Chan carries on before you can say anything. “It's just that- you visited me without notice and were the sweetest person in the world. I wanted to spend time with you, believe me, I did, but I can't just ignore my deadlines when the rest of the members are relying on me. It makes me feel like garbage when I can’t give you all my attention. That's the thing I hate the most. That I can't be the boyfriend that you deserve. That I can't show you how much you mean to me the way that I want to.”

It makes sense, in some sort of twisted way. You know that similarly to you, Chan often feels insecure. It had taken a while before you had been able to convince him that you really did want to be in a relationship with him even with all of the difficulties that were associated with being an idol. You hadn't realised that your visit had fed into his worries that he wasn’t enough.

“I didn't know,” you say quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“Hey, I didn't tell you how I was feeling and that's on me. I’m the one that’s sorry, you have no reason to be. I should have been clearer about what was going through my mind and it wasn't any excuse for the way that spoke to you. Even if I wasn't at my best, I can't believe that I made you feel like I didn't want you to be around.” Chan shakes his head and you can tell that he's beating himself up about it. This time, you're the one that reaches out to him, grabbing one of his hands in both of yours.

“I am sorry that I put you into that position, though. I got caught up in the idea of how fun and romantic it might be, that I didn't give enough consideration to your schedule. Even though I wanted to surprise you, it would have been better to check with you beforehand. I don't ever want you to have to feel like you have to choose between me and work.”

“It was a really nice surprise,” Chan agrees. “I wish that I hadn't been so wrapped up that I wasn't able to enjoy spending time with you. I really hated not being able to see you these past few weeks.”

“It was really hard for me too,” you admit.

“I missed you so much. I missed your beautiful voice, hearing your laugh, seeing your smile. I missed all the texts that you usually send, they make me feel like I'm not as far away, that I'm a part of your day too. You kept saying that everything was fine and- I know it's hard for you, especially during comeback periods when I'm not as responsive. I didn't want to pressure you into messaging me more often if I'm not able to do the same.”

“No, it's not that. It doesn't bother me. Work was, is still really busy for me,” you explain. “I was trying to tell you that day, but-”

“But I basically shut you down,” Chan realises. He laughs bitterly. “I’m just the worst, aren't I? No wonder you were so confused by why I was here.”

“I thought you were going to break up with me tonight,” you whisper. Chan looks devastated by your statement.

“No- you know I wouldn't-” Chan stumbles on his words in his haste to correct you.

“I don't think that anymore,” you reassure him. “I understand everything now, it was just that we didn't communicate well and I assumed… It's okay, we're together now, this won't happen again.”

“I promise that I will make it up to you. I love you and I will prove it to you in every way possible. And I'm going to start right now. You still haven't eaten yet, please go ahead.” Chan moves back to his abandoned chair and doles out a portion of the stew from the pot that's on the table.

“I am really hungry,” you confess. Your stomach chooses that exact moment to growl loudly and the two of you can’t help but burst into laughter.

Just like that, it feels like things are back to normal.

You know that there's still more that you and Chan have to talk about. The two of you have only scratched the surface on your insecurities, communication, and how those things led to such a significant misunderstanding.

But tonight, it's enough that you get to share a meal with the man that you love.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

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talkingsaxy · 3 months ago

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PHOTOS YOU'VE TAKEN OF YOUR BOYFRIEND CHAN

please don't repost, requests open!

#skz #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #skz scenarios #skz fics #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz reactions #skz bang chan #bang chan #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan imagines #skz fluff #stray kids

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bbokicidal · 4 months ago

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"I Don't Have A Girlfriend." - H.H [SKZ]

Summary : In which you go with Hyunjin to get his wisdom teeth removed.

Warnings : Hyunjin all doped up at the dentist for shits n giggles, felix/seungmin/changbin laughing at him, teasing banter, mention of binnie's bday gift from minho

"What year is it?"

"2024. Halfway through, baby." You laugh, hand coming up to the arm of the chair he lays in to rest there in case he tries to move around. And he does, sitting himself up a bit as if he's worried he's late for something.

Hyunjin huffs out a breath through his nose, turning his head to look at you. You can't deny that he looks god awful and adorable at the same time; Hair tousled, eyes puffy with sleep and cheeks swollen far more than usual from the medication and procedure he'd just undergone. "How long was I asleep?"

You pull your notification tab down with the tip of your index finger to check. "They put you under about an hour and a half ago, so you were asleep for.. I don't know, twenty minutes after they were done?"

"Twenty..." His voice trails off, soft and grumbly from just waking up. His lips press together before parting again, forced open by the gauze in his mouth and cheeks. His head turns towards the door and then down to the thin blanket placed over his body. Slowly, he begins to relax back into the chair.

Your hand comes up to rest along his cheek, brushing over the skin just barely before moving to pull hair back from his face. He blinks tiredly and keeps his eyes down, focused on the way his hands move under the blanket as he tries to pull it up further towards his shoulders. "Feeling okay, bubs?"

He huffs again, sighing out in what seems like distress that he's too sleepy to truly convey. "I have to go soon."

"Go where, baby?" You chuckle, curious on where his mind was wandering as the drugs slowly wore off.

His lips smack once, twice, and he blinks open his eyes again to look at you. It's a silly sight, his head tipped down toward the blanket and face pudgy with the angle. "I have a dinner date later. With ..."

You smile. "We rescheduled our dinner date for next week, Jinnie, remember? We'll have that dinner date eventually, don't worry."

"No.."

"No?" You grin this time, giggling out when he seems to reject the dinner offer. "You don't want to go on a dinner date with your girlfriend, baby?"

A few chuckles come from the screen of your phone. You'd facetimed Felix as soon as he'd asked you to after you'd told him Hyunjin was waking up. He insisted he needed to see what his hyung would be like all doped up at the dentist. So at the present moment, Felix's left eye and Seungmin's forehead fill the screen - and you know Changbin is lingering somewhere in the background.

Hyunjin clicks his tongue before his nose crinkles in careful regret. He adjusts in the chair, tugging the blanket fully up to his chin as he hums out. "I don't have a girlfriend."

Seungmin's laugh breaks the soft silence that fills the room and Hyunjin peeks open an eye in confusion as to where it came from.

"I'm your girlfriend, Jinnie." You remind him in a playful tone, still laughing through it all. Your hand finds his under the blanket and as the words settle in, his brows crinkle together.

"Uh, no." He blinks a few times at you, lips pursing. "I have a wife waiting for me at home. You can't be my girlfriend."

Your expression falls deadpan - but it all seemed worth it when Changbin's laughter exploded from your phone speaker, mixed with the sound of Felix dropping his phone as he fell to the floor cackling and Seungmin hitting the couch cushions in amusement.

Your eyes roll and you look back to your boyfriend, amused. "Right. Forgot you were married."

His lips purse once more, tongue sliding over them slowly as he realizes they're numbed still, before his eyes slip back shut in peace. "Mhm. My wife has pink underwear, too."

"Your wife has WHAT?"

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagine #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin x you #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids scenario #skz imagines #skz fic

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seospicybin · 4 months ago

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THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART I

Bangchan x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II / Part III

Synopsis: Having issues to break up with your boyfriend, you seek help from the boy next door and the number one fuckboy in the area, Chan. (10k words)

Author's note: I went through a nasty break up a few weeks ago and this is basically just me trying to cope by being delulu about having a fuckboy Chan as a neighbor. Enjoy x

It becomes a habit now that Chan doesn't know where he is when he wakes up in the morning.

The first thing that he'll do is retrace everything to last night. He was DJ-ing at a club, had a few drinks in between, met a girl who was eyeing him the whole night, had a few more drinks, there was a little touching and a quick makeout session in the dark alley and people can guess what happens after that

So this is where he is right now, the girl's bedroom and he can recall everything that happened last night except the girl's name.

"Fuck!" Chan mutters under his breath.

Judging from how bright the sun is outside, he knows he only has a little window to make his escape so he quickly gets off the bed as calmly as possible. He then tiptoes around to gather his clothes and put them on without making any noise.

However, he fails at it as the head from his belt hits the bed frame and the clanging of metal meets metal echoing in the room.

The girl steers on her sleep and rolls over to the side, she brushes her hair away from her face, catching Chan putting his belt on.

The plan to make a quick getaway has come to a failure but he keeps his cool, continuing to buckle his belt and then plants his hands on each side of his waist.

"Morning," He awkwardly says with a forced smile.

"Morning," the girl replies with a smile then props an elbow against the mattress, sending the duvet sliding down her body and exposing her bare chest to him.

Chan might have been a little drunk when he met her but damn, his fuckboy radar works well even under the influence of alcohol.

"You're leaving already?" She asks, flipping her hair to the back to expose more of those beautiful mounds to him.

Chan has to tell his pervy brain to focus actively, he looks away and picks up his jacket from the floor.

"I promised a friend to help him move out today," He lies, then pretends to check the time on his phone, "And I'm kind of late."

The girl nods then twirls her hair around her finger, "Well then... when can I see you again?"

"I hope soon," Chan says with his charming grin that disguises the insincerity in his answer.

The girl smiles at that which confirms that the grin works, "But seriously, I can't wait to see you again," she says.

"I'll call you," he says because that's what he can promise her at the moment but whether he'll do it or not is uncertain.

"But you don't have my numbers yet," she says with her eyebrows wrinkled in suspicion.

"No, I'm sure you already did," he says, convincing her by scrolling the contacts on his phone.

"Yup. I have your numbers already," he lies again, showing her a random contact on his phone for a quick second.

"But my name is Thalia," she says, cleverly catching the name on the contact.

"Yes, of course, you're Thalia," he says with utmost confidence and his ultimate weapon of a dimpled smile.

The girl seems alarmed though. She sits up on the bed and clutches the duvet close to her chest, "We're going to see each other again, right Chris?"

"Yes," he answers without a beat, and at this point, lying is as easy as breathing to him.

"Can I get a kiss before you leave?"

"Sure," he says, coming around the bed to give her a quick peck on the lips.

The girl smiles when he lets go and watches as he walks to the doorway, "I'll call you, Tanya."

"It's Thalia," she corrects him with an apparent displeasure on her face.

Chan shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans and takes the time to properly bid her goodbye. Nothing a girl likes more than a sweet mouth and a little assurance, he'll give her exactly that.

"I'll see you soon, Thalia," Chan says with a smile.

"See you soon, Chris," and the girl naively believes him, if only she knew that this will be the last time they're seeing each other.

Yet again, Chan makes another successful getaway.

The warm weather of spring makes it a pleasant walk from the bus stop to his apartment building. He wants to stop somewhere for breakfast but his head feels heavy from the hangover, he just wants to go home as soon as possible, have a bowl of cereal then take an aspirin for the pounding headache.

In the lobby, he makes a quick stop to collect his mail and takes a quick check at it, sorting them out on the spot so he knows which ones he should bring upstairs.

From the corner of his eyes, Chan catches his neighbor, you with your boyfriend chatting by the elevator. He notices the gestures, the expression, and the whole interaction, it doesn't take a genius to know that something is going on there that the naked eyes can't see.

Chan throws the unnecessary mail into the trash bin nearby and walks to the elevator, hearing the little conversation going on between you and your boyfriend.

"...the waffles were delicious. We should have breakfast there again," the boyfriend says as he looks at you, "What do you think?"

"Yeah," you meekly answer while looking at the little screen that shows the floor the elevator is stopping in.

Chan tries to remain invisible but his eyes accidentally make contact with your boyfriend so he may as well make his presence known.

"Hi, neighbor," he greets, he knows your name but you seem to prefer to be called that way.

You do what you always do whenever you meet each other in the building, give him a quick judging look and a courteous smile.

"And hi neighbor's boyfriend," he greets your boyfriend next.

"Hi," your boyfriend greets back, "Chris, isn't it?"

"Yes and you are Lee," Chan responds.

"Right. So how was your Friday night?" Lee initiates a small talk.

"I believe it wasn't as good as yours," Chan playfully answers.

"Oh, we just stayed in and watched a movie, right baby?" Lee says, putting his arm around your shoulder.

All of a sudden, you take a step forward and say, "It's here."

The elevator doesn't chime until a moment later but you seem to be more than eager to get in. You turn around to give your boyfriend a quick hug.

"I'll try to leave early so we can have dinner together," Lee says with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay. Take your time," you say with a faint smile.

Chan quietly gets into the elevator and holds the door open for you, he tries not to look at what's happening in front of him not out of politeness but it's just painful to watch.

"I'll call you," Lee adds, catching your hand as you enter the elevator and kissing it.

"Okay," you say then wave your hand at him.

To help you get out of it, Chan releases his finger off the buttons and sends the doors sliding shut.

"Bye, baby," Lee says for the last time before the doors completely close.

It's just another awkward elevator ride with you and he'll usually try to endure it but after watching all that and trying not to say anything is hard, he can't help but impose.

He glances at you to check whether you're ready to hear about what he has to say but you always have the same stoic expression. Then it occurs to him that he has never seen you smile impolitely or out of joy, or even hear your laugh, but maybe after you hear what he's about to say, he'll get to see a different facial expression on you.

"Oh, man! That was painful to watch," he sighs as he keeps looking straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny furnace of the elevator.

There's no one else in the elevator so you're fully aware that he's talking to you but you don't respond until a while later.

There you go, with your judging look and stoic expression, looking at him as you say, "Excuse me?"

Chan doesn't want to sound rude but beating around the bush isn't his thing, he prefers to be straightforward. He knows it's all based on assumptions but he's pretty sure his judgements are pretty accurate.

He's going to just do it and lay out the facts, he turns to the side, then leans his back against the cold surface of the elevator.

"Your shoulder tightens when he called you baby and the fact you lied about the breakfast tells me that you didn't actually like his choice of restaurant," he pauses to let out a cynical chuckle, "the waffles weren't that good, I guess?"

When he wants to see a different facial expression on you, he doesn't mean seeing your angry one, but oh well, the damage has been done.

"Because I'm a good girlfriend that's why I let him choose the restaurant," you become defensive all of a sudden but that's an unconvincing answer.

"No, you let him choose out of pity," he simply remarks, "And just now, your nostrils flared when I pointed it out."

With all of these signs combined with his personal experiences, Chan narrows it out to one conclusion. He looks at you in the eyes and says, "You're about to break up with him, don't you?"

It looks like you've been slapped right on the face except that the slap doesn't come from someone, it's from the truth that comes out of Chan's unfiltered mouth and he instantly regrets it for meddling in in someone else's business.

"I'm sorry, but why are we having this conversation?" You ask, crossing your arms together in front of you.

"It's not like you're any better. You slept around, you're scared of commitment and now, sticking your nose at my business. You are the kind of person that I deeply despise!" You angrily say with your chest heaving.

It seems like you're saying all of those things about him out of anger because he sees right through you but now he knows why you always give him that judging look. He's the one who started it so yeah, okay, maybe he deserves that but that doesn't change the truth. The problem is what he said and your response, they're heading in the opposite direction.

"I think someone has her panties in a twist," Chan coyly responds.

"Look, there's nothing wrong with wanting to break up. That doesn't make you a bad person," he adds and decides to end the talk right there.

It gets quiet in this enclosed space and it's already suffocating as it is but how lucky that he has to patiently wait for the elevator to ride through three more floors to get out of here.

When the elevator finally dings open, Chan lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding but he's not the one in a hurry to exit both this space and the situation. He stays where he is and lets you out first.

When he thinks you don't have anything else to say, you stop right outside the elevator and look at him with a piercing gaze.

"Don't, for one second, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties!" You emphasize every word in anger, then storm off.

Know what? Maybe Chan should skip the bowl of cereal and take two aspirin instead. As for you, maybe you need to chill the fuck out.

Just because you've been neighbors with Chan for the past three years doesn't mean that you know each other on a personal level.

All you know about him is that he's a DJ which explains why there's always music playing in his apartment, he always wears a sleeveless top to showcase his muscles, and he always has a stupid grin on to show off the stupid dimples on his stupid face, an annoying Australian accent and from how many times you caught different girls taking a walk of shame out of his apartment, it's safe to say that he's the number one fuckboy in the area

So how dare he say all of that stuff in the elevator when he doesn't know anything about you at all? Moreover, what does a fuckboy like him know about relationships?

It shouldn't be hard to ignore because it's something you usually do but gosh, the memory of the conversation still vexed you a few days later.

Then it hits you that it bothers you so much because deep down, you know what he said is true. You've been wanting to break up with your boyfriend and hearing that comes from someone outside that relationship only solidified that thought.

There's nothing wrong with your boyfriend, Lee is nice, too nice even, and when you think about it, maybe that is the problem, he is too nice and that leads you to another problem, you don't know how to break up with him without hurting his feelings.

But you know who can help you with that? Someone who has a lot of experience in breaking up with people.

Oh, what a joy that you find the answer right across your door!

Before you get to ask for his help though, you're fully aware that there's another thing to do and there's no other way to do it but walk up to his apartment, knock on his door, and apologize.

As you're standing there in front of his apartment door, you're dreading it. All sorts of thoughts crossed your head like why did you have to be so riled up that time in the elevator? Why did you have to say that thing about the panties? Just why? Ugh!

Let's just get it over with, you mutter inside your head.

With hesitant hand, you knock on his door and then hold the urge to turn around and run back to your apartment. You let yourself take a step back as you wait for him to come for the door.

Do not open the door, do not open the door, you chant inside your head while tapping your foot against the floor. However, things are not always going the way you want.

The door swings inward and a second later, Chan appears with disheveled hair and he only has one arm in the sleeve of his t-shirt, then you spot a girl's shoes next to his feet.

Oh no, please don't say you're coming at the wrong time.

You reflexively take another step back but he grabs your forearm and then opens the door wider, showing you that there's a girl there.

"It's my neighbor, she's here to remind me about the tenant meeting," he says to her.

The girl looks at you rather suspiciously and crosses her arms together in front of her as she glares at Chan.

"No. Don't you dare try to get out of this, Chris!"

"But it's true. We have to leave now," Chan says, then gives you a look that tells you to lie along with him, "Right?"

Running a quick assessment of the situation, you're certain that Chan is trying to get himself out of it to avoid having a difficult conversation with the beautiful lady. You hate to be the accessory to his crime but if this means that it would help you earn his forgiveness...

"The pigeons!" You make up a lie on the spot.

"The pigeons are ruining our rooftop garden so we held this urgent tenant meeting," you add with what you hope is a convincing smile.

"Oh, those damn pigeons!" Chan heavily sighs with a phony expression.

The lie makes your throat dry and your cheeks hurt from forcing a smile, you have to keep it going as the lady considers whether to believe that the tenant meeting is true or not.

Chan grabs his jacket from the clothes hook and puts it on, "We'll continue this later, okay?" He says to her.

Without waiting for her answer, he gets out of the door and drags you with him to go to your apartment. Once both of you get inside, he immediately closes the door behind him and lets out a long sigh.

"Oh, wow!" He exclaims once he realizes that he's inside your apartment.

He allows himself further inside and leisurely walks around your apartment, checking your kitchen, trailing his fingers on your book collection on the shelf, and observing the potted plants lining up on the window sill.

He walks back to the middle of the room and takes another 360-degree look around the apartment, then nods in approval.

"So, this is what the inside of your apartment looks like," he says in a cryptic tone.

Not sure if he wants you to respond to that or if should respond at all. You choose to remain silent and only respond when his intentions are intelligible.

Chan then sits on the sofa, making himself comfortable, and looks at you, then at what you're holding in both hands.

"Is that for me?"

The jar of cookies you've been unknowingly holding in your hands is a token of apology and it is for him.

"Yes, it is for you," you say, handing it to him with both hands.

"I'm sorry about the other day," you sincerely apologize, but you know you have to let him know what you're apologizing for, "for what I've said to you. I'm terribly sorry."

"Well, since you're helping me with the uh... situation," he coyly says as he scratches his eyebrow, "consider us even."

See? That wasn't so hard. You feel bad for lying to the girl but at least, you've been forgiven.

"Thank you," you add with a smile.

Chan doesn't say anything else but opens the lid and takes a cookie out of the jar. He gets comfortable on the sofa, sitting slumped with his legs spreading wide, and then he takes a big bite of the cookie.

It doesn't take long for him to notice that you have something else to say to him other than an apology.

Before he gets to it, you force yourself to start speaking.

"So, Chris..." you call, then abruptly stop talking. You suddenly have a second thought about asking for his help.

"What's up?" He asks while chewing on his cookie.

It's at the tip of your tongue but your mouth feels like they're sewn shut. You clasp your hands together and muster up the courage to just blurt it out.

"Do you want something to have with the cookies?"

You swear you plan on asking for his help but somehow, your mouth saying a different thing.

"Milk would be nice," he answers.

"Milk. Yes, I have milk," you awkwardly say, slowly making your way to the kitchen like a walking dead.

You take a carton of milk from the fridge and while pouring it into a glass, you're scolding yourself for being so cowardly.

After taking a moment to take a deep breath and muster up the courage to ask, you walk back to the sofa with the glass of milk in hand. With a smile, you hand it to him.

"Thank you," he says, his eyes catching something in your eyes.

You immediately break the eye contact and take another step back, standing and watching him finish his third cookie then wash it down with a sip of milk.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm going to stay here until the girl leaves my apartment," he informs.

"Oh?" You meekly gasp.

"But I can leave if you're uncomfortable," he says as he sits straight on the sofa.

"No, it's fine," you shortly reply, "Take your time."

"Okay, thanks," he says, reclining back on the sofa and continues munching on the cookies.

You can't decide if he stays longer than you expected is a good thing or not. You use the opportunity to reconsider it and walk to the kitchen to get out of his sight.

"Do you need help or not?" You quietly ask yourself as you pour yourself a glass of water.

Why is it so hard? He's right there. All you need is to go and ask for his help.

The water sloshes out of the glass as you fill it too full and you reflexively back away to avoid getting water all over the front of your dress.

"Everything good there?" Chan asks in a slight panic.

That's it! Enough time has passed from overthinking it! You walk up to him and just do it.

"You're right," you blurt out, "I've been wanting to break up with my boyfriend."

Sensing that it turns serious, Chan slows down his chewing and puts away the cookie jar. You expect the I-told-you-so grin on his face but no, he looks saddened instead.

"Things aren't working out," you openly share with a sad sigh.

You take a seat on the ottoman facing the sofa and sadly sigh, "I've been wanting to break up with him for a week now but I just don't know how."

"How long you've been dating each other?"

"Three years," you answer.

"Wow," Chan lowly gasps in awe.

Three years is not a short time, he understands why you hesitate to break up and it isn't an easy decision either.

"I need your help," you hopelessly say, unintentionally becoming vulnerable in front of him.

"My help?"

"Help me how to break up with him," you further explain.

"Of all people, why me?" He asks in utter confusion.

It's hard to answer that without being rude, you decide to let him process the question until it leads him to the answer. After a while, he lets out a dry chuckle and nods, "Okay, yeah. Make sense."

Chan takes another minute to accept the fact that his help is needed because he knows how to break up with someone without feeling awful about it afterward.

"I guess you want to let him down gently?"

"Yes," you answer.

"Well..." he inflates his cheeks then lets the air out through his pursed lips, "You can break up with him through a text."

Which part of 'let him down gently' did he not understand? How is it a good idea to break up through a text? But okay, it's just one suggestion, you give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Who knows he'll come up with better suggestions.

"I'm sorry. No, I can't do that," you kindly refuse his suggestion.

"You can send it when he's sleeping," he adds.

Oh, God! He gives you an even worse suggestion instead of better ones. You know what? This is a bad idea and you regret asking for his help.

"I don't—" You stop yourself from talking and get up from your seat.

"I'll just check if the lady is still..." Your words trail off as you walk towards the door and check through the peephole first, then you get out of the door to check his apartment next.

"Hello? Excuse me?" You shout from the doorway but no one is answering you.

You take it the lady has left and walk back to your apartment to deliver the news to the rightful owner of the apartment.

"She already left," you tell him.

Chan lets out a sigh and closes the cookie jar, he finishes the milk to its last drop and then gets up from the sofa.

"Thank you for the cookies and the milk," he says with his signature grin.

"No worries," you reply, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice.

Chan holds the cookie jar in one arm and takes a step closer to you, "if you need help on how to write breakup texts, I'm just across the hall," he says.

You don't respond to that but keep a smile on for him as to seem polite.

"And good luck!" He says with gentle pats on your shoulder.

The second he walks out the door, you collapse onto the sofa and dread it even more than before. Turns out, asking for his help is not helping at all.

The next day, you meet him as you collect your mail in the lobby and it's hard to ignore him when his mailbox is next to yours.

"G'day!" Chan greets you as he leans the side of his body against the wall while sorting his mail.

"Good day!" You respond and hurriedly walk toward the elevator. You push the button to summon it to the lobby and hope it comes soon enough for you to avoid talking to Chan.

Of course, things don't go as you want it. He comes just in time for the elevator about to arrive, he crumples a few letters in his hand into a ball and then tosses it into the trash bin.

"How did it go?" He asks.

"Pardon?" You nonchalantly respond.

Good thing that the elevator chimes open and you can pretend to forget about what he asked you a while ago. You get inside while clutching your mails in hands in front of you but it's not safe yet as you have to share the elevator ride with him.

"So... the break-up texts? Did you do it?" He asks again, going to the corner of the elevator and leaning his back against it.

"Chris, I think you can't just end a three-year relationship with a text," you put it as nicely as you can.

"Yeah, I reckon," he innocently answers.

It seems like Chan can't tell the difference between what is easy and what is right. It isn't a good idea in the first place to ask for help from someone like him who doesn't consider other people's feelings except his own.

"What are you going to do then?" He asks, shifting his weight on one leg.

Since his help is not helping at all, you have no answer to that yet. This should be something you have to figure out on your own in the first place.

"I'll figure it out," you not-very-convincingly answer.

Chan crosses his arms in front of him, making the muscles and veins on his arms more evident under the fluorescent light of the elevator.

"Lee seems like a nice guy," he remarks with a deep inhale of air.

Well, if you have to compare your boyfriend to Chan, then yes, Lee is a really nice guy. Lee excels in a lot of things, including how to treat a person with feelings.

"Yes," you settle with a simple answer.

"A drawn-out break up is only going to end in a big scene," he says, "Just saying."

Chan has a point. It's worse to prolong the pain for both you and Lee, you can't keep pretending that the relationship works and it's unfair that you keep Lee oblivious about all this.

"We can practice, you know," he offers.

"Practice?"

"On how you're going to break up with him," he explains.

He comes up with a better suggestion this time and is almost endearing even but again, he wouldn't know how a person with real feelings reacts to a break-up which makes you unsure if the practice would be any help.

The elevator is about to arrive anyway so you decide to skip on responding to his offer. Once it chimes, the doors part open and you take the first turn to get out with Chan getting off after you. You turn to the left to your apartment while he turns right. You take the key out of your pocket to unlock the door and push your way in while clutching your mail close to your chest.

"You know where to find me if you need help," Chan says just before you close the door to your apartment.

Hard pass, you answer in your head but you put on a smile for his kind offer, then close the door

Okay, you admit it. You were too haste when you said that you didn't need his help. You were doing fine for these past few days, you've been avoiding meeting your boyfriend to give you some more time to think of the best way to break the news to him until he calls you.

The phone rings and you just stare at it, considering whether to pick it up or not. If you pick it up, that means you have to lie to him and if you don't, it'll alert him that things are, in fact, not okay.

The latter seems like a better idea so you pick it up after taking a long, deep breath.

"Hi, baby. Am I calling you at the wrong time?"

Not entirely wrong but it would be nice if he didn't call you, you answer in your head.

"Yeah, sorry, I was in the bathroom," you lie.

"Coconut shrimp for dinner. What do you think?" he asks out of the blue.

"That sounds nice," you easily respond.

"I know you'll like it but, babe, do you mind getting us a bottle of wine on the way?

"I'm sorry?" You ask in confusion.

"For our dinner, remember?" he answers, "I'll cook tonight we'll be having dinner at mine."

You hardly paid attention to him because your mind was always elsewhere, you couldn't remember saying yes to the dinner but you did and it must be out of pity.

"No, of course, I remember, I'm just..." you rake your brain to think of something to say.

"I thought it was next week," you lie again with an awkward chuckle.

"You silly!" Lee says, "Aren't you glad that I called, huh?"

"So glad," you lie, again and again.

"I should start prepping the ingredients so they'll be ready when you get here," he says, his voice exuding enthusiasm.

"Okay."

"Don't forget the wine!"

"I won't."

"I can't wait to see you, baby," he sweetly says.

The lies are piling up so may as well add another one to the pile, "Me too."

"I love you, bye."

Don't think you can lie your answer to that, you gulp air, "Bye," you say to the phone, then quickly hang up.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and you don't know your desperate measure means knocking on your neighbor's door. Probably because you hate to admit that you need his help.

Not long after, Chan opens the door and his head pops out from the gap, "What's up?"

"My boyfriend just called and tonight, we'll be having dinner in his place," you blabber in panic.

It takes a second for him to process it then his face turns a little surprised, "What are we going to do then?" He asks in confusion.

You may be in dread but you catch the error in his question, "We? Now, you got your panties in a twist," you tell him.

"Shame on you!" He responds with a sly grin then opens the door wider and shows himself dressed in nothing but a white towel hanging low around his hips.

He puts one arm against the doorframe and leans close to you as he says, "Cause I'm not wearing any panties right now."

You should have noticed it from his wet hair and the beads of water rolling down his neck, and now that you're seeing the whole of it, your eyes immediately following where the beads of water going, they're going down the outline of his abs and eventually, to where they're all gathered as his pelvic bones leading down to one way: down south.

However, your instinctive reaction goes against what you're actually feeling inside.

"Ugh!" You groan and turn to the side, "Put some clothes on and I'll see you at my place!"

Without waiting for his answer, you rush back to your apartment and close the door behind you as fast as possible, then you rest your back against it.

The images of his naked body flashing through your head, his glistening wet pale skin, and how some parts of his body are blotchy red around the neck and chest. You get flustered all of a sudden, you immediately press the back of your hand to your cheek and you can feel them heating.

"Get it together!" You scold yourself.

After waiting for almost fifteen minutes, Chan finally comes knocking on your door like it's a musical instrument.

"Are you dressed?" You ask with your hand on the doorknob.

"Hardly," he jokes.

You peek through the peephole and see that he's already dressed to what you can say is his usual attire of dark short pants with a matching sleeveless top, showing off his bulging biceps. You open the door to let him in and he coyly walks in, treating your place like it's his own, sitting on your sofa with his legs spreading wide.

"Okay, so, why am I here?"

You stand in front of him with your hands clasped in front of you, "I've been lying to him the whole phone call and honestly, I've been doing it since the moment I decided that I want to break up with him, and I... I don't think I can lie to him again."

It's easy to admit your mistakes to him because he barely knows you and his opinions about you won't matter that much to you.

"I need to do it tonight," you hopelessly say.

"I take it you need my help to practice your break-up speech?"

You hate that he guesses it right but it's also convenient that you don't have to beat around the bush to ask for it. But first, you try to explain the situation as much as possible so he has ideas on what you're facing here.

"Lee is a man of many emotions and I'm not exaggerating when I say he'll likely cry," you inform.

Chan's forehead wrinkles as he processes this piece of information then stifles a nod. It seems like he still has no idea what you want him to do about it.

"I think it's less painful if you acknowledge the dumpee feelings," you blatantly explain.

"Okay, I got you. Let's practice!' He says, sitting up straighter on the sofa and then putting his hands on his knees.

It's just a practice but your anxiety takes over you not just mentally but also physically as your palms get sweaty. You wipe them down your jeans and take a breath.

"Lee," you call him by your boyfriend's name, and even though it's weird that you're roleplaying, you continue, "I want to break up with you."

Chan looks at you and gets quiet for a moment, "Wow. I'm in utter shock and it makes me very sad to hear that," he says with a rather serious tone.

Not the kind of reaction Lee would likely pull off but that will do if you decide to continue with it.

"I'm fully aware that this is so sudden but I've been thinking hard about it for some time and I think this is a decision that I should take," you say and you know it's a practice but you feel something caught in your throat.

"I'm sad and I need time to process it, but I'll be okay," he calmly says.

Chan gets the tone right but you believe breaking up wouldn't be this easy in real life, especially when there are real feelings to protect. To be honest, you're not ready to face the truth that you may hurt those feelings tonight.

"I think that went very well," Chan says, returning to his default settings.

"Yeah, I think that's it," you meekly say.

The worries and sadness are drawn on your face that Chan can easily see through your veiled expression, "If Lee is as nice as you said he is, then you shouldn't worry much," he says.

He waits until your eyes meet his to continue, "He may get surprised or shocked even, but he'll come around and respect your decision."

You can't believe that those words are coming out of his mouth or that he even tries to comfort you, but you appreciate it. Maybe his heart is still there, he just doesn't let it control him most of the time.

He gets up from the sofa and walks up to you, he takes your hands, ignoring how cold and sweaty they feel in his, "You got this," he assures you.

"Thank you, Chris," you sincerely say with a sad smile.

It is time to stop torturing both you and Lee with lies and forcing yourself to believe that the love is still there. It's time to accept the truth that if you can fall in love, you can also fall out of love.

It's a surprise that Chan worries about things that aren't his business. He's been playing some music to distract him from his head but he keeps the volume low because he doesn't want to miss hearing the sound of the elevator that will tell him any signs that you're back from the dinner.

Eventually, he tires himself out from worrying and falls asleep on the sofa. He startles always close to midnight after hearing the knocking on his doors.

Half disoriented, he trudges his way to open the door and finds you there, surprisingly, looking nice in a white cotton dress and your eyes dry.

But from the way you let yourself into his apartment, forgetting your impeccable manners and walking with shoulders slumped and carrying your shoes in your hands, he takes it that you did it.

"So... how did it go?" He carefully asks, following you as you're making your way to the sofa and then sitting on it.

You let a heavy sigh and your shoulders slumped even more, "At least, there's no crying," you answer with a sad smile.

Chan is unsure of how to react to that, is that a good thing or a bad thing? He just stands there with his arms crossed on his chest, thinking out loud.

"And even though it was ending... it was incredibly meaningful to me and I'm going to miss him," you say with your lips trembling.

Oh, no, Chan knows when a girl is about to cry, he quickly finds a remedy to it, one that he knows always works wonders for him. He runs to the kitchen and brings a bottle out of his alcohol stash, then hands it to you.

"Let's have a drink!" He says, realizing that he forgot the glass.

"Wait another second, I'll get the glass," he says, sprinting to retrieve two glasses from his kitchen cabinet.

When he returns, he sees that you're chugging the alcohol straight from the bottle. You gasp and then wince from the bitter aftertaste of it.

"Okay, straight from the bottle it is," he says, popping onto the sofa next to you.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and then hand the bottle to him in which he wastes not another second to take a sip of it.

"The thing is... I really care about him but he wanted to get married, and I'm just not ready for that," you share with your eyes blank and looking at the void.

You take a deep breath but it seems like it only sends your heart sinking deeper and deeper, and making it harder for you to breathe.

"And if I'm not ready with a guy as great as him then what if I'm never ready?" You say, turning your head his way with your eyes glassy, pooling with tears.

"What if that was it..." you lift your shoulders then drop them as you let out a low sigh, "my one chance at love?"

The tears start streaming down your face like a bursting dam and Chan knows he can't do anything about it but let them out.

Hearing your words makes him think about what his idea of love is. He used to think that it was something he could get whenever he wanted it but now he knows that he's wrong, because that's just a short-lived infatuation, just some sort of meaningless connection.

From you, he learns that love is a privilege that not everyone can experience.

"What if I never get a second chance?" You ask him the question that he doesn't know the answer to.

"I don't know. I'm just sad," your voice cracks, then you break into tears.

Chan is quick to catch you into his arms and offers you his embrace. He knows he can't do anything about this sadness but he can try to soothe the pain, he's placing gentle rubs on your back as you cry into his chest.

The cry is resounding in this space, echoing the sadness back to you and it makes him inexplicably sad too, and he gets the urge to make it stop.

"It's going to be alright," he murmurs at the top of your head.

You look up with your eyes wet and red with tears caught in your lashes, "Is it?" You croak.

He doesn't know when but he knows for sure that time heals everything.

"It will be," he answers with a gentle caress of his knuckle on your wet cheek, "eventually."

Your eyes tell some more assurance for him and he doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he leans in, then kisses you.

To his surprise, you kiss him back and he knows you're doing it because you seek his comfort and he wants to give you exactly that. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you that closeness you seek. He kisses you ever so softly because he knows he's kissing a broken heart and he wants to mend it. He can taste your sadness and the bitterness of it, and also the relief underlying all of it. As he kisses you, he lets his heart open just enough to take some of that sadness away from yours.

As the kiss deepens, the sadness withers, and something else emerges. Chan loses in it for a bit until he realizes what you're trying to do with your hand that reaches for the front of his jeans.

He abruptly detaches his lips from yours and shakes his head, "No, we can't do this," he says.

As much as he fancies you enough to have sex with you, he knows better not to do it when you're not in your right mind and your judgments are clouded with sadness. The last thing he wants is you waking up in the morning full of regrets.

"I want this, Chris," you croak.

"No, we can't," he adamantly says and takes your hand away from him.

"You're sad. You do want this," he says in an effort to put some sense into you.

You roughly crumple the front of his t-shirt and pull him close, "I want– No, I need this, Chris," you say to him with your eyes dark like two bottomless pits.

"Please?" You plead as a tear rolls down from the corner of your eye.

This is the most hopeless he ever heard of you and it breaks his heart. You said it yourself, you need this and he knows what you mean by that. You need the distraction, you need him to take this pain away even just for a fleeting moment, moreover, he can't break what's already broken.

He takes your hand off of his clothes and puts it in his, he leans in until his forehead is pressed against yours.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks once again.

"Yes," you answer without a beat.

That's all Chan needed to hear, he inhales air and puts an inch between your faces. He then tenderly holds your face with both hands and looks at you, unsure where to start but maybe, he can start by making those tears coming out of your eyes.

Chan dabs the tears pooling in the corner of your eyes with his knuckle and without the slightest of hesitancy, he places a gentle kiss on each of your closed eyelids and before you can open them, he captures your lips in a kiss.

Sex is not something new to him but Chan knows that this time is not about physical fulfillment, but a way to offer comfort and hopefully, to also mend your broken heart.

He takes his time to strip away every piece of clothing on you until you're bare, lying on the bed with nothing but sadness that fills your heart.

He touches you with utmost gentleness, using just his fingertips to feel the softness of your skin and you're so pliant, sensitive to his touch.

To make it fair, Chan takes his clothes off as well before joining you on the bed, caging you in between his arms and hovering only inches away above you.

"Touch me," he says to you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

He then glides your hand down his neck and chest, he makes you feel every inch of his pale skin with him. However, when he looks at you, your eyes remain on his.

"You feel so warm, Chris," you lowly mutter.

He brings your hand close to his mouth and kisses it, then crashes his lips on yours.

The gap between your bodies becomes non-existent as you keep pulling him close, he relents by lowering himself on top of you and props an elbow against the mattress to not put his whole weight on you.

Lips locked, hands around each other, bodies pressed together and the temperature keeps on rising in the room. Chan makes you feel every part of his lips brushing and gliding over yours. He skillfully parts your mouth open with his tongue so he can kiss you deep and hard, yet slow until you run out of breath.

At the same time, his hand makes its way down until his fingers land on your delicate flesh. He touches it tenderly, running his fingers between the folds, and drags them upward to rub on your bundle of nerves.

"Ah..." you moan against his lips as you curve your hand around his neck and pull him incredibly closer.

Judging from it, he knows he's doing it right and he should continue, he applies gentle pressures on your clit, making you drenched and that way, he can slowly put a digit inside of you.

You let go of his kiss to let out a moan and your head falls onto the pillow as he puts another digit into you, two fingers pumping in and out of you.

Chan intently watches as your face contorted along to the pleasure, how your jaws slack open and breathless moans keep spilling out of your parted mouth.

The way you clench around his fingers makes him impatient to feel you and how tight you feel around him, and the noises you make oh, they're his new favorite tune that he wants to keep listening to until his eardrums burst.

He glances down as he pulls his fingers out of you and finds them thickly coated with your essence, it doesn't stop him from shoving them into his mouth and lick them clean.

Chan holds you by the chin to keep you still as he kisses you, "Give me a second to get a condom, yeah?" He says to you and you nod in answer.

He makes his to the bathroom and pulls the drawer open to take a condom. To save time, he decides to put it on right away, he tears through the foil packet with his teeth and rolls the rubber down his hard length.

On the way out, he catches his reflection in the mirror and gets reminded that this is not about him. Tonight, it's all about you.

He returns to the bedroom, finding you still lying in bed naked and hugging yourself. He climbs onto the bed and lowers himself on you, letting you absorb his body heat to warm you.

Craving for another taste of it, he goes down and plants his mouth on your cunt next, tasting you right on his tongue.

You're squirming as his tongue laps over your wetness, drinking in on your essence and then using it to circle on your clit.

He's not the only one getting impatient and asking more of it, you both want it and there's no wasting time anymore. Just before he takes it to the next part, he places a long, tender kiss on your clit and immediately brings his mouth to yours again so you can taste yourself on him.

"I'm going in, mmh?" He says as he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face.

You hold on to his shoulder as he settles himself between your legs, aligning his cock with your entrance but before that, he rubs his length between your folds, lubricating it with your essence.

Your hands fly to your chest, hugging yourself again as you lowly moan to his hard length rubbing over your clit and then, pushing its way into you.

"Goodness fu—" he can't even finish his sentence without breaking into a satisfied groan.

It's just the tip but he can already feel how tight you are around him, he's scared yet excited to push more of him into you. He reorganizes his breathing and rests his hand on your abdomen to do it.

Chan looks down to check and he still has a little more of him that needs to be inside you, he sharply inhales air through his nostrils and pushes the remaining length in one quick push.

"Oh..." you breathlessly moan as you're squeezing on your breasts.

Chan allows himself to take a moment to adjust himself to being inside you and you seem to also need time to adjust to his size because you feel so incredibly tight around him. It makes him wonder how this little thing can take him so well.

He takes your hands away from your chest and puts them around his shoulders, that way he can put his body on top of you, lips locked with yours again in no time as you wrap your legs around his waist, sending him deeper inside you.

As he takes a breath in between kisses, you hold his face and look at him with a different kind of sadness in your eyes which only reminds him that his initial plan is to make it go away.

He starts thrusting into you, wanting to fuck this sadness out of you. He wants to make you think of nothing but how his cock fills you full and how good he is fucking you right now, and soon, he's going to make you feel nothing but immense pleasure.

"Ah... ah... ah..." you moan for every thrust going into you and the skin-slapping sounds echo along with it in the room.

Chan plants his mouth on your breasts to contain his grunts and groans while keeping the steady motion of his hips pulsating against you.

A hand reaches for his chin and forces him to look at you, instantly engaged in eye contact with you. He continues thrusting into you with eyes looking deep into you, they're no longer looking like bottomless pits, they look like deep oases that he wants to dive into.

The next thing he knows, Chan finds himself deep in you, not just physically but also connected with you in a way that he's never experienced with anyone else until now. He feels barer than he already is and instead of shutting himself off, he embraces it and lets you in.

Soon enough, he finds himself lost in it and fully connects himself to you in a way that lets him know how it feels to love without fears or insecurities holding him back, without worrying if it's being reciprocated or not, to love wholly and completely.

"Oh," you let out a broken moan and that's when he notices that you break into tears again.

Chan abruptly stops moving, afraid that something he does is hurting you without realizing it.

"No, keep going, keep going," you tell him with your voice hoarse.

He needs to make sure to continue, he cups your jaw and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, please, keep going, please," You repeatedly nod and plead with your teary eyes.

He wants you to stop crying, he wants you to stop thinking about what hurts you and start to see him as he tries to take this pain away from you. His body picks up the pace, going impossibly fast and also taking himself close to his high.

Your eyes are screwed shut, your breath is ragged and your hands are gripping onto his shoulders, overwhelmed by the pleasure that he brought on you.

The moment he's sure that you already come to your climax, he allows himself to let go and uses all of his strength to give you a few more thrusts until there's nothing left in him but waves of pleasure that wash over him.

"Chris..." you softly call and then pull him for a chaste kiss on his lips, "Thank you."

Chan's face hovers only inches above you as he softly gazes into your eyes, you look so fragile and open like a wound and he's just glad that he can make your heartache gone even just for a while.

"Shh..." he stops you from talking by running his thumb over your lips and then kisses you with his heart wide open. He lets this beautiful feeling pour out of him and into you.

"No, thank you," he mutters his gratitude between kisses.

Thanks to you, he experiences something he's never felt before with someone else, something new, something pure and real, something that feels a lot like love.

When he wakes up in the morning and finds you're not there, it hits him that maybe it is love but Chan is not ready to admit it yet.

A week passes and Chan hasn't seen you ever since that night.

He can't tell if you're avoiding him or needing the space and time to piece yourself back from the break-up, he hopes it's the latter. Gosh! Let him be right.

Regardless of what happened, he can live with the fact that you despise him but it would be sad to know if you choose to go down the path of believing that you're not going to find love again.

Chan just needs to know if you're doing okay, that's what matters for now.

Fortunately, the two of you have been neighbors for quite a long time to learn your routine and knockabouts. He knows what you like to do on a Saturday morning, he goes to the lobby and chats with the concierge as he waits.

At the first sight of you entering the apartment building, his heart palpation, and in all honesty, he's just so happy to finally see you after a while.

Are you not seeing him there? Or you're just pretending which only confirms his initial thought that you've been, in fact, avoiding him.

You're walking through the lobby carrying a bag of groceries in your arm, you skip checking on the mailbox and go straight to the elevator. It just happens that the elevator is vacant and the doors slide open after you push the button.

Chan decides to take the risk, sprinting to get into the elevator before the doors close. You already despise him so a little more hate shouldn't be a problem to him.

"Morning, sunshine," He greets you with his dimpled grin.

"Good morning," you politely reply without looking at him.

Things are going back to normal and he should be glad, right? At least, you're back to your usual settings of looking stoic and acting polite, and the best thing about it is you're still talking to him.

"I should learn to avoid people from you. You're good at it," he pushes it a bit just to see if he can crack through this facade.

"Excuse me?" Your head turns his way and with your eyes widen, "I have not been avoiding anyone."

Chan holds the urge to smile for successfully getting your attention and rests his back against the cold, metal furnace of the elevator, "Are you sure?"

"Well, we're seeing each other now," you tell him.

"That's because I know you like to go to the farmer's market every Saturday morning," he says at the same time, admitting that he knows about your routine.

You slowly turn your body facing him and squint your eyes at him, "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"It's my favorite pastime activity," he shamelessly answers then pokes his cheek with his tongue.

"It's better than watching porn," he playfully adds, something that he knows will annoy you the right way.

"Ugh!" You groan as you look straight ahead.

Oddly enough, that's what he misses the most about it, interacting with you and seeing your reaction to his antics, but you, especially.

"Don't be so uptight," he coyly says.

He takes a step closer to you and puts his hand on the handlebar, "it's not like we haven't slept together or anything."

You let out a scoff and hoist the strap of your grocery bag higher on your shoulder, "I'm shocked you even remember," you say.

You turn your head next and your eyes immediately lock in a gaze with him, "I figure I'm just a low notch on a very long bedpost," you add.

"Are you calling me a man whore?" Chan says, feeling offended.

You take a step closer to him and daringly stare back into his eyes, "I didn't call you a man," you answer with a sly smirk.

There's a few seconds of silence until Chan realizes what you just said to him but you know what? He's going to give it to you, for now.

He looks at you and smiles, "Touche!"

You both look at each other and at the same time, burst into laughter, and it keeps going until the hilarity subsides with each passing second.

Is this real? Did you just poke fun at him with a beautiful smile on your face? Did you really laugh and the sound of not only echoing in this enclosed space but also in the back of his mind? Did he just see a different facial expression on you? Either way, he likes it and he likes how it makes him feel.

The elevator chimes open and soon, the doors part open. He lets you get off first and then takes his turn after, he gets a little disappointed as you both are going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Chris," you call as he's only a couple of steps away from the door of his apartment.

His heart palpation again but he keeps his calm and then slowly, turns on his feet to face you, "Yes?"

"I'm cooking curry for dinner and I know it'll be not as good as the one you always ordered but you can come and..." your hand is fiddling with the strap of your grocery bag as you speak but your eyes remain steady on him, "see if it suits your taste."

And did you just invite him for dinner? Him, the neighbor you despise so much?

Chan acts coy and scratches the back of his head, he holds the urge to answer right away. He has a reputation to uphold and he reckons, you have to at least wait a minute for his answer.

"Yeah, okay, let's see," he nonchalantly answers but his smile tells otherwise.

You crack a laugh and nod, walking to your door with the keys jangling as you're unlocking it.

Chan thinks that's the end of it until you call his name again, his heart leaps this time and he almost flies his way to you.

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you what are we," you say with a smile then get inside of your apartment.

That's funny because, after that night, he was hoping that you would ask him that as most girls do but that's where he is wrong, you're not most girls, you are his neighbor whom Chan is secretly in love with.

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lxvemaze · 1 month ago

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✿THE ART OF LOVE

✿SYNOPSIS. when chris texted an artist he found on instagram with the hopes of them designing an album cover for him, he never expected to fall head over heels in love with them.

PAIRING. bangchan x artist!reader

GENRE. smau, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS. little bit of suggestiveness, angst

CHAPTERS.

001. out now!

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014. out now!

015. out now!

epilogue. coming soon...

A/N. this is dedicated to my favorite anon everrrr, aka 🦇 anon, as a congratulations for graduating and getting a super cool job. LOVE YOU POOKIE AND I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS

#bangchan smau #bangchan x reader #bangchan fluff #bangchan fic #bangchan fanfic #bangchan fake texts #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids texts #stray kids smau #skz texts #skz fake texts #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz fic

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soobnny · 5 months ago

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pandora’s box — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x fem!reader | enemies-to-lovers ; slight angst ; school au ; hanahaki disease ; swearing summary: seungmin chances you on the day you accidentally puke petals in the men’s bathroom. who would’ve thought this one encounter would lead sworn enemy to help you get your longtime crush’s attention? wc: 14.0k words

Kim Seungmin is late… again.

It’s been 10 minutes since your homeroom class with Mr. Choi started, and the boy was nowhere in sight. It seems that only Hyunjin seems somewhat worried for his friend. He knows that if the boy lands one more tardy in his attendance card, he’d be called by the Disciplinary Committee.

Seungmin has five more minutes in his margin to avoid that mark.

Squirming slightly in his seat, Hyunjin sighs out in relief when he hears heavy running. And as predicted, the tall boy with his lanky legs propels himself inside the room, bowing in apology at your teacher before hurriedly making his way to his seat – the one next to yours.

God must’ve been furious at you in your past life for him to instruct Mr. Choi to pair you up with Seungmin for the rest of the year during homeroom class. If the constant teasing during Calculus class and in the hallways isn’t enough, you’re blessed with the mockery of having him as your seatmate.

His hair is frazzled, and he’s quick to drop his backpack on the floor before leaning in to whisper in your ear in the most annoying way possible. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

Of course, you don’t miss the overly happy tone in the way he says this. In fairness, classmates and friends alike have a hard time deciphering whether Seungmin is being sarcastic or not, but to you, it is always clear as day – and this is definitely one of those moments.

You tell him to shut up in time for Mr. Choi to pace around the room, dropping a three-dimensional wooden cube on each of your tables. It’s fairly large and it weighs quite a bit judging by the sound it made when it landed on your table.

“Alright, sit closer to your pairs.”

Whoever is Above is a traitor.

Seungmin is more than happy to drag his seat impossibly close to yours, hands instantly reaching out for the cube to lift it up and inspect it.

“Your task for this morning is easy. Just open the box without destroying it.” Your professor’s instructions are simple and easy as he said, yet it makes no sense. Upon seeing the box, it was pretty obvious it was solid. How could you open something solid without breaking it apart?

Mr. Choi creates confusion in the whole class by casting his stupid activity early in the morning. You thank Fuck that homeroom classes don’t bear any standing to your actual grades.

You’re afraid if they did, Kim Seungmin would’ve sabotaged you a long time ago.

Because of the class’ lack of importance to your marks, no one really takes the activity seriously, and it seems that Mr. Choi doesn’t even mind. Maybe he had already anticipated this response. So, he just sits on the table in front waiting for the hour to go by and your classmates proceed to gossip among each other.

Surprisingly, Seungmin seems to be interested in the cube, running his fingers along the sides before placing it back on the table. “Isn’t the easiest way to just tear it apart wood by wood?”

“That’d take too long, and we only have about half an hour left before this class ends.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything else after that, choosing to pull out his phone and play some mobile games to pass the time. And soon enough, Mr. Choi dismisses the class and tells you to try the activity again next Monday. For now, just leave the cubes on your desk.

The rest of the day, you’re powered by 40% coffee and 60% the thought of running home to sleep.

There’s nothing more beautiful than being comforted by your own sheets and pillows while they lull you to sleep. However, dreams are easily shattered by the reminder that you still have hours before you can make it back home.

This is hours of homework, quizzes, dealing with Seungmin, the obnoxious cackling of students around you, and your sadistic teachers who assign you more and more assignments despite the deadline just passing.

The peak of your satirical life? Being struck with Hanahaki disease.

Fate truly is a bitch.

The petals usually came in waves, twisting at your throat as the flower forced itself down your throat. It comes and goes seldomly, and it’d never been anything more than a throbbing pain in the form of a cough every now and then. Assuming it’d pass quickly, you told yourself to just get used to the feeling. Besides, it was harmless.

You couldn’t be any more wrong.

Time doesn’t even give you a month before you’re hunching over toilet seats with choked gasps and salty eyes. All of a sudden, the waves are no longer stuck in your throat. The flower doesn’t shy away now. Instead, they rise and rise until you’re puking blood and petals.

And it’s horrible. Who knew unrequited love could be so horrible? If you’d known this would happen, maybe you could’ve tried actively avoiding falling in love with Lee Felix. Not that you even planned on falling in love anyway.

Lee Felix was a classmate—a beautiful, genius form of sunlight that you could only wish to be around. When you saw him, you immediately recognized his brilliance. Felix has always reached for the stars, and you were a fool to think you could compare with his greatness. Lee Felix flies, and all you can do is fall.

But even in your fall, Felix swoops downwards to catch you, asking if you’re alright, patting your back in encouragement. And he smiles.

Lee Felix always smiles.

He smiles as he acknowledges every single person in his classes. He smiles at his friends when they’re together in the hallways. He smiles at teachers and strangers alike. He smiles and you curse yourself for hoping to be able to fly with him someday.

Sighing, you push your thoughts away in favor of focusing on the loud ringing of your school bells, signifying the end of your classes for the day.

Walking through the hallways of your school after class should’ve been an easy task. Yet, it seems that fate is not done laughing at you when you feel the familiar, suffocating lump in your lungs. Almost instantly, you’re scrambling through the crowd of people in sheer panic of causing a scene in front of so many students.

You head towards the nearest bathroom, fumbling with the door and staggering into a stall. With your shaking hands on the toilet and knuckles paling from your harsh grip, you allow yourself to vomit the petals that had been tickling at your throat.

Your eyes feel like they're burning and you hate the sight of blood and petals pooling in the water. But after seeing it for so long, you start to get used to your satirical life.

You think you finally catch a break, seated on the bathroom floor with staggering breaths and trying to steady your constricted chest. However, fate doesn’t seem to be done with her silly joke.

“(Name)?” You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

You refuse to turn around.

Kim Seungmin was not about to see you in such a pitiful state.

“What are you doing in the men’s bathroom?” He’s about to make some stupid joke, anything to annoy you when he spots the drops of blood beside you.

His instant thought is to call the school nurse.

“Are you okay? Is it… the time of month?”

Something in you cringes at his question, squeezing your eyes shut as you shake your head. He remains standing there, staring at you and wondering why you’re retching in front of a toilet if not for the reason of your monthly cycle.

You don’t even have to turn around to know he was just… looking at you, trying to decide on what he should do.

You wave him off, trying to get up from the floor as quickly as you could. There was no way in hell you’d stay there any longer after finding out you had accidentally entered the wrong restroom with Seungmin of all people. However, as you get up, a nauseating rush of pain floods your body, and you’re tumbling over.

Seungmin is quick to catch you before you can fall, gripping onto your arms and staring at you with wide eyes. He blinks in surprise, taking a few steps backwards with you as he settles you near the sink.

“I’ll go flush–”

“No, wait!”

“Oh.”

He sees the yellow petals before you can stop him. He doesn’t know what to say. He’d assumed you were sick, but Hanahaki never crossed his mind. But before he could say anything else, he hears you mutter a quick apology before you’re running out of the bathroom.

Seungmin is glued to his feet, staring down at the toilet before gazing over the spot where you had stood just a few seconds ago.

Kim Seungmin makes it a point to look for you again the next day.

Against your wordless wishes, Seungmin seems to find you easily. He makes a valiant effort to make an appearance at every possible place he’d usually chance you in – the cafeteria, the library, your club room. He doesn’t expect to find you by the school’s back gate leading directly towards a nearby park.

The few steps towards your direction takes a lot more than Seungmin anticipated. He’s starting to question why he was even looking for you in the first place. He double takes, part of him telling him to just flee. This was none of his business, and it wasn’t like you were a friend.

The two of you have been tiptoeing between the term enemy and acquaintance—if there was even anything in between. You’d both been a nuisance to each other and have done nothing more than purposely annoying each other (him more to you). He’d shut your locker closed after you had just opened it, you’d refuse to let him copy your homework answers, and there was nothing really more than those little, annoying interactions.

Still, even though you two weren’t exactly the best of friends, it wasn’t like he wanted you to die.

From the little he knew about the disease, being deadly was one of them. Surgical procedure to get it removed was costly and offered a low success rate. Really, the only option was to let your feelings be reciprocated or get over it.

Seungmin thinks you’re far from getting over it.

Continuing right, maybe he could just catch up to his friends who are by the field. But would he risk being a possible accomplice to your death? Absolutely the fuck not. The only place to go is forward, and after thrice the time it would usually take, he finally walks towards you.

The first thing he discerns is your pathetic attempt at wiping over your lips with the sleeves of your jacket. And then he averts his eyes to the scowl on your face.

“Look, Kim.” You spit his name out with venom laced in your tone. “I’m not really in the mood for your jokes so just leave me alone.” He wants to scoff at you, partially regretting his decision to show a little bit of human decency towards you.

“I know you have Hanahaki.”

You stare at him in silence for a minute, unsure if he was enjoying your misery and wanting to rub in your face that you were sick and possibly dying. He breaches your silence when he notices you weren’t making a response any time soon.

“I wanted to help.” This time you’re the one who scoffs. “You want to help me? Do you seriously expect me to believe that?”

Seungmin lets out a sigh of mild aggravation. “Who else knows?”

“Do you really think I’m going around parading the fact that I have Hanahaki?”

“Then let me help you.” There’s a tone of resignation in his voice as he crosses his arms, staring down at you as you look at him with such an incredulous expression on your face.

“What makes you think I’d let you help me?”

Your voice rings steadily in his ears, and while he wants to compare it to the annoying chime of his alarm, Seungmin is reminded of the reason why he went up to you in the first place. If he knew you were going to be this annoying about it, maybe he shouldn’t have offered to help in the first place.

“So, you’re just going to die then?” His tone is dry and blunt, and he doesn’t look you in your eyes when he speaks. Your defensiveness wavers at the brutal honesty of his words.

Seungmin is the slightest bit shocked at your falter, but he chooses not to say anything. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the reality was settling deep and turning cogs in your brain right now. Your expression falls completely after a second of a heartbeat.

He doesn’t find any pleasure in seeing your face drop so quickly. While he was used to you looking upset or annoyed with him, he’d put your frowning face on the list of things he didn’t like. He thinks it’s because he wasn’t expecting you to react that way.

“Just let me help you.”

You think, is this really a good idea?

Kim Seungmin was far from being a friend, and you don’t understand his sudden determination to help you. Maybe it stemmed from the pathetic sight of you puking out yellow petals in the restroom a day ago, but you doubt that’s enough reason for his sudden want to help.

However, the reality of his words sinks in—so deep until it’s enough to drown you. You’ve resigned long ago that getting Felix to like you back would be near impossible so in exchange, you’ve tried getting over him.

The task proves difficult to accomplish.

And were you really going to allow yourself to just… go like that? It wasn’t like your sickness was getting any better. In fact, it was getting much, much worse. Cue the quiver of your knees as you retch out leaves and petals, serene smiling as you pretend everything’s okay and that you’re used to the fuckery of this disease.

After weighing down your options, it’s clear there’s an obvious answer. So, with disdain in your voice, you respond to the boy in front of you.

“Fine.”

Your response to your longtime rival’s preposition surprised even Seungmin himself. While he knew you needed the help, he was still slightly appalled by the fact that you had agreed to get help from him of all people. You could’ve easily rejected his offer, could’ve told someone else of your predicament and get their help.

Instead, you sigh in defeat and accept Seungmin’s help.

“Meet me here tomorrow after class.” With a blank expression on his face and the demand rolling off his tongue, he excuses himself.

Something tells you this isn’t one of your smartest decisions.

You meet Seungmin where he tells you the next day.

It’s a little hard to believe you’re taking instruction from the boy who had been nothing more than an irritation in your school social life. However, here you are, leaning against the gate and waiting for that same boy to meet you.

You’re starting to regret your decision before you can even milk any assistance out of him.

“Sorry, I’m late.” He really had a knack for being late – not just during homeroom period. He’s panting, hand outstretched to lean against a post with his cheeks flushed. “When are you never?”

Seungmin fights the urge to roll his eyes at your comment. “Last period held me up, but I’m here now.”

You hum, crossing your arms before peering at the boy. “Well, then. What do you suggest I do?” You cringe at the way you ask him. Earlier on your way to the back gate, you had told yourself to try and be more civil. He was offering to help you. It wasn’t like he needed to do something upon witnessing you the other day, but he still decided to help you.

“Don’t you think you should tell me who it is you’re so in love with first?”

Somehow, that never really clicked in your head. You had thought you could go through this whole arrangement without so much as uttering Lee Felix’s name. Only now do you think it’s stupid you’d even thought that in the first place.

“Oh.” Of course, Seungmin doesn’t miss the conflicted look etched on your face, and soon enough you’re looking around to see if anyone’s possibly listening in on your conversation. He sighs, tapping your wrist before motioning for you to follow him as he exits the gates. “I didn’t really think about that.”

He leads you to the park, and he allows you the silence to think on the short walk there. When he finds a bench, he sits down and pats the seat next to him to tell you to sit down. “You ready to tell me?”

You stab the air, refusing to beat around the bush this time around. Might as well get this over with. With a deep breath, and a rather constipated look on your face, you blurt it out.

“Lee Felix.”

You never thought you’d ever tell anyone about your feelings, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Seungmin blinks in surprise.

He takes a moment to process the information.

Lee Felix, one of Seungmin’s best friends, is the reason why you’re puking flowers.

“Okay. Okay, that’s good then.”

“How is any of this good?” There’s an incredulous expression etched on your face as you hear Seungmin utter the word ‘good’ in the midst of your situation. You hardly thought it was a word to even come to mind after telling him who it was.

“Don’t be stupid. Think about it. You like Felix. He’s one of my closest friends, I’m in such a good position to help you.” Something in the way he says this with a glint of hope tells you that there is a silver lining to this whole situation—even if it’s ever just a little line.

“I’m having a hard time believing any of this to be good. Wouldn’t your being close to him make my feelings all the more obvious?”

“But we want it to be obvious, though. We want him to take the interest as bait.”

You close your eyes for a second, trying to come to terms with the decision you had made to let Kim Seungmin (of all people) to help you with the stupid disease itching at your throat. Somehow, you had failed to consider how hard it would be to actually hold a conversation with the boy first and foremost.

By the end of your day, Seungmin concludes that a good first step is for him to plant the idea of you in Felix’s head—to which you contort by asking him how you could trust him to not sabotage you instead and say horrible things about you.

He looks at you with the blankest expression on his face as his response.

You give in.

It wasn’t a horrible first idea. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to remind Felix of your existence—even if you were just a mere fish in the sea for him.

When the sun starts to show hint of resting, Seungmin walks you home as his house isn’t that far from your own. Before he says goodbye, he tells you to meet him again the next day.

And so it began.

When Seungmin was with Felix, he’d discreetly mention your name, every now and then, mixed with a combination of some of Felix’s interests. Felix is taken aback, wondering why his friend is suddenly uttering the name of his sworn enemy.

Seungmin makes an effort to tell him you were friends now, that he just didn’t know you enough to conclude that you were actually kind of fun to hang out with and that Felix should probably try to know you too. His statement isn’t entirely a lie if you consider the latter part.

So, he continues his plan.

He mentions you just enough to make your presence and interests known to Lee Felix in a better light – not one that just paints you as the girl Seungmin loves to annoy. And he walks with you to the cafeteria sometimes so you can greet Felix when you drop Seungmin off their table.

You start to meet up more frequently, new ideas coming up every time you do, and something brewing after each conversation.

Of course, this did not come without suspicion from your friends. Immediately, Karina and Yeji come running to sit by each of your side after you yet again walk in the cafeteria with Kim Seungmin. “Don’t you hate him or something?” Yeji asked, and Karina added, “Yeah. He’s like the bane of your existence. What chapter did we miss?”

Seungmin also faces some backlash from Jisung, as well as Hyunjin and Jeongin. “I thought she wasn’t your type” and “Didn’t she annoy you?” being the popular phrase they’d use to criticize his blooming friendship with you – if he could even call it that.

Still, both of you agreed to reply to each prying question about each other with "It’s top secret; none of your business" with the additional grimace when they’d imply something romantic between the pair of you.

Felix is starting to take notice of you which stretches a victorious grin on Seungmin’s face. It had been a good few days since he had initiated his plan, and it was nice to see some progress. Especially when Felix asks about you during recess one afternoon.

“Is blue (name)’s favorite color?” Seungmin perks up at Felix’s sudden question, taking the sandwich out of his mouth before following Felix’s line of sight.

“What makes you ask that?” There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he leans to nudge Felix teasingly.

“Nothing! She just wears a lot of blue.” Felix’s mumbling now, and it’s a clear sign that he’s taken interest in you. He better have.

The forceful manner in which Seungmin has to compliment you subtly around Felix is taking a toll on him. He didn’t think he could ever say so many nice things about you in the span of four days, but here he was.

Seungmin thinks it's worth it. Felix might’ve tried to seem nonchalant, but Seungmin knows him better than that. He can’t wait to tell you the good news as he walks you home again.

This is the first time you’re meeting with Kim Seungmin on a weekend.

Before this, there had never been any reason to see him outside of school. Now, you’re seated by a table in the park where couples usually frequent to have picnics together.

He’s late again, but you’re appreciative of the time you have to yourself before you have to even think about the next steps to your demise.

You don’t really have long when Seungmin’s lanky legs show up in front of you again, panting like he did when he was late to Mr. Choi’s class a few days ago. You offer a small wave to acknowledge his presence and he merely nods his head, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle he has in hand before taking a huge gulp.

Seungmin’s hands collided with the table, rattling the transparent bottle that held his water, with some of the drink spilling to the wooden surface. “Okay. Everyone knows the first step to someone’s heart is to be friends with their friends.”

Wow. Straight to the point. Not even an exchange of pleasantries.

“Does being enemies with one of them count?” You lean away from the table a little, careful as to not let any of the spilt water drip on you.

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Thanks.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you wait for him to continue the brilliant plan he had conjured on the way to you today.

“Whatever. Anyways, I guess you can start with Hyunjin and Jisung. I’ll tell them to come hang out with us this afternoon.”

“This afternoon already?”

It’s clear you’re in disbelief from the way your voice raises in volume and your eyes widen at the sudden proposition to hang out with his friends in a few hours. You were never the best at socializing in general, so you could only imagine the horrors that flashed in your mind at even just the thought of making new friends and hanging out with them for hours all in the same afternoon.

“Well, yeah. We’re quite literally racing against time in case you forgot.”

And he did just that.

It seems that his friends have nothing to do when you spot two tall boys animatedly talking to each other while navigating through the park. The moment they see Seungmin, they’re sending huge waves and pushing each other to get to you first.

“Hyunjin hyung, Jisung hyung. This is (name).”

The pushing doesn’t stop – it’s just that now, it’s directed at Seungmin. He breaks free from the spot in between them in timid annoyance, choosing to stand next to you instead.

Your confidence falters, and you find yourself unconsciously crawling back in your shell, smiling at them politely before staring at the ground. Seungmin’s never seen this side of you, and he doesn’t understand why it’s making him flustered.

The brunette boy with the rosy cheeks and the brightest smile, Jisung, shakes your hand, telling you that it was nice to meet you before Hyunjin follows. An unfamiliar smile remains on your lips, shaking their hands back, albeit a little wobbly.

“Seungmin has told us a lot about you.”

You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you just laugh nervously.

“All the bad, most horrible things.” Seungmin has a comforting hand resting on the small of your back, rubbing gently. “Nothing to worry about.”

Your first genuine laugh leaves your lips. It’s such a Seungmin thing to say, and you find yourself being pulled back on Earth by the simplest of statements. Seungmin smiles victoriously to himself at being able to help ease your nerves a little.

With introductions out of the way, you’re relieved to admit that falling into casual conversation with Hyunjin and Jisung actually came easy. And as time passes, you find it more and more comfortable to start inputting your own thoughts into the conversation.

You had decided to eat out together, and the boys kindly offered to pay for you.

That’s how you find yourself seated beside Seungmin, and across from Hyunjin and Jisung who were, once again, talking about anything and everything – but you didn’t mind. It was nice to have someone lead the conversation.

“Okay, so I have a poop story.” Jisung starts.

“Oh god.” Seungmin’s quick to lean back in his seat in protest, arm brushing against yours in the process.

“It’s not that bad, it’s not that bad!”

“Is this about last night?” Hyunjin asks suspiciously, and with the mention of the night’s events, Jisung just starts laughing to himself, slapping his knees before nodding his head in response.

“So, I really had to go… poop! At a gas station. But, there was a guy in the stall next to mine, so I was feeling shy. So I pretend I was just fixing my pants or whatever – so I was unbuttoning my pants and buttoning them and unbuttoning… and washing my hands. And then I left.”

Although it isn’t the funniest story, something about the way Jisung narrates has you, Hyunjin, and Seungmin laughing in your seats. You don’t understand why seeing Seungmin laugh and talk to his friends genuinely makes you hold him in a slightly better light. At least for the day.

You hate to admit you don’t actually know anything about Seungmin, except that he was an absolute menace. But, while he was still that same Seungmin, you could see there was much more to him, especially seeing the way he interacted with his friends – and the way he would ask for your input at certain moments in the conversation in genuine attempts to involve you in the group.

You never knew he was that observant, and considerate of your feelings.

Considerate.

It’s a word you never thought you’d ever put in the same sentence as Seungmin, but here you were, thinking he was being the most considerate from the way he glanced in your direction occasionally and observed your body language before joining you in the conversation if you looked a little more comfortable to pitch in.

In no time, the two boys warmed up to you. The sky is a mix of colors by the time you finish your little hangout, spreading like a pastel oil slick over the infinite sky. Seungmin’s walking you home, like he always did since the start of your plan.

“See? It wasn’t all that bad.” The words he tells you mirrors the same ones he texts his friends at the end of the day.

seungmo (6:21pm): i told u she can be a good person !!! i’m way over our enemies arc. we’re friends now

hyunjinnie (6:23pm): i guess she isn’t that bad afterall

hanji (6:24pm): LMAO she’s actually kinda cute n shy i think she’d get along w felix a lot I esp like the part when she would argue w u like 😭

hyunjinnie (6:25pm): they tell the same jokes and r so so good at roasting seungmin <3 my favorite genre of jokes. aaaah it’s like felix was there with us in spirit

Seungmin feels proud of the success of his own plan and reflects on his friends’ words. You really… weren’t all that bad to spend time with.

The plan stretches for a few more days.

Because Felix was rather social, you made it a point to become mere acquaintances with nearly everybody (despite your earlier protests), which made your friends question your actions yet again. “When did you become so friendly?”, asked Karina.

“I’m trying not to die. Let me be.”

They take it as a joke.

"Step two!"

“Already, Kim?”

It had just been three days since you had executed his first step of getting along with Felix’s friends, and now he was yet again bugging you over the next step of his foolproof plan.

“You have to get into his interests.” Seungmin ponders for a moment, before he lifts a finger in the air. “Dancing.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes! Lucky for you, I’m a really good dancer.”

You sigh. “Are you just trying to get me to embarrass myself?”

“I’m not! But now that you mention it…” He laughs, bouncing back a little when you go to punch his arm. “Come on, show me some moves. Just so I know what I’m working with.”

You flail your arms with the most uninterested look on your face, staring directly at the boy to tell him you were, in fact, not having it.

“Now that’s just sad. Who’s gonna fall in love with you if you dance like that?”

Later that day, Seungmin takes you to the dance team’s club room. When you walk in, there are already some students there – no doubt practicing for a project or an upcoming practical exam. He walks you to a less crowded area located in the corner of a room where it’s a little more isolated.

“This is where I usually practice.” He drops his bag on a chair, motioning for you to stand with him in front of the big mirror. Still dejected, you walk grumpily towards where he’s waiting for you.

Silently, he rests his hands on your shoulders and pulls back a little to fix your form before dropping his arms.

“I still don’t get how this is supposed to help me.” You try to keep your posture fixed after Seungmin had taken it upon himself to point it out, staring at the both of you through the mirror with a slight tilt in your head.

“When Felix finds out you dance too, he’ll be head over heels for you.”

You glare at the boy. “That’s subjective.”

“I’ll just teach you the basics today. Oh, and I hope you’re free after classes cause I’ll be dragging you here whenever Felix practices as well.”

With wide eyes, you finally turn to face him properly, shaking your head repeatedly as you inch closer and closer to the boy. “I am not letting him see me dance!”

“That’s why we’re here today, so you don’t embarrass yourself completely.”

You grumble, slouching your figure as you cross your arms before straightening your back again. You tell him to show you what he’s teaching you first, dropping to sit on the ground as you motion for him to start dancing. If he was going to let you learn to move with your two left feet, he might as well show you first.

You’re embarrassed to say your jaw drops the moment Seungmin starts dancing, eyes being unable to move elsewhere but on him. You knew he could dance, but you didn’t know the extent to his talents. He was effortless, with his hands and his feet, and the way he moves synchronously to the rhythm of the music he’s playing on his phone.

His movements are so clean, and he has a certain fluidity to his movements. It hurts your pride to see how great he is without even trying. He’s simply showing you what he’s going to teach you with minimal effort, and yet he’s still able to make it look picture perfect.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” There’s a smirk on his face you want to wipe off so bad. Smiling wickedly, you chuck a water bottle in his general direction which he catches with ease.

“Haha, very creative. Definitely haven’t heard of that one before.”

He tosses the water bottle back at you so you can put it safely on the ground before motioning for you to get up yet again. “If you think I can do all that, you’re extremely wrong.”

There’s amusement that’s clear as day on Seungmin’s face, but he chooses to just roll his eyes in response, reassuring you he’ll simplify the steps to your liking. His statement is half true as he maneuvers your arms and legs through a few sets of moves.

You never knew Seungmin was as patient as he was, not at all visibly upset when you don’t get it right away, or you need a little time to really understand a small step. Instead, he watches attentively and makes sure you don’t hurt yourself in the process.

“Wait, you’re doing that wrong. Don’t… don’t twist your arm like that, you’ll end up hurting yourself.”

You don’t even notice he’s behind you, body inches away from being pressed against yours as he grabs hold of you to set your hand back down to your side. Then, he lifts it back up as if a puppet, directing you in a move that feels much more comfortable now than the way you were doing it earlier.

“Oh, uh… thanks.” He simply nods his head, moving back from behind you and telling you to try it again as he sits in front of you. When you do the first few steps seamlessly, a smile forms on Seungmin’s face as he claps his hands.

“You aren’t so bad afterall. Just a little.” Your lips form a pout, walking forward to sit beside where he’s at on the floor, wiping at your sweat as you gratefully accept the water bottle he offers in your direction.

“Let’s take a break.”

He laughs again when you roll your head back and make a noise of relief, moving to comfortably lie down on the smooth wooden floor of the dance room.

“My body aches everywhere.”

“You’ll get used to it.” An extra towel is thrown on your face and you take it off to see Seungmin not even looking at you anymore. You just mumble a quick ‘thank you’ before using it to wipe at the sweat on your face and neck.

A silence falls in between the two of you—one that’s filled with your jagged and heavy breathing. It’s the first comfortable silence you experience with the boy. You used to think it was impossible. He always had something to say, and you never backed down from retorting. When you weren’t arguing, there was always some sort of tension lingering in the air from your dislike towards one another.

It feels different at the moment. You find that you don’t quite mind this.

“What if you drown it by drinking too much water?”

That’s definitely a way to get you out of your head.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m pretty sure plants aren’t supposed to have too much water. Besides, how can it even get sunlight when it’s inside you?”

Even from a distance, Seungmin could tell you were trying to bite back a grin, shaking your head at his sudden question. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s how Hanahaki works.”

“How are you so sure?” You’re holding back a laugh now at his absurd suggestions, especially when he’s holding onto an unopened water bottle to accompany his advice.

“Plants die from too much water, do they not?”

“Kim, I am not drinking a shit ton of water to drown the plant. If anything, that’s just gonna give me multiple visits to the bathroom.”

“Suit yourself.” Seungmin doesn’t dwell much on how you flat out made fun of his suggestion, instead, he clings onto how strange his family name sounds coming from your mouth. He thinks you’ve known each other long enough to solicit his first name from you, but it seems you refuse to hand it to him.

He doesn’t understand why.

‘Seungmin’ would be so much more comfortable to say, instead of a flat one-syllable last name that feels clumsy to fit in a sentence. With the time he’s spending with you, he sometimes forgets he’s just a last name to you.

He can’t help but wonder if he’ll always just be a last name to you.

When he notices he’s been quiet for too long, he sits up a little straighter and finally tunes back into the conversation. “Well, I’m out of other ideas. Unless… pesticide?”

“You are so stupid.”

The tone in your voice is significantly changed from one of annoyance to a more endearing, joking manner. You don’t exactly know when this shift started, but you like the slip of normal conversations with the boy. It was way easier than arguing.

“I was kidding! Come on. Let’s run through the choreography again.”

You whine out a couple complaints, kicking your feet in the air like a child before getting back up from where you were lying down. He simply laughs, dragging you back in the middle of the room. It’s funny to Seungmin, how the more you peeled back the walls you had built around you, the more he sees himself getting along with you.

Seeing a friend in you didn’t seem as far-fetched as it used to be.

It was like you were slowly proving his initial impressions of you wrong. That, hidden behind that harsh exterior was someone who had the capability to joke around without being so uptight about it. Someone who was more genuine with a heart that felt… comfortable.

In moments like these, when you’re laughing and dancing together, he sometimes forgets the circumstances you’re under. It doesn’t feel like he’s hanging out with you just to help you with Hanahaki anymore.

It feels like hanging out with a friend now.

"So, what’s step three?" You ask Seungmin, mid-body roll, still working on your dancing. "Nothing too major, please. I’m busy with dance lessons."

Seungmin’s mouth falls in disbelief, rolling his head back in laughter. He knows you’re joking around, mocking him even, but he doesn’t feel the need to defend himself like he usually did when you argue with him.

"Alright, damn, I’m sorry for disturbing you.” His hands are lifted in the air, as if in trouble. You slap them back down.

“So, is it something major or not?”

“If you’re a good chef, it should be simple," is his answer. "Cook his favorite meal. You know, food is the key to a man’s heart and all that. Plus, that boy loves to bake."

That afternoon, Seungmin is invited to your home for the first time. He’s respectful, greeting your older sibling who simply eyes you as a signal to tell them all about the boy you had invited over later. You’ve never mentioned him before.

You shoo them away before guiding yourself and the boy towards your kitchen.

Seungmin takes the time to admire your small, comfortable home. There are beautiful pieces of furniture decorating your living room, and a few paintings hung on the walls. A tall plant stands by the corner of the room. His eyes are ripped away when you make it to the kitchen.

With the ingredients of tteokbokki planted on your counter (thank God Seungmin knows a little bit about Felix’s specific preferences), you stare at him as if waiting for him to do something. “What are you looking at me for?”

“Don’t just stand there and watch me cook. Go sit in the living room or something!”

“Geez, I’m sorry. Didn’t know looking at you was a punishable sin.”

“I just get pressured easily.” You push him away, leading him towards your living room and sitting him down. And then it’s radio silence from you for a good fifteen minutes – that is until wafts of smoke flows its way towards where Seungmin’s seated.

Having a hard time controlling his laughter, he shakes his head and marches up next to you. “Remind me again what I told you to do.”

“Cook.”

“And what did you end up doing? He asks, cocking an eyebrow at the smell of smoke in the air.

“I cooked!”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, crossing his arms while shaking his head lightly at your desperate attempt at cooking. “Right, of course you did.”

“I almost burnt my whole house down, but I did it, see?” You raise the platter to his face. Sure enough, Felix’s favorite meal is there, cooked decently enough to be considered edible. Seungmin forces you to bring it in a container to school the next day despite your protests.

It comes as a surprise to most of your classmates when they spot you talking to Seungmin so early in the morning, and so decently. When they saw you marching up to his direction with a container in hand, they were already assuming an argument would ensue. However, they’re hit with the sight of you talking to him like a normal human being.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“Just tell Felix how you feel while you offer the food you cooked.”

“I am not about to confess to Felix while giving him something that’s barely edible.” You deadpan, shoving the container around.

“Just do it! He’ll appreciate your efforts.”

“Oh, wow. What do you expect me to do?” You laugh, and Seungmin rolls his eyes before taking the box from you. Jokingly holding out the container in front of you, Seungmin says, “It’s so simple, just do this. Hey, I’ve liked you for a long time now, and here, I cooked your favorite food for you. Hope you like them!”

Right on time, Wonyoung and Yujin walk past you, catching your conversation and immediately halting in their tracks.

In chorus, the pair of hostile girls yell, “You like her?”

Upon realizing the connotation of their question, Seungmin couldn’t help but walk backwards in disgust. “As if! She’d be lucky to be with me.”

“Excuse me? You’d be the lucky one!”

You simply stared at him, and how much more bearable he’s gotten since you started to talk more. Suddenly, it occurred to you that maybe you’d started to develop feelings for Seungmin… but then the thought of you together comes to mind, and when you felt an indefinable feeling in your chest, you concluded that was simply not the case. Right?

“I can’t believe you said I’d be lucky to be with you. Can you imagine?” You exclaimed incredulously, your arms wailing around to prove a point. “You’ve been blessed because we made a deal. If we didn’t, I would’ve kicked your ass a long time ago.” Like the child you are, you stick your tongue out, crossing your arms.

Seungmin’s bone marrow feels cold at the thought of dating you. He doesn’t want a label for this feeling, and forces it down his throat, tuning into whatever you’re saying instead as you throw the container by the nearest trash can.

The next time Seungmin sees you isn’t in the best circumstances.

When he doesn’t find you by the back exit of the school where he usually met up with you to walk you home, an unsettling feeling creeps at the back of his throat. It’s enough to have him looking for you around the campus.

It wasn’t easy to find you, but the moment he does, he’s quick to kneel down next to your slouched figure, slipping his bag off and gathering your hair up in his arms so it doesn’t get in the way of your face as you puked up dried flowers and blood.

Seungmin’s reminded again of your circumstances.

Rubbing a hand down your back, he helps you spit out the remains of flowers itching at your throat. “Hey, it’s okay. Just puke it out.”

There are tears welling in your eyes from puking too much, hands planted on the ground as he shields your body from anyone passing by the fields. He thanks the heavens that your classes had ended earlier than others so there weren't many students littering the fields.

When you fall back to sit on the ground, you’re nothing but a figure of ragged breathing.

“Do you have a hair tie?” You shake your head, eyes fixed on the ground as embarrassment boils in your stomach. “Just go home, Kim. I’m fine.”

He dismisses you, hand rummaging through his bag so he can hand you a handkerchief to wipe at your mouth. “You must be thirsty.” He’s mumbling to himself, looking around for the nearest vending machine.

“I said it’s fine.” You don’t know why you’re angry, but you are. The tone in your voice sends the worst kind of shivers in Seungmin’s skin, especially when you’re stubbornly trying to get up and get away from him.

Maybe you’re angry because despite your attempts, you were still struck by this god-awful disease. Maybe you’re angry because you’re being punished for liking someone. Maybe you’re angry because Seungmin had to catch you while you were puking.

The overwhelming feeling of anger and pain feels so heavy, weighing down your shoulders, and you realize belatedly that the tears have started dripping down your cheeks until one of Seungmin’s thumbs goes to brush over them.

“I don’t want you to pity me.” The initial harshness in your voice has morphed into something that sounds more pained… a more broken anger. It makes him feel uneasy. Seungmin finds he prefers the unabashed anger.

He still has an arm around you so you don’t fall on the ground completely from the exhaustion of retching your throat out, still smoothing down your hair. “Hey, this is just a little crack in your step, okay?”

Seungmin sighs when you refuse to look at him, but it doesn’t stop him from wiping at your tears. He doesn’t need to be asked to comfort you, he just does. And in all honesty, he isn’t even sure why he went looking for you when you didn’t meet up with him. It wasn’t like he needed to walk you home.

Still, he finds himself crouched down next to you at this moment, and he doesn’t regret his decision one bit. He prefers being there for you over the comfort of his home.

“Are you done being angry?” You laugh stupidly, hitting the hand that’s ghosting over your cheek. You feel ashamed for throwing up in front of him, but even more for taking your anger out on the boy who had been helping you for the past few weeks.

“I’m sorry. I was being stupid.” You rub at your bloodshot eyes, looking up at Seungmin who simply shakes his head. “It’s alright. Are you thirsty?”

“It’s okay, I’ll probably just buy a bottle of water in the cafeteria. You can go home ahead.”

Seungmin goes over your offer. If he goes home now, he’d be playing video games and lounging in his house without a care in the world. And he has homework. He stands up, guiding you to your feet as well.

Then, he moves a hand on the small of your back and starts walking the opposite direction of the school’s exit, shoulders touching as he walks next to you.

“I’ll pay for your water.”

The next day, you pretend as if you hadn’t choked your lungs out the day before. You simply ask Seungmin what the next step in his plan was.

He doesn’t ask you any more questions.

“There’s this plushie Felix really wants from the arcade. We went there a few days ago, and he was going crazy, losing all his pennies for it.”

You nod your head, looking up at the boy. “So… arcade?”

On your way there, you find yourselves talking about anything and everything that comes to mind. There’s conversations about dancing… your horrible cooking… your friends… homeroom class and that cube.

“I don’t get how he wants us to open it. It’s solid.” He talks animatedly, hands flailing around at the thought of the stupid cube Mr. Choi keeps bringing up every homeroom class.

Are you supposed to smash it to the ground until it opens? Bring a hammer to school to get the job done right away? Why did he explicitly not allow you to break the cube if he wanted it open? None of it makes sense in Seungmin’s head.

“Maybe he wants us to think outside the box.”

He simply stares at you. “Think outside the box, my ass. I really don’t think there’s any other way. It has to be a trick question.”

“Maybe there’s a hidden button? I don’t know… but there has to be a way to look into it without breaking it, right? Why else would Mr. Choi bring it up?”

Seungmin finds himself intrigued with your train of thought. “So, you really think there’s a way to open it without smashing it? That… this whole thing isn’t some sort of trick question from Mr. Choi?”

You hum, nodding your head. “There must’ve been a lot of hard work into building that cube. I’m sure there’s a way to peek inside without shattering it completely.”

The conversation drifts after that, moving elsewhere—but Seungmin finds himself still thinking about your response. He supposes he still has the next homeroom class to figure it out.

When you get to the arcade, it takes you forever to win the chick plushie in the claw machine. You’re starting to wonder why you let Seungmin talk you into this – when you could’ve spent much less just buying the plushie instead of trying to win it.

You’re well aware of the scam that is a claw machine. They always bounce off the moment you grab a stuffed toy inside so it falls back down before it has the chance to make its way to you. And yet, you don’t want to leave anytime yet. Especially not when Seungmin’s on the machine next to yours, making it a competition on who gets a plushie first.

It’s more fun like this, when you’re joking around and teasing each other on being losers despite none of you winning a single plushie. Who knew you were capable of joking around with Kim Seungmin in a lighthearted manner?

You find the time spent with Seungmin at the arcade more enjoyable than anything else. It doesn’t matter that it’s been approximately 60 minutes and you have long abandoned the claw machine to play the other games in the area.

“Wanna race me?”

“You’re paying.”

Seungmin grumbles, but still hands you a few tokens to insert in the machine. And then you’re playing again. Of course, he wins and feels the need to rub it in your face in which you reply with a very mature stick out of your tongue.

He’s very persistent in winning the games, but you don’t really mind when he’s paying for your machines and making sure you’re having a fun time as well. He reasons it’s because you need to maximize the time you have there instead of dwelling on the disappointment of not being able to get the plushie you came here for – the very reason you went here in the first place.

He’s been pretty successful so far.

By the end, you win much more than a single fox plushie. You have your own Pochacco stuffed toy that he had won and given to you, saying something about how he was too old to have a plushie and that you better keep it instead, and some cotton candy as a prize from the tickets you had acquired at the numerous games you played.

Seungmin has a proud grin on his face as you hug onto the stuffed toy, munching on your cotton candy before looking at the boy curiously. “Wait… should I just give this to him instead?” You nudge the plushie in your arms, in which Seungmin is quick to say a firm no.

“He doesn’t like Pochacco anyway.”

You gasp. “How could he not like Pochacco? Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe buddy.”

He laughs at the way you speak to the stuffed toy, guiding you outside the arcade and towards the path to your house. The rest of the time is spent in silence. Much to Seungmin’s disappointment, your house is pretty near the arcade so it doesn’t take long before you’re parting ways again.

“Thanks for walking me home again, Kim.”

He brushes off your remark, smiling at you and sending you a thumbs up. He stands there for a moment, waiting for you to get in safely before he’s off to start walking towards his own home.

On the way home, he wonders in horror – since when did he start feeling disappointment when dropping you off?

It’s been a few weeks since Seungmin has started to help you. You’ve grown a little closer to Felix, holding a few conversations here and there in school, and you have to admit – it’s pretty nice.

Felix seems like such a great friend.

Friend.

You stare at nothing in particular as you ponder over your newfound realization. Since when did you start referring to your longtime crush as “friend”? Since when did you stop thinking too much about him at all?

You’re unsure if you’re feeling better because you’re moving on or if it’s because you’re growing closer to Lee Felix. You don’t think about it too much – you’re just happy to be feeling better at all.

Today, there’s no plan to commence. You’re simply walking home with Seungmin.

You don’t know when it’s become part of your routine. For quite a while, you’d only walk together to discuss your plan on getting Felix to like you back, but the habit of waiting for you after class has stuck around and you find yourselves walking home together despite having nothing to talk about.

“So…”

“So…?” You look at him with a questioning expression, gripping onto the straps of your backpack.

“Mr. Choi’s cube.”

You simply laugh, shaking your head before looking at the round ahead of you again. “You’re seriously not over that?”

“I don’t even know why I’m so curious about it myself.” Seungmin shudders, and amusement falls on your face at his own declaration.

Still, you allow him to talk about it. You hate to admit but the cube has also left you quite perplexed. Seungmin’s been adamant about the fact that it really is just some sort of trick question, but your persistence on a way to do it has him grasping on straws.

He doesn’t know when he started valuing your opinion so much, and why honey drips in everything you say, and why colors seem to brighten when you smile. Like right now, as you’re looking at him with wide eyes and a small smile playing at your lips as you tease him on his obsession for Mr. Choi’s cube.

And then, without warning, rain pours.

“Oh shit!” A hand meets yours almost immediately as he’s running to find some shelter. He doesn’t even think twice about it – he doesn’t ponder much on that either.

“Wait… I have an umbrella.”

“Is it enough for the both of us?”

He pulls out the umbrella from his bag, opening it up and holding it above both of your heads. And then, you’re back out in the rain, shoulders touching so you both fit under his small umbrella. The closed proximity forces you to hear both of your drumming hearts and feel the warmth from his arm as it brushes against yours every moment you walk.

When you arrive home, a second and a half passes before he’s able to recollect himself. Something in the way you shyly say goodbye at your front porch with a small “thank you” has him looking at you like something’s changed.

Something in the way you smile at him, a smile he doesn’t recognize, a smile that’s never been aimed at him before has him looking at you stupid. And you make it so much worse when you wrinkle your nose at his staring.

“Is there something on my face?”

He’s wordless, doesn’t know what to say — not with your eyes crinkling like that and your cheeks flushed from the cold of the rain, and your hair a little messy from initially getting wet from the rain, and your stupid smile.

How did you manage to get a grip on him without his consent? How dare you take advantage of his sensibility to steal into his affections just like that? He never used to care, comfortable with his place outside of your walls. He’d gone as far as playfully drawing graffiti on them, keeping a comfortable distance. Now, he finds himself wanting to break them.

“Seungmin?”

His tongue feels like it’s tying itself over and over again, and he doesn’t understand why his heart is beating extremely fast or why he feels so hot and wordless, or why he keeps staring at your lips? No one’s ever taught him about this before.

Still, being silent for too long, Seungmin fights with himself and finally opens his mouth.

“You look stupid.”

And then he’s off to run home.

His grandmother greets him when he gets home, and she chuckles to herself at seeing the wet patch on her grandson’s shoulder. “I see you cared for someone today.”

“What do you mean, grandma?” Seungmin looks at her confused, and she laughs quietly.

“I’m guessing you don’t remember. When you were younger, you wore that wet patch on your shoulder with pride. You told us it was the mark of a professional umbrella sharer, and that now, we didn’t have to get sick.”

She smiles to herself, patting Seungmin’s shoulder and giving him a sweet kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you at dinner. Go get changed so you don’t get sick.”

Seungmin nods his head, mouth agape at the story his grandmother just shared. He doesn’t even remember angling the umbrella in a way that you wouldn’t get wet in the rain. It just… came to him naturally, instinctually.

Her words repeat in his head.

He cared for someone today.

Apparently, Seungmin’s grandma was the perfect catalyst for him to realize his own feelings.

He doesn’t realize at first — brushing off the butterflies, the squeeze in his heart, the staring. He doesn’t even realize it when he looks forward to walking you home on most days.

No, his grandmother had realized before him, and like a domino, he fell over at her realization.

What was any of this supposed to mean? Sure, Seungmin knows what having a crush feels like. He’s had crushes before, but what he feels for you is different. Because in the past, Seungmin has never felt the need to pull up Google and search:

what is the feeling more than a crush but less than love

is it normal to like someone who ure trying to help get with ur friend who is her crush becuz she has hanahaki disease

hanahaki disease quizlet

how to know if u have a crush

Seungmin has never known having a crush on someone would be this complicated and this… crazy. But he has also never known the excitement of talking to you and wishing you goodnight when he drops you off at your house.

Disliking you was much easier than whatever the hell he’s feeling right now. He used to last days without looking at you, and now he’s looking for you in every room he walks in. Teasing you was something out of mere fun to get in your skin, now he does it to solicit a smile from you.

Maybe he doesn’t need google after all. The answer was simple, and it was right there.

He likes you.

He might be falling in love with you.

Hyunjin and Jisung notice the shift in his behavior and in your dynamic in general. They choose not to meddle, even though Jisung really really wants to. Especially when they catch Seungmin staring at you from across the room with the most lovesick smile plastered on his face.

But what was he supposed to do with these feelings? He’s still helping you get with Lee Felix.

The thought leaves a feeling similar to frustration at the back of his throat. How could he have allowed this in the first place? Sometimes he wishes he never offered to help you, but could he really? Now that he knows how it feels to truly be with you?

You’d always had this wall around you, but you’ve allowed him to peel the bricks back one by one with every interaction with him. And fuck, it feels so good to be able to peek at who you really are. It’s a drug to be able to know you like this, especially when he’d received nothing but glares from you in the past. He’s drunker on you than he’d expected, and he’s amused that now he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s enamored by you instead of simply expressing his interest in annoying you.

He wonders what’s changed, and when did the shift in your dynamic widen so much? He doesn’t know when he started to associate the word “fond” to you. Was it when your smile started to look genuine? Was it when you felt free to joke around him now? Was it when you held happily onto the stuffed toy he had won you?

He remembers every single moment spent with you, and he feels scared.

So he does what he should’ve let you do weeks ago, a step he’s delayed for too long now. Kim Seungmin would rather have you confess so he can stop thinking about you in this light anymore. He doesn’t like this. He’s starting to feel very afraid.

If he knows you even more than he does now, there would be no point of return. He wouldn’t be able to go back even if he tried.

“Anyway, right, the final step. Do it. It’s not that hard.” Seungmin insists, out of the blue, trying to get things over with. “We’ve already drawn too much attention to us, I’m unlucky enough to be seen with you every day, and now people think we’re together. That’s much worse!”

“Hey, stop hurting my feelings!” You knew it was a joke, like he always does around you, but it was still fun to fight with your former enemy. “Also, I’m not doing it. Are you insane?”

“We’ve trained for this! Just say you like him, if you really can’t then just ask him out or something.”

“I can’t do it!”

“What can’t you do?” The two of you jump at the new voice that joins the conversation – one you know too well.

“She can’t confe-“

“I can’t deal with his bullshit anymore!” You’re quick to cut Seungmin off before he can out you. Felix seems a bit taken back by this.

“Step one, dumbass!”

“I mean...” You take a deep breath. “Would you like to grab dinner at… that diner near here?... with us?”

Seungmin facepalms.

“Yeah, sure!” There he goes again, with that stupid pretty smile.

“Actually, I can’t come along. I’ve suddenly been hit with some sort of disease,” Seungmin dramatically informs you two, already walking away paired with very dramatic and very obviously fake coughing.

“Well, we could bring along your other friends instead!” You suggest nervously, throwing Seungmin death glares that make his smile dim for a quick second.

“I’ll tell our friends for you.” Seungmin chimes in before running out to harass your shared friends and tell them not to come. Almost immediately, you and Felix receive texts from his friends telling them they can’t come.

“I guess it’s just you and me.” Felix shrugs, offering you a grin.

Keeping up the cool facade, or at least trying to, you smile back, giving a thumbs up to Seungmin for embarrassing himself in front of all of your friends for you to get some time alone with Felix. As you walk away with the boy, sharing small chatter, it’s hard to miss the way Felix smiles at you, the way his eyes crinkle when you speak.

Maybe Felix really has gained genuine interest in you over the shared dance practices in Seungmin’s club room, over the small mentions of your name, over the positive feedback from your shared friends.

Seungmin thought this moment would feel victorious. He wouldn’t have to hangout with you anymore, and you wouldn’t have to die after the responsibility suddenly fell on his lap upon walking in on you in the men’s bathroom that one fateful day.

Seungmin doesn’t expect the bitter taste of regret that sits in his mouth instead – he was the one who’s been there all this time through everything.

And yet, Lee Felix gets the privilege to be with you. He gets the privilege to be called his first name.

“Wait a second.” You mumble to Felix, running quickly to where Seungmin is standing with his back turned to the pair of you. He feels your arms around him first, and before he can realize that you’re actually hugging him, you’ve already pulled away.

“Thanks Seungmin.” You smile, bowing slightly before running back to Felix who’s waiting for you.

He stands there, stunned. Seungmin. It’s funny how the casual mention of his first name has him crumbling all over again.

Seungmin wishes you had just called him Kim, like you always did. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so addicted with the way his name rolls out of your mouth so prettily. Something he might never hear from you ever again in a long time. There wasn’t a need for you to see each other again.

Kim Seungmin walks home alone for the first time in a long time.

No one stands in the back gate to greet him anymore.

He hates to admit how lonely it feels. He doesn’t realize how impactful the sound of your laughter was, or the sound of matching footsteps beside him. On the way home, he focuses on the music playing in his earbuds, focuses on the pavement, on anything but the thought of what you and Felix could be doing right now.

Kim Seungmin finds himself in contemplation over a matter that’s never been a concern in his life before—love. It’s a foreign concept to him. In truth, he doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before. Sure, he’s had a fair share of crushes, but they’ve never held him captive like this before. No, this is different. You’re different.

He’s never been eager for it either, not until lately. He is usually dull-eyed, disinterested, and does not have time for romance unless he wants it. He lets life pass as it does, without much contradictions. It’s much easier to live life this way, it’s much easier not to meddle in people’s business, and it’s much easier to leave the unknown unknown.

You are the first introduction of what wanting feels like to the boy. Because, as much as the boy enjoyed helping you out, there are times when he just wanted to hold you, or hold your hand while he was walking you home, or brush away that stupid stray strand of hair that always falls from your ponytail. Except he can’t. He knows he can’t. Because he’ll only receive the kind of stare that’s asking him why he’s acting so nice to you all of a sudden.

For the first time in a while, Seungmin is left with the bare truth of the way that he feels; something he hadn’t asked for, but needed to find out.

When he arrives home, he doesn’t text you – he doesn’t think it’s what you’d want, he doesn’t think it’s necessary anymore.

He’s also afraid that if he spends more time with you and your fond eyes and soft smiles, he’ll ruin everything even further. So, he does what he thinks is best for the both of you—revert back to mere glances and a time before he felt the need to enter your life so intimately like the way he did.

He will deprive himself of you, and wish you the best despite the bitterness that crosses his mind every now and then, that he was there first, that he’s also deserving of the love he wants.

Groaning, Seungmin rubs his eyes with the palm of his hands, and spends the next few hours staring aimlessly at his ceiling before drifting to sleep.

You find yourself missing Seungmin.

It’s funny how a few weeks spent with him has you clinging onto his presence, and his teasing, and his stupid jokes. Everything about him feels so much more warm, and you don’t know how to feel about the fact that it’s so suddenly ripped away from you.

You don’t realize you ask about him unconsciously, to Felix, to your shared friends. You just wonder how he’s doing most of the time. He barely bothers you during homeroom anymore—and you’re back to square one. You’re back to small greetings.

You’re not even granted the teases you used to hate so much.

He’s more reserved now, keeps to himself most of the time and only really speaks when the teacher asks him to. When you open your locker, you find no one closing it right away. Instead, Felix is there to accompany you.

You’re conflicted with your own feelings, but you know whatever is happening right now is good, because you’ve puked way less than you have over the past few months and the sitting weight on your chest doesn’t feel so constricting anymore.

You think it started to disappear a few days after that day in the arcade with Seungmin.

It hurts like a bitch to be ignored. Especially by him.

It seems that every time the boy sees you, he bolts towards the opposite direction. You’d thought it was just coincidences, that he hadn’t been deliberately avoiding you. Just reserved, just not in the mood.

“Seungmin!” You would wave at him when you see him in the hallway, just like you always do. But instead of the usual smile that you get, he would turn away. And you’re left to wonder why the hell he was avoiding you.

His cold shoulder is unappreciated by you, and you try to confront him best you can. You recruit the help of Hyunjin and Han, for the love of God. And even they are confused why their friend is suddenly ignoring you.

So, when they’re able to corner him where you want him, you waste no time to confront his sudden shift in behavior.

“You wanna tell me why you’re ignoring me?”

He has the audacity to avoid your gaze. “I’m not.”

“You are. All week, in fact.” You send him a sharp look, to which he responds with a frustrated breath.

“Well, what do you want from me? You got what you wanted. I didn’t think we’d need to keep talking.”

You stare at him, open-mouth and furrowed eyebrows. “I thought… I thought we were friends.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

You blink at the impact of his response.

Well, that was a cause for instant heartbreak.

Even a few days later, you can’t hide your dejection at being refused of a friendship with a boy you’d grown comfortable with. Had the times he helped you not meant anything to him? Were his laughs not genuine in the way you thought they were?

“Is there something that’s bothering you?” Yeji’s hand squeezes your shoulder when she finds you spaced out after your last class. “You look like you’re deep in thought.”

“Just conflicted.”

You would consider yourself smart, more than average even. You know there’s a reason why you miss Seungmin on a day to day basis, why you feel the need to mention him every chance that you get, why you feel a little excited to see him in the hallway only to feel disappointment when he doesn’t share the same enthusiasm, why your heart breaks at the stranger treatment.

That squeezing pain in your sternum, similar to a stab, whenever he brushes you off is not just because you miss his taunting. No, you know better than that. And you definitely know enough when you don’t feel that same excitement for Lee Felix.

And then there’s silence for a moment while you try to navigate through the maze of your own thoughts. It’s akin to the pause after a lightning bolt strikes, those very few seconds before the thunder. In those few seconds, you unexpectedly draft back to the past few weeks. Now in the absence of his presence, you find yourself yearning for him—any fragment you can get of him. His smile, his gaze, his fucking laugh. The kind of laugh that’s whole, and full of heart, and so free. The one you thought you’d never be subjected to.

These few heartbeats hold an anticipation, one, two, three… and then the thunder rolls in and you finally understand.

You like Kim Seungmin—a testament to your sudden unpredictable turn of the heart, the reason why that tight feeling in your chest had lessened until you barely remember you had that disease in the first place. It wasn’t because Felix was reciprocating your feelings, the sole reason lies in Seungmin’s hands, along with your heart.

It doesn’t matter the sting of his words that day he’d demoted you back to an acquaintance, neither when he would act icy to you now. You weren’t going to give up so easily.

You cancel plans with Felix that day, and he doesn’t seem to mind all that much. It seems he’s realized it himself, known for quite a while. And while you feel guilty, he’s simply unfazed, even reassures you that it’s never in your choice who you end up falling for.

“You won’t be able to forgive yourself for all the things you don’t say until it’s too late.”

It’s a sentence enough to push you to find the one boy responsible for single-handingly ridding you of a disease that had burdened you for so long.

Sighing out, you clutch onto your backpack, hugging it to yourself as you kick at some pebbles on the ground. It’s been a while since you’ve left through the back exit of your school, and it feels a little nice to be waiting there again.

You hope Seungmin still takes the same path home.

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin stays behind to look for Mr. Choi. There were two things that have been clouding his mind, and if he can’t gather the courage to talk to you, he might as well solve that stupid cube.

He doesn’t know why he’s so attached to a homeroom activity that probably meant nothing, but he thinks that if he solves one thing, he’d feel more at ease. He wouldn’t feel as messy as he did right now.

He just needed this one thing.

“Mr. Choi?”

“Seungmin? What can I do for you?” He’s confused to find the boy who’s always late to his class standing outside his office, but he still welcomes the kid.

“Can I ask you about that cube activity?”

Mr. Choi laughs, motioning for the boy to come in and telling him to sit. Then, he’s rummaging through his office and pulling out that same cube he’d placed on your tables weeks ago. “What do you wanna know about it?”

“How…? How were we supposed to open it without destroying it?”

“By simply asking me.”

“What?”

Your homeroom teacher laughs again, grabbing the cube from the boy and taking out a small pin. “There’s a little hole here, that if you push with a pin, you can open it.”

“Then why let us try to open it if only you could?”

“The point in the lesson was to ask permission. It was to take into consideration the hard work placed into making this cube and how only the owner understands how to open it with their permission.”

Seungmin’s mouth is agape as he tries to grasp whatever Mr. Choi was saying, but there was interest in his gaze. He was clearly trying to follow along.

“This cube is like a person.” Mr. Choi gives him a small smile. “You can only be let into someone’s heart if you simply ask to be let into the walls they’ve carefully built for themselves.”

There’s a moment of silence before Seungmin abruptly stands from his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Choi.” And then he’s off running from the office, phone in hand to dial in your number. He couldn’t take it anymore – he needed to speak to you.

Fuck whatever plan he had of ignoring you. That was stupid. He was being stupid, and his heart still aches at the way your face had dropped when he’d refused you of something as simple as a friendship when he’d seen you as someone entirely more than that.

Seungmin’s heart pounds in his chest as he dashes through the classroom, phone clutched tightly in his trembling hand. He needed to find you, tell you the things that’d been in his heart. The catalyst of Mr. Choi’s conversation provides him a clarity he didn’t know he needed, so he runs. He runs, and runs, and runs like he’s never before.

His breath comes in ragged gasps, but his mind is singularly focused on one destination, the only direction he needed to go, and that was wherever you were. He knew now, with a certainty that eclipsed any doubt, that he couldn't let fear or uncertainty hold him back any longer. He doesn’t want to keep the unknown unknown anymore.

He finds you where he used to, just about to grab your buzzing phone in your pocket. When you turn to the sound of heavy steps, you can only look in concern when you notice Seungmin’s disheveled appearance, sweat glistening on his forehead like it did when he was late to homeroom weeks ago.

“Seungmin?” You asked, voice riddled with worry. “What’s wrong? Why are you panti—”

“You’re Mr. Choi’s cube.” He blurts out amidst his heaving chest and uneven breathing. There is an intensity in his gaze you’d never seen before, and it looks like there are words itching at his throat that he’s struggling to say.

You tilt your head, eyebrows furrowed as you try to follow along to whatever the hell Seungmin was saying right now. “What?”

“You’re… you’re Mr. Choi’s cube. And for so long, I thought the solution was to shatter you. I thought the only way to get your attention was to destroy the walls you’ve built around you, but you made me realize differently.”

“What are you saying?”

For a moment he stays silent, staring at the ground beneath you before lifting his gaze back at you. It’s unmistakable the look on Seungmin’s face. Like he wanted to go slow, but he was too far into his feelings that he’s kicking everything up a notch by the second.

Knowing someone, and loving someone who has put so much effort into building the wall around them should be done with their permission. No one has the right to break it down, and shatter it, and leave them with the scraps of something they had worked so hard on building to protect themselves.

You used to always be so guarded, angry with your feelings, never letting anyone in.

Seungmin’s words are quiet, slipping out in vulnerability. “I’m asking to be let in. I’m asking… if you could let me in.”

You blink in surprise, and there’s a pause as you look at him with parted lips. And then you smile.

“I already let you in a long time ago.” There’s a contented flutter in his heart when you push yourself to hug him. He stands a lot inches taller than you, head buried in your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer.

In the way he’s in front of you, he looks like someone you’ve never met. Soft, blinking eyes that arrow straight down to your lips.

“I’m sorry it took me such a long time to figure it out.” He whispers, and it looks like he’s thinking, but you don’t know of what.

“You were such an ass for ignoring me.”

“I’m sorry. I thought, it’d go away if I did. That I wouldn’t feel so guilty if I did.”

“You’re so stupid.”

“Can I kiss you?” His voice softens when he asks you.

Against the wall of the school’s back exit is where Seungmin kisses you for the first time, like he’d been waiting for this for a stretch of time. Your heart tightens at the action, and he lets his huge hands linger just around your waist, fingers toying with the ends of your top. It makes you tremble. He kisses you so feverishly, so genuinely.

You’d like to stay here forever, and if not forever, then a few moments more with his arms around you and your head buried deep in his chest.

He’d developed a severe addiction to your sentiments, and Seungmin could write you paragraphs about all the ways he’s fallen in love with you, but right now, he gives himself the ease of simply knowing you—of being let in the walls you’d trapped your barely beating heart in not so long ago. And he is going to parade this beautiful privilege for how much there is still to be learned about you, and how proud he feels that you’ve given him the permission to know you, and know you, and know you, until there is nothing left to learn. Until you’re all that he knows.

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eevenus · 16 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ drabble!! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - b.c.

I have thoughts and need to get them out of my head before I go insane.

genre: PURE SMUT TBH!!! MINORS BE GONE!! I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!

pairing: bangchan x fem!reader

warnings: chokeholds (sue me okay), a bit of degradation, rough channie 🥴, reader is called a whore once, size kink if you squint

a/n: I wrote this on my phone because I needed it out of my head NYEOW, I'm going insane over him. dividers by @sister-lucifer

(this is what I was writing to if you wanna listen along 😛😛😛)

✩ thinking so much about Chan having such a horrible day, and I mean absolutely retched. Maybe had some arguments back and forth with staff over a track he was really proud of, a dance practice with small fuckups just out of his control (loose shoelaces tripping him, stumbling over his words, etc), maybe even something as simple as all his anxieties and worries on new tracks and performances have manifested into a boiling anger he can't contain.

✩ he wouldn't want to say anything he doesn't mean, or hurt anyone's feelings, so he wouldn't talk much throughout the day if he can help it. Simple nods and "mhm"s to just get through it. A few texts from you ping his phone every now and then, he's short with you but responds nonetheless. It would almost make him angrier that he can't shake the feeling, I feel.

✩ so he'd try to blow off some steam at the gym, he always hit it on the way home so you wouldn't find it out of the ordinary. But he'd stay a little longer than usual. Trying so, so hard to just shake the feeling off so he can come home to you and relax. But he can't. It sits on his chest worse than any of his anxieties ever could. So he cleans up the area he was using, throws his things into his duffle, and heads home.

✩ he'd show up back to your shared apartment and throw his duffle somewhere out of his sight. His shoes discarded by the door and keys dropped somewhere next to them. And then you'd walk out.

✩ "Hi baby!" So sweet and so kind, already in your pajamas, waiting for him to come home. "Long day?" It was an innocent ask of course, but it clicked a gear in place in his mind. All that anger seemed to quicken the blood rushing through his veins, if you listen close enough in the quiet you'd hear his heartbeat.

✩ no response but he's just stomping his way over to you, and his hands grab your face to smash your lips together. It's messy, teeth knocking every now and then, moving from upper to bottom lip, a bit of spit would connect you when he finally pulled away. Leaving you in a bit of a daze. But before you could question the absolutely hungry look in his eyes his lips would be on you again.

✩ his HUMONGOUS arms would work to pick you up while keeping your lips connected, your hands in his curls as his wrap under your thighs. And he's walking you back to your shared room and his skin is just fiery hot, and he's deepening the kiss while expertly navigating his way down the hall. thank god you walked out and left the door open, because as soon as he is even near your bed he's tossing you onto it and climbing on top of you.

✩ discarding his tank top as you're ridding of your own, his lips moving after to connect with your neck. You'd swear you felt him bite and lick his away along like a hungry animal playing with its prey. And his hands are on your hips, squeezing so hard to keep you in place that it would def leave bruises in the morning.

✩ before you can even register it, you're both without clothes and he's got you on all fours. pulling you down onto his mouth that is just devouring you like your his last meal on death row, like you held a cure for whatever is making him act this way, not like you'd want him to stop.

✩ "Bad day?" You'd question with rutting hips and your hands gripping his hair, he'd simply mumble against you and pull you down further. "Take it out- oh god- on me." You didn't have to tell him really, but it was more like giving him a green light for doing whatever he needed too to blow off the steam that was so pent up. It was rare this happened, but you ate it UP every time.

✩ moments later, after he'd rip at least two orgasms out of you, he's sinking himself into you. Pulling at your hips to meet his, forcing an arch out of you with a flat palm pressing down at the top of your spine. with no mercy does he rut into you, so rough it was physically moving you forward. Your cries and moans muffled with your cheek against the sheets, though you'd have probably been muffled regardless as his moans and groans and growls would be just a bit louder. Feral even.

✩ and when your moans alone weren't enough, he'd slow himself just enough to lean down and wrap his arm around your neck. keeping a hand still on your hip to keep your arch in place when he lifts you up from the bed in a chokehold and returns to his previous pace. Your moans now cut-off whines and groans from the pressure, just enough to slightly bring pressure to your airways but not enough to make you lose all your air. A delightful euphoria of floating and the feeling of his cock pumping into you, you swore in this position he was kissing your cervix in the most delicious way. feeling floaty and so full. so full. (pushing the bde Chris agenda ok).

✩ "fuckin' take it." He'd growl in your ear, and though his arm stays around your neck his hand moves to hold your chin. Relieving the pressure as you take in shaky gasps, keeping you perfectly in place. "Yea? You're my fucking whore, mine- letting me use you, huh? letting me fuck my anger into you?"

✩ he'd be so far gone that he's just mumbling out the nastiest shit he's ever said, and just abusing your pretty little cunt all he wants. And when his growls turn to whines and gasps and groans of his own, his hand reaches between your legs and quickly circles your puffy pretty clit. Silently begging you to cum with him.

✩ ugh and he'd cum so much too. letting you out of his hold halfway through, to lay back against the sheets, but still pushing you through your own orgasm. It would take him a bit to register he's real again before he's pulling out and walking to grab things to clean you up, water, a snack, the works.

✩ "Better?" You'd incoherently mumble after, when you're all laid up together. Snuggled close and naked and safe and warm.

✩ "Mm. Sorry if I was too rough." He'd mumble back, pushing some hair behind your ear before promising to tell you what was bothering him first thing in the morning. But of course you never mind him that way, if you can help him.

✩ he'd apologize PROFUSELY in the morning when he notices your bruised hips and a few red marks of teeth on your neck. Doing his best to mend you. Draw you a bath. Snuggle you as soon as he gets home from the studio. Apologize again. And again. And one more time for good measure. cuz he's just too sweet, and even if he was pent up and needed to channel his anger in a (proactive) different way he could never actually hurt you and he'd feel awful if he ever did. Making sure you feel loved in every way he can in the following days. Cuz he's Channie and an absolute angel, who just loves a rough night every now and again. 😜

EEP KQJDJSNF there's my first spicy drabble, I just needed this out of my fucking head OMG. Need him to chokehold me so BAD KADJNDNF. this is probably a mess because I was trying to get a vision across without turning this into a 7k word fic okay 😭😭. Lemme know if y'all want more of this from meeee by commenting, liking, reposting!! Theenk yewwww ❤️✨🤞🏻

taglist: @possum-playground (taglist is open! Feel free to ask to be added to my general one or the one for my Bangchan series!! or if you'd like to only be added for non-spicy/spicy-only posts!)

#Spotify #eevenus 💌🧸✨#vix's rambles <3 #stray kids #bang chan #skz #christopher bang #bangchan #bangchan stray kids #bangchan smut #stray kids smut #bangchan x reader #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz smut #smut #kpop smut #my fics

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mixtape-racha · 1 year ago

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greenlight | lee minho

☆ part 2/8 of the 5 seconds of stray kids series ☆

words: 1.56k // warnings: soft dom!minho, dumbification (kinda)

“tell me you want me. tell me you want this as much as i do. we could have all night if you just say the word.”

and when minho looked at you with those bright eyes you’d grown to love, how could you deny him? in fact, you were sure you wanted this more than anything in the world.

your arms swung with minho’s hand in yours as you left the movie theater and headed back to the bus stop. it was your second official date after he asked you to be his girlfriend, and a movie after dinner seemed perfect - neither of you particularly enjoyed loud or flashy things anyway; your first date ever was literally just visiting the animal shelter and admiring the cute cats there.

although you had had your fair share of relationships during your early adulthood, you were sure that minho was your first real love. being with him, everything was perfect, and it made you feel like you were floating above cloud nine. you were lucky to live so close to him, too - being only across the hall in your respective university apartments - which meant you could spend as much time as you wanted with him to develop your budding relationship.

in fact, you only had one line left to cross. minho was in no rush to have sex with you - well, thats what he told himself, anyway. of course, he wanted to. everything you did was like a drug to him, and many of your date nights ended in him sloppily fucking into his palm before the scent of your perfume left his hoodie. but he was never going to rush you into it, and you had shown him no sign of needing him as bad as he needed you.

but god, he couldn’t have been more wrong. your trusty vibrator had finally given up and died from so much use after you and minho began your relationship. all he had to do was wink at you, and you were soaking. let alone if he put his hand on your thigh while driving, or leant down to whisper in your ear during a party. even during the movie - all he did was rub your arm comfortingly where he had an arm over your shoulders, and you had to clench your thighs to stop you from pouncing on him then and there. but you didn’t want to rush or push him into sleeping with you, and he seemed to have himself together a lot better than you did.

god, both of you were so oblivious.

you had decided very early into your meal - minho had insisted on taking you for sushi and stopping at a milkshake place on your way to the cinema - that you were going to stay at his dorm that night. now, with your skimpy underwear and innate craving to feel him all over you, you weren’t sure it was your best idea. i mean, after all, what was stopping you from pouncing on him like a wild animal in desperate need for a meal?

the bus ride was quiet - it was pretty busy, and neither of you particularly enjoyed that, so you situated yourselves at the back of the bus, sharing minho’s headphones as arctic monkey played. his flatmates (jisung and hyunjin) had gone out for a gig tonight, taking his car, and so you knew they would end up drunk in the backseat, parked in a random mcdonalds parking lot, leaving the entire dorm for the two of you until the early afternoon, most likely.

that thought had you craving your boyfriend even more, knowing you could be as loud as you wanted, and maybe - if he wanted to explore - not be confined to just his bedroom.

it wasn’t that either of you were inexperienced, but the idea of taking such a big step in your relationship was so important to you both that neither of you wanted it to be a rushed or impulsive decision. but god, you wanted him more and more as the bus approached your stop. you knew he wouldn’t care that you weren’t in pretty lingerie, or that you hadn’t shaved your legs. you knew he would think you were the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, and you knew he’d voice that too. he would do anything to make you feel special and loved, and that night what you needed was him to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you.

the bus finally reached your stop, and you were so out of it that you allowed minho to manhandle you to your feet, pulling you along after thanking the driver. he chuckled at your vacant expression, rubbing your cheek softly.

“what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, baby, hmm?” he questioned as you entered the elevator, only moments away from his apartment where you could finally have him all to yourself. your words seemed to betray you, mouth working faster than your brain as his words made you tremble.

“need you, min. just– need you.” your words came out as a whine as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder, which slightly inhibited his ability to lead you out of the elevator and to his front door, but he didn’t mind at all.

“yeah? want me to take you all night, huh?” you had previously discussed all your likes and dislikes in bed just to cover all bases before anything actually happened, and unsurprisingly a lot of your kinks lined up with minho’s perfectly. “just say the word, angel, and you know i’ll give you anything you want.”

he knew that when you were tired and needy, you almost lost the capacity to think for yourself, and that you were more than willing to submit yourself fully to him and let him do all the thinking for you. he was more than happy to indulge you like that, but he needed to be sure you were in the correct headspace to consent - especially as it would be your first time together doing more than heatedly making out or going down on one another.

he lead you gently into the apartment, kneeling down to help you rid yourself of your shoes and your jacket before pulling you into a warm hug. you both swayed gently in the entryway, your brain firing at almost 100 miles a second, hands grasping onto your boyfriend’s skin wherever they could reach.

“please, min. just wanna be good for you, want you to make me feel good.”

your words were all he needed to pull you into a searing kiss, guiding your hands to rest on his hips while his wandered upwards to cup your cheeks. without breaking the kiss - he had the layout of the apartment mapped in his head - he carefully guided you to his bedroom, kicking the door closed once you were both inside.

his tongue pressed on your lower lip, demanding dominance before you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to massage yours in the nicest way possible. all the while, his hands were nimbly working on your shirt buttons, popping them open with ease before he slipped the sleeves down your arms and discarded the item behind him.

left clad in just your cycling shorts and bra, all of your senses seemed heightened, and you whined pathetically as the material of minho’s shirt rubbed against your bare skin.

“what’s wrong, hmm?” he asked, lips barely leaving yours to mumble out the words. you whimpered and tugged at the hem of his shirt, which made him chuckle. “use your words, baby, or i can;t give you what you want.”

“shirt, min,” you whimpered, eyebrows furrowed as you pulled away from the kiss and looked up at him with doe eyes. “off.”

yet another chuckle left his lips, and he pushed you back gently until you fell on the bed, reaching up to rid himself of his shirt.

“why don’t you take those shorts off for me, love. wanna see if those pretty panties you’re hiding look as good as that bra, yeah?”

he was so condescending in the best way, and it lit a spark in your core. your body seemed to be working on its own as you peeled your shorts off and laid out on the bed to show yourself off to him. this seemed to please him as he grinned and removed his jeans, crawling onto the bed and resting above you using his arms for support.

“you’re so gorgeous, you know that?” when you whined again, he caressed your cheek with the back of his hand and a glint in his eye. “stop stressing your pretty head, baby. i’m gonna take care of you - just wanna look at you first.”

it was something he enjoyed, just looking at you. admiring you, if you will. knowing you were all for him, so pliant and willing to do anything asked before he could ever finish a sentence. it was a power trip, for sure, knowing you trusted him enough to have complete control over you like this, and he loved every second.

seeing how you squirmed under him, under his stare, had his throbbing in his boxers and he couldn’t wait to ravish you. the flush on your cheeks, spreading down your chest and across your ears. he’d never seen anything more beautiful, and he couldn’t wait a second longer to show you that.

he shushed your whines with a gentle kiss to your lips, reaching down to hook your leg over his hip.

“hush now, pretty girl. i’ll take care of you. let that pretty brain go blank, and let me do all the thinking and work for you, yeah?”

taglist: join taglists here @pretty-racha @skz-streamer @hyunjiins @backintomykpopphaseagain @demetrisscarf

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c0llisiion · 21 days ago

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★ smut , chan x reader , degradation , overstimulation

★ w/c: 523

Chan was very cocky about pulling countless orgasms out of you. Too cocky. He would boast about how every time you came, be it using his mouth, fingers, or his colossal cock, his ego would get inflated.

And you couldn’t handle hearing that anymore since it hurt your ego. And so you decided to teach him a lesson. One that would crumble his high and mighty ego by faking your orgasm. It was the most perfect plan to make him finally shut up.

Or so you would think.

Chan looked at you confused. His thrusts halting and his grip on your waist tightening.

You let out the fakest moan not even a few minutes in, and Chan caught onto that easily.

That wasn’t the way you moaned at all. That wasn’t even the way your body reacted when he pulled an orgasm out of you.

“Did you just-?” He asked, slightly offended. You pretend to catch your breath and mirror his confusion.

“Did I what?” You play coy.

Chan huffed and shook his head. “Dont play dumb with me y/n.” He pulled his cock out, earning a small whine from you. He leaned over your body, one of his hand next to your head, making sure he doesn’t fall on you.

“Im not ch-“ Before you could reply, you felt 2 thick fingers plunge into your hole, making you groan loudly.

His fingers started fucking in and out of you fast. Rough thumb drew circles on your poor clit. “Wanna fake your orgasm? I'm going to pull a hundred out of you.” He growled against your ear.

He moaned and gripped his wrist. “C-chan.. ffffuckkk…” His fingers penetrated your gushy walls. Your pussy was getting so wet, to the point it was audible.

“If you wanna fake it, make it believable.” His fingers curled into your g-spot. Your stomach caved in, and it felt like air got sucked out of your body.

“Dumb whore.” At his vile words, you couldn’t help but find your first release. Your pussy spasmed and clenched around his fingers as milky white liquid gushed out of your hole.

Chan smirked against your shoulder. “Just like that. You’re such a dumb slut. You really think you can fool me?” He presses his thumb against your clit, making you moan out pornographically.

You stared into his eyes with your glassy ones as he pulled another orgasm out of you. His fingers continuing their relentless assault on your sensitive pussy.

You shook your head and whimpered. You were already tired from the two orgasms, but Chan wasn’t going to stop. If he wanted to pull a hundred orgasms out of you? He would.

“What? too much? Too much for your little stupid brain to handle? Too much for your fucking pussy? Thought you didn’t like me fucking you? Isn't that why you faked it?” He asks tauntingly.

You shake your head vigorously and mumble out soft ‘no’s’ and ‘please’. Your eyes brimming with tears and your thighs quivering.

“I'm not gonna stop until I say. So I want you to be a good little girl and keep cumming for me. Understood?”

A/N: js a little Drabble to start off the last month :3 hope you like it! Send in your rqs! (Rlly need ideas huhu)

#stray kids smut #౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ yun’s silly fics #straykids smut #stray kids #straykids bang chan #stray kids bang chan #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #divider by @/cafekitsune

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viasdreams · 2 months ago

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ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ˚

texts with boyfriend bangchan !!

a/n: im srs about that nose shit…🐒

fake text m.list ☁︎⋅

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talkingsaxy · 3 months ago

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PHOTOS YOU'VE TAKEN OF YOUR BOYFRIEND CHANGBIN

please don't repost, requests open!

#skz #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #skz scenarios #skz fics #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz reactions #skz changbin #changbin #changbin x reader #seo changbin x reader #changbin fluff #changbin imagines #skz fluff #stray kids

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coichii · 28 days ago

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fruit cup - a thought

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“you’re staring down my food, baby.” he chuckles, breaking you out of the daze you were in.

“sorry, those grapes look so delicious though.” you say, practically licking your lips looking a the small fruit cup he had placed next to his dish.

“you want it?” he asks, not even paying it a second thought as he lifts it up and hands it to you.

“o-oh uh.” you stutter, caught off guard. “are you sure? it’s yours, I should have grabbed one.” but he doesn’t let you refuse, placing it in your hand anyway.

“no problem, I can get another one.” he smiles, looking at you fondly as you slip the lid open and pop a sweet grape in your mouth.

“thank you baby.” you giggle, but he doesn’t understand why you thank him for things like this. isn’t that what anyone would do for someone they love?

“no problem, baby.” he chuckles, digging back into his food with no idea that what he did made your whole day.

#stray kids #skz x reader #skz #straykids x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #kpop #bang chan x reader #bang chan fic

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hyprfixate · 20 days ago

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

read on AO3

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

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

pairing: bang chan x reader

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

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

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

word count: 21.6k

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

Chan was acting weird.

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

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

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

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

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

The guy you're secretly in love with.

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

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

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

Right. Your appointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's Chan.

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

something came up.

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

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

Something is definitely wrong.

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

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

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

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

Channie: i'm so sorry.

Channie: i can explain. i promise.

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

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

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

As usual.

You: breathe, Chan. it's ok.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

Channie: had plans?

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

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

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

Channie: give me some creditt

Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned

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

A win-win.

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

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

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

Channie: i'm here babygirl

Channie: coming up to help w ur bags

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”

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

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

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

“You're in pain.”

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

“Yes, I am, but how did you–”

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

Hm. He caught you there.

“How bad is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

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

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

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

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

No biggie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're just happy to have answers.”

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

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

“Maybe a six,” you breathe.

“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”

“It did, it's just wearing off.”

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

“What do you need, babygirl?”

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

“‘Course it is. Here.”

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

“Is that your couch blanket?”

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

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

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

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

“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”

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

This is home.

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

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

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

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

“Is it supposed to rain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

"You okay, babygirl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is not the protein bar box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.

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

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

And Chan happened to be one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still Chan.”

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

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

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

It does not frighten you the way it should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you pawsitive?”

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

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

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

"What is it?" you ask softly.

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

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

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

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

Your brain short circuits as the request processes.

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

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

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

Fuck it.

“Of course, Channie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ignore the heat in your stomach.

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

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

“Your hip,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“This good, babygirl?”

“Mmf.”

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

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

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

Things seem less charged in the morning.

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

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

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

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

You pause in the archway of the kitchen.

Food is… an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"It's going to rain?"

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

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

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

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

“During the full moon?” You supply.

He nods quickly. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

It's fine.

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

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

“My hands.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

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

“Try again.”

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

“It's a seven,” you breathe.

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

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

“Which bottle is it?”

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

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

Wow. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comfy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You repeat your mantra in your mind:

Everything is fine.

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.

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

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

You are immediately invested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.

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

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

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

Chan.

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Okay. Okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worst Cooks in America?”

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

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably.

… Maybe.

Everything is not fine.

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

Or pretending to.

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

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

You weren't sure what to do.

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

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

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

“Chan,” you start.

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

He's not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop on a thread that catches your attention:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's the one,” he grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.

Chan is not asleep.

Chan is very much awake.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

You can't look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His pupils blow.

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

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

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

You take another step closer.

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

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

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

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

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

Then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, there's silence.

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

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

You almost choke.

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

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

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

"Please?”

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

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

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

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

"Use your words babygirl."

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

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

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

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

Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you breathe.

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

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

"Oh god," you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh shit.

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

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

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

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

Typical stuff. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello?" You breathe.

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

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

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

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

The floor falls from under your feet.

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

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

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

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

You need to move. You need to get out.

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

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

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

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

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

But Chan…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's been crying.

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

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

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

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

Your heart breaks in two.

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

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

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

“Tell me what I did.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask me why,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan,” you breathe.

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

The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy.

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

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

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

To you he is just Chan.

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

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

It feels like home. It feels like safety.

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

It feels like perfection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, Alpha?" you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you not love all that he is?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bites you then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His everything.

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