#thank u for peak as always

[suntails]

stalemate

[edmunderson]

guess who finally figured out how to implement mods after an hour of googling? time to romance solas for realsies with leith >:)

[limerlove]

THEY CALL ME HOMEWRECKER

pairing. established!cait x reader ft. older!vi

content warning. eighteen+, some freaky toxic shit, caitlyn lowkey a bad girlfriend, reader a freak, and violet’s just there for a good time, ooc!vi mostly, strap!sex, threesome, jealousy, cheating, some good ‘ole drama, public!sex, slight voyeurism if you squint.

#thank u to my boo @sinstear for helping me facilitate this madness and giving me even more ideas for it. and for @shouyuus for always supporting my gay panicking. still crying about it. as always, eighteen+.

since the two of you were struggling financially, you’ve always stuck by caitlyn’s side. throughout all of her business endeavors, one finally stuck, the restaurant on avenue street, and god is it ever so booming. weeks of hectic hours turn into months of hardly seeing her due to her schedule always being on the flipside of hers.

all of it was so excruciating.

over the past few months, the cracks of your relationship fall over like a tsunami waves, crashing repeatedly into the shore. you try to talk about it with her — the two days out of the week when you actually see her — but she’s always too tired.

too this.

too that.

nothing you do is ever enough. it doesn’t matter if you set the mood just right, candles light with rose petals on the bed, buying a new lingerie set to attempt to peak your girlfriend’s interest.

“baby, it’s been months since we’ve had sex? do you just not want me anymore? caitlyn reassure you she does but makes no move to give you the relief you’re so desperately seeking. deadly kisses turn stale in your mouth, the bitterness of her stagnant need tastes like the dark chocolate on your tongue.

“just—“ caitlyn grunts as she gently shoves you off as her back turn away from you “not tonight.”

you’re so close to cry, to calling this relationship for what is, a colossal failure. deciding to cool down before offering her the proposition, the one you’ve been thinking about for a while now. no matter what you do, you love cait too much to call it quits. you have to fight for who you love, no matter the cost. this is the only choice you can make…right?

droplets kiss your skin, an oversized shirt hits your thighs as your feet pad away from the cool tile, the dampness of your hair touches the cotton as she looks at you, exhaustion written all over her gorgeous face.

“what if we opened this up? let someone…in.”

shyly, you mumble. and you expect some lewd response, anger, a finality to the end but you’re met with relief. “i think that’s a great idea, love.”

but caitlyn would live to regret those words. “just one night with someone else.”

the both of you agree.

all of it happened organically, that’s what you were her for. caitlyn was close and made sure not to hover. the stipulation being the two of you had to be attracted to whoever came home with the two of you. it’s when you spot her, checking you out from the other side of the bar.

“hi, cupcake.” her voice is sultry but her rasp velvet smooth.

“o-oh, u-um, hi—” you readjust shirt, the swell of your breasts threatening to spill from the tight top you’re wearing. she’s the hottest woman you’ve ever seen. soft lines on her face to resemble her age, but fuck, she’s so pretty.

powder-blue eyes resembling the sky as she checks you out from head to toe, unable to keep her eyes off of you. she can’t stop looking at you as you squirm underneath her blunt gaze.

“who’s the blue haired woman behind you? girlfriend? she looks like she wants to kill me for getting so close to you.” with a fierce sense of confidence running through her veins, she plays with the pretty silver chain hanging from your neck.

“she is my girlfriend but we have an understanding.” the nerves from your initial impression of her dissipate, as you step closer to her. “we’re on the hunt for someone to fuck our brains out, especially mine it’s been a little too long.”

"how long?"

the curoisty slips out before she can help herself, eyes falling back on your tits again again as you cross your arms over your chest, tongue running over your lips as the tattoo peeking out from her the underside of her neck.

“long enough.”

but caitlyn interjects, slithering her way as she immediately starts caressing the mystery woman’s forearm. it’s difficult to pretend there isn’t a sting in your chest when she so easily touches someone else without a second thought.

it isn’t fair, that’s all you’ve wanted, an ounce of her affection but it seems it just takes a certain kind of woman to get her going. on that doesn’t love her the way you do, one that’s hotter, sexier, and definitely has more experience than you.

caitlyn is all over her, all night. vi, as you’ve come to learn, is much older than you and cait, more successful than you could ever dream of, and she damn sure knows how to sweet talk. you can’t help but feel a little left out as you sip on your martini, courtesy of vi.

excusing yourself to freshen up, not that you believe either of them would notice, you wash your hands, splash some water on your cold face to calm yourself. it’s crystal clear, she always wanted to have sex, just never with you.

there she stands, proud and tall, with hope in her eyes like she’s found the missing piece of her puzzle. “so, she’s perfect, right? i mean we really hit it off. the both of us, right?”

you nod, “yeah, sounds perfect, cait.” but she’s too fucking horny too nice the clip to her name or the bitterness in your tone. she’ll have her fill and you’ll be stuck on the sidelines, again. she’ll do anything but acknowledge this relationship for the farce it is.

you should have known, all the signs right in front of you to see, and now it all it took a pink-haired goddess to show you the light. she’ll get her pussy wet for anyone who isn’t you.

“great! i’ll tell her. i’m so glad we decided to do this, love.”

love.

the irony of her burning affection nearly causes you to throw up.

still, you’re incessantly scrubbing at your hands, the skin feels raw, the top of your fingers wrinkling like prunes. the last thing you want to do is meet them out there. the gorgeously, very-fuckable stranger who your girlfriend can’t get enough of. you should have just done the right thing, put the relationship to bed along with the rest of your dignity. now you’d have to watch who you thought was the love of your life, get off right in front of you.

then she’s here. vi. with her beautiful face, her cologne that smells of vanilla and mahogany, her perfectly fit body, making you feel more insecure than you’ve ever been.

“you alright, princess? if you have second thoughts just say the word…”

“nope.”

with a violent urgency, you keep scrubbing the soap into your absolutely clean hands, bending over the counter slightly to rinse them when you feel her behind you, gripping at your hips. she reaches over to shut the water off, handing you a few paper towels to dry your hands.

what the fuck is she playing at? why isn’t she sucking caitlyn’s face off?

“i have something else in mind—” vi leans over as her hot breath kisses your ear, “and it has to do with this pretty, little skirt on the floor.”

“oh, vi, we should really go and meet caitlyn, she—” but you can’t talk, not when she starts stroking the silky skin of your thigh, pushing the hem of your skirt up just a hair.

“you sure about that?” vi crawls her playful hand underneath the hem, playing with the panties covering your cunt, teasing your slit through the delicate lace. “i had my eyes set on something i want to try first.”

“o-oh…kay, well, it’s really not the best idea. please, can we—"

“so you really want to princess? something tells me, you’re dying to have this pussy eaten, fucked….stretched. i have a perfect hot pink cock for you to get fucked with, a mouth to please you, and a good set of fingers for you to bounce on.”

before you realize what’s she’s doing, her heavenly hands dip inside your panties, splitting your folds like the red sea; as god intended. she groans in your ear when she not only feels, but hears how soaked you’ve become, hot breath setting your body aflame.

“how does that sound, princess? want me to take care of you?” you grind against her pelvis, back arching into her as she slips a lone finger inside you. you moan so high, it nearly sounds like a scream.

“mmm, shit, ahhh, that’s—”

becoming very aware of the public setting, anyone could walk in the door at any given moment, you try to refute but you’re struggling to find the words, as she curls her finger inside you, establishing a steady pace.

“what? don’t think of caitlyn now. she certainly didn’t care before, did she? let me guess…she left you and your vibrator to your own device, pressing on that pretty clit of yours, hoping she’d jump in but she couldn’t.

“she couldn’t do what needs to be done—” vi bites and sucks at your neck, you crane your body towards her in submission, giving the older woman all the access she needs to tear you apart. “but i can give you whatever you fucking want, princess.”

it doesn’t take anything else before you’re attacking the older woman with your lips, her tongue invades your mouth as she surges for dominance, gripping your plump cheeks through the small amount of fabric covering them.

immediately intertwining your finger through her hair as you tug on her roots, as your skirt rides up against almost rising completely as vi pushes you through the first open stall she sees. not giving one flying fuck who hears her.

“needed you first, you know that? couldn’t help myself as soon as i saw you. god, just you wait until tonight.”

you shake your head as she pushes the your skirt to your hip bones, ripping your panties off with one single rip!

“tonight?”

“yes, pretty girl, tonight. m’gonna make her watch while i fuck you on my cock.”

pressing her knee with force in-between your legs, an animalistic moan tumbles out before you could even stop yourself.

“c’mon, ride my thigh, sweet girl. that’s what you want, hm?”

vi’s strength centers you in like gravity, allowing you to slide further up her trousers, your folds fluttering against the friction, allowing the crease of her perfectly-ironed slacks to push against your soaking pussy.

“god, fuck her for not wanting to fuck you. i’ll fuck you all night if you let me.” vi grunts as she watches your body writhe, tits bouncing as chase your high.

“fuuuckkkkk,” you hiccup, so close as she pushes a thumb in your mouth, effectively shutting your mouth for a moment as you suck on the digit. swirling your tongue around her finger, pretending she’s fucking you with a strap instead.

“such a good girl for me.” pulling off with a delectable pop, she presses against your clit, blissful patterns being traced on your bundle of nerves and just with a few strokes you’re done for. falling fast and hard.

“vi, vi, oh fuck, baby, viiii—” a drawl of her name as she abuses the bundle of nerves, the ache for her full attention and freely does vi give it.

you fall into her chest, whimpering as her incessant need to play with your clit does nothing to help you calm down — all she does is rile you up.

fuck, caitlyn.

not a day in your life had you thought of being interested in someone so much older than you, but god you’d never come apart like that. not so quickly and not ever quite as hard. she knew what you liked without uttering a word.

the swipe of her thumb felt like a stroke of god, as if she was one, giving into your mundane pleasure, helping you close in on what seemed like an impossible finish.

this wasn’t part of the deal. shit, you’re so fucked.

“turn around.” you obey.

a pathetic servant willing to get it’s pay.

she slaps your ass once more, a whimper tumbles and vi eats up every second of it.

“how bad do you want my cock, baby?”

“so bad, please.”

“good. you’ll show me…in front of her.”

—

“just like that princess, fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty.”

violet’s hands steady your hips as you ride cait’s cock, the strap stretching you out to the heavens, vi guides you in perfect rhythm. you know you should feel bad, but you can’t stop staring at vi, her perfect eyes gleaming as you moan out her name.

not cait, vi.

“love—” caitlyn’s voice is drown outed when vi is looking at you the way she’s does, the way you’ve been begging your girlfriend too but she only does when there’s someone else giving you what you’ve been desperately craving.

“how does it feel, cupcake?” vi whispers in your ear, “does it feel good when you fuck yourself on her cock?”

without warning, vi slaps your ass as you jolt forward, the silicone cock slipping deeper within you, kissing your cervix as vi keeps her hand on your lower back, guiding your movements.

“f-feels really good, vi.”

vi kisses down your neck, biting at the skin before she presses her scarred lip against your ear.

“i know it does, princess. been wanting this for months, huh? don’t worry about a thing. i’ll take care of you.”

vi smirks as she sees caitlyn stirring with fury, bold pair of blues ignite under the fire of someone else seeing what is so rightfully hers. she hates this, knowing someone else is talking you through it, touching your skin, soft lips kissing the ample skin of your neck.

truthfully, she’s never been a jealous person. as the rises at the break of dawn and sets in the cool evening, caitlyn truly believed she’s the one for you — no one else could dare compete.

it’s caitlyn and you.

but suddenly it doesn’t feel like the two of you against the world.

it’s vi and you, the anxiety bubbling in her stomach feels catastrophic, so she fucks into you, making you squirm with need. but still, you’re so entangled in vi, you don’t even notice her.

the night hadn’t started the way caitlyn planned — or wanted — but she lapped at your cunt as vi instructed her to do so. she’d been vying for an ounce of her attention. truthfully, she’d settle for either one of you, but the two seem to enthralled with one another to even notice her existence.

but fuck, you’re her girlfriend. only hers.

but when you’re close, you ask vi for permission to come. it’s vi’s whose name you scream out when you start falling apart on caitlyn’s cock. it’s vi rubbing your clit, whispering sweet nothing in your ear as you see stars, it’s vi who pulls you into her lap as you cling onto her for dear life, as if caitlyn’s touch feels poisonous.

nothing makes sense.

when caitlyn thinks for a moment, she’ll get an ounce of attention, vi handcuffs her to the chair across the bed.

“what are you doing?” dark blue eyebrows furrow as her, eye squinting harshly.

“you’ll get your turn, be patient.” vi scolds, but she has no intention on following through on her promise. this is to make a mockery her, to show her exactly what’s she been missing.

in the full nude, she walks over to the night stand, grabbing the harness, and makes sure everything is just right for you — the hot pink dildo protrudes, just as she promised. the pink bush she’s sporting matches deliciously as her happy trail follows up her lower abdomen.

caitlyn wants to curse at the wind when you immediately fall in obedience, commands fly off vi’s tongue and you adhere to her wishes. the first has your mouth wrapping around her pink cock, she gently thrusts, lubricating the plastic with your tongue. your hands twisting vi’s pierced nipples, playing with the silver barbell, taking pride and joy when her breath hitches.

“lay on your back for me, yeah?” vi doesn’t waste another beat.

with reckless intent, she slides in, every inch of her saturated in your warmth. you waste no time, fingers woven through her hair like a thread through embroidery. her pink hair becomes nothing more than a leash for you tug on, each powerful thrust to much, too soon — but you also are too terrified to let go.

"take it, princess. just like that—" violet pushes deep, clinging to her broad back, scratches made in tandem when she delivers a brutal pace. "tell her how much you love my cock."

there she sits, jaw slack, mouth open so wide she could catch flies.

vi can't tell if you she's crying and part of her almost feels bed until desperate pleas of her name fall from sanctioned lips. violet smirks as she looks back at caitlyn, waiting for the inevitable moment of her crumble.

there's only so much one girl could take and violet knew she had to be hitting her limit. soft please of, babygirl, falls on ears that only hears vi's instruction. deviously, violet smirks as she watches caitlyn realizes exactly what as going on.

but it's too late.

you're already far out her grip as your grip onto violet for dear life as you come apart on her cock, moaning louder than caitlyn's ever heard.

you're never loud, even when the two of you did have sex, it's always been quiet.

sweet. soft.

nothing about this is tender as your squirt all over her bed sheet, effectively sending violet over the edge from watching you come, fucking you harder as you moan into her neck, sharp teeth sinking into her collarbones.

to sink the final dagger in her heart, you initate violet's lips locking in yours, a smashing of desire reaches it's fateful end. caitlyn watches as you lose yourself in someone else, someone older, wiser — her stomach churns as she desperately tries to break free of the restraints.

she's been made a fool of, a mere mockery just for wanting to try something you suggested. but the jealousy falls around her, she's not strong enough to watch you enjoy getting your brains fucked by someone who has everything.

for the first time in her life, she feels you slipping through her fingers.

"would you stop touching her? this is over. we're done with you, vi. she's my girlfriend, get off her." bitterly, caitlyn sneers.

"oh, she does?"

with a roll of her strong hips, vi thrusts deep into your pussy, you clench around her, arching your back as you cry out for your lover's touch.

"well, i hate to be the barrier of bad news, but she's not done which means neither am i. so, enjoy the show, cait. you sure have paid a pretty penny for it."

[celiababy]

already in love w ur page! i would love to see dads bestfriend joel from you!!

hi! thank u sm!! and ofc coming right up on a very hot and steamy platter 😛

Not Your Daddy

Pairing: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You're back from your first year at college. You've changed and Joel is quick to notice.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (36/19), swearing, p in v, size kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem!recieving) no Sarah, alcohol

Celia's note: Heres jus a lil something :) (not proofread sorry) also part 3 of ain't right is coming so so soon I promise!!

Joel Miller and your father were good friends.

When you and your dad moved in next door a little over three years ago, they hit it off quickly. Their tendency to take on random jobs for cash is what bonded them. Also sports.

You were shy then, never able to hold eye contact and always avoiding him whenever he was around.

But thankfully, you've grown into a woman. Your first year at college changed you.

Now, you were back for the summer, eager to sleep in your own bed and spend time with your home-town friends.

But honestly, you were most excited to see Joel.

You wanted him to see how much you've grown. See how mature you've become, how confident.

You always had a little crush on him—mostly because he was the kindest out of all your dad's friends.

You also wanted him to be the one to pop your cherry.

You were a virgin, and kinda always fantasized about Joel being the one to take it from you.

Sure, you’ve done some stuff with guys, but never gone all the way. You were saving that for him.

You knew it wouldn't take long until he made an appearance.

Your dad had offered to host a small get-together to celebrate you being back. He would barbecue in the backyard and hold bets for the basketball game.

It was really just an excuse for him to break out the grill and gamble, but you didn't care. Only because you knew Joel would be there.

You even put on your shortest white sundress and blew out your hair for the occasion.

Your body was buzzing with the idea of seeing him again.

You wondered if he had changed at all.

Your mind started spiraling at the thought.

What if he had changed? What if he was dating someone now? What if he was engaged?

You glanced in the mirror at your nearly perfect reflection and suddenly felt so silly. What if this was all for nothing?

You didn't have long to ponder that thought because the doorbell rings.

You peak out your window and see Joel's truck in the driveway.

Your dad answers the door downstairs, the faint murmur of voices distracting your ears.

The anticipation was gnawing at you like a hungry dog.

After collecting your nerves, you slowly descend the stairs to meet them in the kitchen.

The loud cussing gave away their location. "You've lost your damn mind if you think there's a chance in hell the Privateers of all fucking teams are gonna beat—oh, hey darlin'," Your dad greets you, clearing his throat like he wasn't just cussing out Joel.

His back is to you, but when he turns around, your heart fucking ignites.

He's just as handsome as the day you left. He looks momentarily stunned by you, his eyes flickering all over your figure. God—how was it possible for someone to change so much? You looked more than amazing.

He immediately feels ashamed for basically checking you out in front of your dad, his eyes snapping back up to your face.

"Christ kid, they feedin' you up there at A&M?" He teases before stepping in for a hug.

He even smells the same as he did all those months ago, pine and smoke. You feel relieved.

It seems like the only thing thats different about him is a few gray hairs.

"Hey Joel," you greet with a giddy smile, hugging him back and relishing in his warmth. "How are you?"

Joel is very surprised. He almost doesn't recognize you. You're so much more...more.

"M'alright, aside from the fact that your dad's gonna give me a fuckin' aneurysm one of these days."

You laugh and shake your head. "Fighting about the game tonight?"

"Yeah, this fuckin' asshat thinks the longhorns might lose tonight—messin' up the whole fuckin' mojo," Your dad rambles, his voice beginning to raise before the doorbell rings again. "I'll get that, need to get away from this traitor." He snorts before heading to the door and leaving you both alone.

Joel rolls his eyes before landing his gaze back onto you and your cute little sundress. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face you with his body.

"You behavin' up there at school?" He asks light-heartedly, though you find it excruciatingly hard not to reply in some suggestive way.

"Mhm," You hum unconvincingly with a charmingly guilty smile, holding back a laugh.

Joel cocks a brow, pretending to look at you judgmentally. "Lyin’ is a sin, y’know." He huffs, a smile creeping on his lips.

“I’ve been good, just a lotta temptations s’all..” You murmur softly, your body naturally drifting closer to Joel by swaying on your feet.

The tension in the room is palpable.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head the tiniest bit to the side, his voice dropping what seemed like several octaves.

In fear of your voice cracking when giving a verbal response, you opt for a nod of your head, but then shrug just to tease him.

He glares at you but then scoffs, shaking his head.

"When'd you become such a little shit-stirrer, huh?" He chides, reaching over to ruffle the top of your hair.

You laugh before pushing his hand away, your fingers lingering on his wrist for longer than it needed to.

His skin is warm, he's almost hot to the touch. You're having a very hard time tearing your eyes away from his face.

All the sudden, your father calls you into the other room.

"Get in here! Max and Ruby wanna hear about your classes." Max and Ruby being your neighbors who had undoubtedly stopped by for the party.

You peer up at Joel, your eyes almost begging him to ask you to stay. But instead, he gestures with his head for you to listen to your dad.

"Go on now," He husks out, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Reluctantly you leave him behind in the kitchen, your body still whirring with the adrenaline high you got from just talking to him.

***

It was nice seeing everyone that stopped by for the party. You hadn't realized how much you missed your people.

But Joel was making it hard to concentrate on conversation when you guys were playing eye-tag the entire night.

He really couldn't help himself. There was just something so magnetic about you now—it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

He watched you talk to some of your high school friends, then get up to fetch something from the kitchen.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to your ass once you turned around, his cock twitching in his pants because of the way your dress taunts him with its length.

He clears his throat.

Fuck was he thinking.

This was you he was ogling for christ sake. His best friends daughter.

These thoughts were not allowed. He needed to shut this down.

But the night goes on anyway, people getting more drunk and rowdy with each passing second.

Especially your father, who was currently in a screaming match with his work buddy about the game. They're all crowded around the small box tv in the kitchen, intently watching the tiny screen.

You're watching them from afar, amused by your father and the absurdity of it all.

"Ah fuck, we're outta ice," your dad groans, lifting up the empty bowl in annoyance. "Alright, one of you sons of bitches needs'ta make an ice run, m'not missing this game."

Joel groans out, dragging his hand down his jaw. "We're obviously gonna win—the team's up 46. Make the damn run yourself." He berates your father, who in turn just shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at Joel.

"Every time I don't watch the game to completion, we fuckin' lose. M'staying riiiight here."

"Fuckin' superstitious bastard." Joel groans from under his breath, picking up his truck keys from the counter. "You want some more beer while I'm out? Maybe my liver too? God knows you need a new one, goddamn alcoholic."

You're laughing at them in the corner, finding their banter extremely amusing.

Then, you suddenly realize this might be your chance to spend more alone time with Joel.

You lurch forward, quickly blocking his path. "Can I come with?"

He looks down at you, a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He's just about to reply to you before your drunk father cuts in.

"Ya, go with him, he can't carry the ice by himself or else his back’ll give out."

Joel turns his head to yell at your dad. "Shut your damn mouth," he barks, then turns back around to face you, placing his hand on your lower back. "'Course sweetheart, c'mon."

The drastic change in his voice when he talks to you versus your father makes your heart flutter.

He guides you outside to his truck, only dropping his arm from your back when he opens the passenger door for you.

Hopping inside, you settle yourself into the worn down bench seat. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the front of the vehicle, swinging open the driver side door and cranking the engine.

His old country music starts blaring from the speakers of the car, accompanied by the loud drum of his engine.

He’s quick to whip out of the driveway, steering with one muscular arm on the wheel.

You want to drool at the sight—you know your other lips most certainly are.

"So, you got a boyfriend up there at school?" He asks after clearing his throat.

He wants to subtly test the waters, whether he knows it now or not.

You smile, the thought of dating any guy besides Joel was laughable.

"Nope. They're all kinda gross."

"Gross? Yeah, well, most guys your age are." He mumbles, thinking back to his late teens, early twenties—Yikes.

"What about you? Got a woman yet?" You ask, following his line of questioning.

Joel scoffs, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “Does it look like I got a woman in my life?”

He looks down at himself for a second to get his point across, making you follow his gaze.

His wrinkly navy shirt had paint stains on it, his jeans were so old, they looked one wash away from disintegrating, and his beard needed a trim.

You try to stifle your giggle by turning your head away. “Yeah, guess not.”

Your mind starts wandering off, imagining what being Joel's woman would look like...having dinner together...sharing a bed...showering together...

God you wanted to be his girl so bad.

You hear yourself speaking before you even know what you’re saying. “Maybe I can help you—y'know, find a woman n’all.”

Joel casts you an assessing glance, cocking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? N’how would you do that?”

He doesn’t even mean to sound sexy but the way he talks makes you wanna melt.

“Well, for starters, a haircut might do you some good.” You tease, scooting closer to him on the bench seat to fiddle with the overgrown hair by his neck.

The way your body is turned to face him gives Joel a clear view down the front of your dress, the skin of your breasts making his cock twitch.

“What’re you talkin’ about? My hair looks great.” Joel knows he’s lying, but he just wants to see you laugh.

Which you do. “Yea, maybe to a blind chick.”

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” Joel chides, using his free hand to come up and playfully tug at your hair.

You erupt in giggles, swatting his hand away while simultaneously trying to tug his hair back.

Eventually, you two stop messing with each other, but you reiterate that you're serious.

"I mean it—it’d be super fun giving you a make-over."

Joel pulls into the gas station and shifts his truck into park.

"You've lost your damn mind if you think I'm gonna let you get anywhere near my head with clippers."

You roll your eyes and giggle, following him out of the vehicle.

"C'monnn, it'll be fun!" You squeal, trailing behind him as he walks into the store, the bell chiming as you both enter.

He pretends to ignore you, walking along the isles to the freezer section.

"I'll be super careful," You muse, snagging a bag of skittles from off one of the shelves before he can notice.

“I promise I won’t fuck up your cut.” You joke, laughing at yourself.

“Hey—watch it.” Joel warns when hearing your profanity, snapping back to look at you, only half-joking.

You roll your eyes—it's ironic coming from him who cusses like a sailor. You brush past him as he opens the freezer, letting your back lean against one of the glass doors, facing him.

"You're not my daddy, y'know. Can't tell me what to do." You purr, a shit-eating grin beginning to form on your perfect face.

Joel feels his blood pressure spike.

You're making this impossible for him and you know it.

His body moves for him before he can stop himself.

After he grabs two ice bags, he closes the freezer and subsequently steps closer to you, popping your personal space bubble.

"You're right. M'not your daddy." He husks, looking down at you and your parted lips. Your chests are centimeters away from each other, and you find yourself holding your breath. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The way he’s looking down at you like prey yet speaking so nonchalantly has your brain spinning. There was definitely an underlying threat in his words.

Before you can respond, he’s turned around and walking up to the register, throwing down a 10 dollar bill and telling the cashier to keep the change.

Science can’t explain the drastic acceleration your heart rate just experienced—but you can.

Joel fucking Miller.

He had to be insinuating something, right?

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body, stumbling to catch up with him as he walks out the store.

He lugs the ice into his trunk like nothing happened, the tension in his muscles catching your eyes.

Yet, he still comes around to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

Now was your chance to get him back.

You lift yourself up in the truck, purposefully climbing into the bench seat in a way that gave Joel a clear view of your ass—as well as your thong that wasn't really covering much.

His hand clamps down so hard on the car handle that it nearly crumbles under his grip.

You hear him clear his throat before the door slams shut next to you, making you jump a bit.

When he passes in the front windshield, he's shaking his head and dragging a hand down his scruffy jaw. You can't help but giggle at his exasperated expression.

His takes longer to get into the car and start things up this time, trying real hard not to meet your instense gaze.

When he refuses to make eye contact, you huff out a breath and rip open your skittles bag.

This catches Joel's attention.

"You pay for that?"

"...sure." You murmur unconvincingly with a shrug, trying not to smile. "Want some?"

He watches as you pop a few in your mouth, holding out the bag for him.

Begrungingly, he grumbles out a 'yeah' and holds out his palm.

***

The party had fizzled out when you guys returned. There were a few stranglers sitting around and chatting, but for the most part, things seemed to be dying down.

So much for the ice.

Your dad and his friends had migrated to the living room and once Joel put the bags away, he joined them.

He sat on the couch with a grunt, his legs immediately settling into the manspreading position.

You tried not to drool but your mouth was definitely salivating. To avoid moaning just at the sight of him, you head upstairs, the old wood boards creaking beneath your feet.

You don't see it, but Joel's got his eyes on you, following you with his gaze till you're out of sight.

He feels guilty thinking about how much he wants to fuck you when he's literally sitting right next to your father, but he can't help himself.

It's a while before you come back down, when you do, theres a razor in one hand, clippers in the other.

"No." Joel instantly says, shaking his head.

"Yes." You squeal, beaming down at him.

"Awh, go on Joel, you been needin' a clean up." Your dad chimes in, smacking his shoulder. His other buddies encourage it until he has no choice than to give in just so everyone would shut up.

"Fine—fine. Y'all gon' get yours, thats for damn sure." Joel grumbles, stomping up the stairs.

You're laughing all the way up, bubbling with excitement.

"Come down and give us the reveal when you're done!" Your dad screams to which you giggle.

You basically shove Joel into your bathroom, pulling in a stool for him to sit on.

"You better know what yer doin'." He grunts, sitting down on the stool and looking at you with weary eyes.

"Anything I do to you would look better than what you have now."

Joel promptly stands back up when hearing your words, trying to walk away, but you grab onto his arm. "I'm kidding, I’m kidding! I promise I'll do a good job."

You press on his shoulders to sit him down again, your throat running dry when you see the way he’s glaring up at you.

He’s not actually angry—just a bit peeved that he doesn’t have enough self control to stop thinking about fucking you against the bathroom sink.

You start working, none the wiser, bringing the electric razor to his jaw.

Your bodies are close, Joel can smell your delicious perfume and it makes him wanna eat you up.

You start to notice how sometimes his eyes will flicker to your chest, before abrupdtly looking away and clearing his throat.

Your boobs did look great in this dress, maybe you should give him a better view...

The devilish thought pops in your brain and you're acting it out before you know it.

You set the razor down and grab the clippers, stepping around to the front of his body. "May I?" You murmur, not even waiting for his answer before straddling his lap.

You sit on his thighs and Joel feels himself straighten like a board.

“Kid—what do you think yer doin’?” He immediately sputters out, his expression stern.

He’s trying so hard not to look down at where your dress had ridden up from straddling him. He can almost see your cunt, for christ sake.

“Nothin’.” You murmur, bringing your shaking hand up to trim the hair on his jaw. You curse at yourself for not even having the wits to keep calm, you just know your flushed fave is giving you away.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel reiterates, completely unbelieving as his eyes drag down your body slowly.

Then, everything shifts.

There’s something more assertive in Joel’s demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there.

You feel his calloused hand on your thigh, your body erupting in goosebumps when he travels it up dangerously high. Using his other hand, he grips your wrist, pulling it down and away from his face.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” His voice is a low murmur.

You’re both locked in eye contact now, hearts beating in sync.

He hears your breath hitch and sees how your eyes are flashing between his gaze and lips. He knows what you’re after—he’s just not sure if he wants to give in yet.

You, on the other hand, are dying of anticipation. He’s not budging, so you’re left to drag your hips up his lap and press down on the bulge in his pants.

"Girl—" He growls out before his hands come up to stop your waist from moving any further. "You don't know what your doin'."

"Do I have to fucking spell it out for you, Joel?" You rush out, dropping the scissors and latching onto his shoulders. You're panting and your face is pink, a needy/irritated expression woven into your features.

He feels your nails digging into his shoulder blades and sees that desperate look in your eyes—he's done for.

"No, I won't make ya do that f'me, sweet heart." He murmurs before abruptly picking you up from under your thighs.

A squeak of surprise leaves your lips at his effortless display of strength. You swallow your nerves after he sets you down on the counter, lodging himself between your legs.

"But I am gon make you say it."

Is he teasing you?

No, his face looks too serious for him to be teasing.

Oh, maybe he just wants clear clarification.

Your heart swells at his consideration.

Sucking in a deep breath, "I want your dick in my vagina." You giggle out, knowing he was probably expecting sexier wording. Joel smirks, crashing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah? S'that what you want?"

You're nodding against him, smiling wide because you just admitted something that you never thought you would.

"N'have you done that before? Y'know, dick in vagina." He copies your candance, but you stop smiling.

Out of all the fucking questions, that was the one that you didn't want to be asked the most.

You had hoped if you came on strong and flirted like you had done it a million times, he would've just assumed you weren't a virgin.

But the bastard always had to be so careful.

You didn't want him to know because you figured it would turn him off—then all you'd become is his best friend’s daughter all over again.

You knew if you lied he would just sniff it out anyway, but you tried nonetheless.

"...Yea. Couple times."

You watch as Joel's face forms into a 'yea right' kind of expression before he sighs out.

"Why'a lyin' to me, kid?"

You groan, throwing your head back and hitting the mirror with the back of your skull.

"Thats why—I don't want you thinking I'm a kid anymore. M'not. I'm grown. I'm grown and I want..your dick in my vagina."

He scoffs, dragging a hand down in jaw in disbelief. "Lyin' ain’t a good way to show me your grown."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

Your face crumbles because you think you just ruined this whole thing. Yet, Joel's hands come up to cup your face, holding them there a moment before they drift down to rest on your neck.

"S'alright, you're alright. M'not mad at'cha." He reassures, making sure you're looking in his eyes before he continues. "M'flattered sweetheart, I really am but-"

"Please don't say some bullshit like you don't think you're the man for this job because trust me when I say this Joel, you're the only guy I've ever wanted to be with."

You gush out, your mouth a leaky faucet. But Joel still looks conflicted.

You figured now would be a good time to bring out the big guns.

"If you won't do it cus I'm a virgin, I'll just have sex with the first guy I see, how about that?"

Joel's eyes darken and his jaw clenches. Now you've just pissed him off. "Don't manipulate me like that." He says sternly, to which you immediately falter in your confidence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it." You shake your head at yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. Joel sighs, leaning back but still keeping himself between your legs.

"Look," you start up again, bringing your hand down to hold his muscular bicep. "I've wanted to do this with you for so long. I really want it to be with you. Even if it's just one time, that's okay. Just need you in some way—Joel."

Your voice tapers off into a whisper because his stare intimidates you.

He exhales through his nose before running a hand through his hair and fixing his back to stand up straighter.

"Alright." He huffs, his face looking like he just surrendered in war.

"Alright?" You repeat, hopes high.

"I'll do it," He removes himself from between your legs and slides his grip down to your thighs. "But not right now."

Your heart drops.

"Why not?" You whine like a kicked puppy.

He brings one hand up to pinch your cheek. "Cus your daddy's down stairs, m'not a fuckin' monster." He grumbles before letting go and starting to walk out, but you grab him.

"Fine, but can we at least.." You hop down off the counter and pull him back, kissing him abruptly.

It starts slowly at first, you're both scoping out the scene, but then you get eager.

A tongue slips into his mouth and he returns the favor, his hands finding themselfs back on your hips.

In no time, he has your back up against the wall while he devours your mouth like a man starved. And just as his hand starts sliding up your dress and he's about to go back on his word, a voice comes from downstairs.

"C'mon down Joel, we wanna see the new cut!"

You groan as Joel slips from you, walking back downstairs while wiping his jaw and adjusting the boner in his pants. *** Now it was a waiting game.

Everyone but your dad's friends had left the party; they were just sitting around, watching TV and drinking beers.

You and Joel can't stop making eye contact from the opposite ends of the room. It was like torture not being able to fuck him immediately.

You're quick to conjure up a plan, though.

"Hey dad," you start, twirling a loose thread from your dress around your finger.

"Ya?"

"Didn't they reopen Chambers, like, two weeks ago?" You ask, trying to keep your voice as inconspicuous as possible.

Chambers was the local bar that your dad and his buddies loved to go to. You were just trying to plant a seed.

"Mm, yea, I reckon they did." He sighs out, eyes glued to the TV.

"S'been awhile since we've been there." One of his friends chime in.

"We should go grab a few drinks—I've missed picking up broads from there.." Another friend says, to which your dad promptly hits his arm because he doesn't like that kind of talk when you're present.

Nevertheless, he casts you a questioning glance. "You gon' be alright if we go?"

You try so hard to mask your instant glee. "Oh yeah, I'll be fine! Y'all go n' have fun."

"Alright punkin," They all stand, gathering up their wallets and keys—everyone except Joel. "You comin'?" Your dad asks him.

You glare at him to make sure he understands what you're trying to do.

Joel inhales through his nose before sighing out with a smile. "M'gonna call it a night, boys."

Thank god.

They all grunt and groan in protest, but eventually everyone filters out of the house.

You stand in the door jam and watch as your dad and his buddies file into the car, Joel standing on the porch to wave them off. Words are exchanged between everyone, mostly cussing, as they make their depature.

You both watch as they leave the culdesac, even waiting until you couldn't hear the car engine in the distance before looking at Joel.

Your breath catches in your throat when he turns around to look at you, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sly work." He murmurs, walking forward and forcing you to walk back into the house.

You're not sure why you're so nervous all the sudden.

Because you were pretending to be bold and experienced before, you had no choice but to mask your nerves. Now, that Joel knows the truth, you feel...vulnerable. But in the best way possible.

He backs you into the house before closing the door behind him, his head hanging to look at the ground.

"I had to get you alone somehow." You murmur with a shrug of your shoulders.

It was the truth.

You hear Joel chuckle and watch as he brings his head up to look at you. He's assessing you.

A beat of silence washes over you both.

"You said you would, Joel." You try to say sternly, although your voice wavers because you're scared he might've changed his mind.

"I know what I said." He steps closer, your torso's centimeters apart.

The eye contact is heavy—it feels like an avail against you. But you love it—love him. You're holding back from jumping his bones right by the front door.

"Good." You practically whisper, slowly taking his large hand in yours. You wait until he interwines your fingers before turning around and guiding him up the stairs.

Every creak under his and your feet sounds deafening in the silence between you both.

His hand is sweating, but so is yours.

When you make it to your bedroom, you walk inside and sit on the edge of your bed, gazing up at him.

"How many women have you slept with?" You hear yourself blurt before you can stop yourself.

His lips tighten into a line before he sits down next to you. Your sides are touching, his hands are resting on his knees.

"A few." He grunts, turning to face you. "Lot of 'em forgettable. But this," he gestures between the two of you. "ain't no comin' back from this, you hear me?"

You nod, your hand slipping over his knee. You're trying to trail it higher up his thigh, but he stops you with his hand.

"Need to make sure you know that before we do this. Don't want you regrettin' it later-"

"I won't." You say curtly, only because you know with complete certaintly that there was no way you'd ever regret this.

Everything is still for a moment, the only sound in the room is the both of your breathing. He's staring at you so hard, just waiting for even a hint of hesitation.

But it never comes.

In one swift movement, Joel's lips are on yours, pushing you back into the mattress and settling on top of you.

It makes you dizzy how effortlessly he's making out with you now.

He slots himself between your thighs and you moan at the feeling.

It's embarrassing how little he had to do in order to get you off.

But it's Joel, for christsake—he could just stand there and you'd probably find a way to orgasm at least twice.

It feels like he's engulfing you entirely; his musuclar arms wrapped around you, tongue down your throat, chests pressed together—pure bliss.

Suddenly and devastatingly, he breaks away for just a moment. "Sit up." He husks, to which you immediately oblige.

He lifts your dress up and off, momentairly stunned by the sight of your bare breasts.

"Christ, you're unreal." He groans before latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, using his hand to grope the other one.

You're a mess of moans, but you manage to speak in between. "Take your clothes off too," you whine, pawing at his shirt.

Joel grumbles, taking his time. He strips his shirt off and your hands are quick to latch onto his belt, fumbling with the leather strap but eventually yanking it out of the loops.

His hands come out to steady yours. "Slow down, no rush." He purrs in his texan drawl, making you shiver.

You groan out in frustration, letting your back fall down against the bed again. "You gonna make me wait all summer?"

"If you keep bein' a brat, then maybe." Joel huffs, yanking you back by the legs so he can pull your thong off. He dangles the stringy piece of fabric by his finger, looking at it assessingly.

"Joel!" You squeal, embarrassed. He effortessly holds you down with one hand against your stomach, not letting you swat it away from him.

"This what you go 'round wearin'?" He teases, grinning sharply.

You shrug, all squrimy, prodding him with your legs. "Would it turn you on if I said I wore them for you?"

You almost don't notice when Joel stuffs your underwear into his back pocket because of how drawn you are to his eyes. He's looking at you like a man starved—you love it.

"You been plottin' on me, is that it?" His voice makes your wet hole clench around nothing. He's teasing, but you also feel like you've just been caught.

You definitely weren't as suave as you thought you were.

"Stop makin' fun of me. " You huff with a flustered face, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joel smirks, finally prying apart your legs and taking a good, long look at your dripping cunt. "Christ almightly..." He groans at the sight of you, his cock straining hard against his jeans. "Pretty lil thing."

Your back arches off the bed when you feel Joel's thumb brush against your folds, tantilizingly slow. "Nice n' wet, atta girl." He muses, spreading your lips apart with his fingers.

You wanted to make a joke about him inspecting you like some doctor, but the words died quickly on your tongue when you felt him stroke your clit.

"Joel," You moan, hips squirming impatiently. "Fuck, I need you,"

"You got me, babygirl," Joel murmurs before lowering his head and devouring your cunt completely.

His tongue laps at you with fever, primarily focusing on your aching clit. The sensation nearly makes you pass out, especially when he pushes a finger inside of your hole.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," You whine, fisting the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white.

Having someone eat you out and it being actually enjoyable is one thing, but having Joel Miller eat you out and it being amazing, was blowing your mind.

He didn't even take breathers.

Joel was consuming you like he didn't need air. Soon, you feel another finger stretch you open, then another, until Joel has three fingers smoothly pumping in and out of you.

It quickly becomes all too much for your little brain. "Hmph..fuck Joel m'gonna come," You whine, your hips staggering against his mouth.

He doesn't answer you, in fact, Joel just wraps his musclar arms tightly under your thighs, securing you in place. In this position, you were rendered completely immoveable.

He kept you right where he wanted you.

"Waitwait, shit, Joel," His tongue is relentless, drinking you up like he was dying of thirst in the desert. Tears are forming in the lining of your eyes, the stimulation overloading you.

"Fuck!" You cry, coming completely undone beneath him. Your entire body shakes with pleasure as you finish, thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Joel laps you all the way through it, humming contentedly against your soaked cunt.

When your body goes limp against the bed, thats finally when Joel lifts his lips off you. His entire face down past his nose is drenched in your juices; the sight makes your stomach flutter.

"Holy fucking shit Joel," You whimper, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. "That was amazing."

Joel lands a couple soft warning pats against your cunt, making you flinch and squirm from overstimulation.

"You cuss like a sailor, y'know that?"

"S'hard not to when you're makin' me feel so good." You're mumbling, wiping at the tear streaks on your face with the back of your hand.

"Mm, I know," He hums in that caring tone, crawling on top of you and placing a few chaste kisses on your lips.

It doesn't take long for your libido to rise again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kissing him back.

You bring a hand down to palm at his boner, giggling into the kiss. He groans at the feeling, rutting his hips into your hand. "Fuck me now please," You say breathlessly into his ear, nipping and licking at his neck.

He scoffs at your enthusiasm.

Finally, Joel pulls his pants off, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

You're enamoured by the sight of it. Long in length, even bigger in girth. You practically start drooling.

"You got a starin' problem too." Joel grumbles, grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up so he can kiss you again.

You chuckle into his lips, breaking away for a moment to speak. "I can't help it. It's handsome..you're handsome." You muse, getting a fist around his cock, managing to stroke it a few times before Joel stops you.

You don't have time to think or argue before he turns you over onto your side, situating himself behind you.

He's spooning you, except his left arm is hooked around your chest and his right has your leg lifted up, allowing his cock to slip between your folds.

Once again, he's got you right where he wants you.

"Joel," You bring your hands up to hold onto his forearm, pushing your ass back into him. "Put it in." You all but demand, trying to desperately grind your cunt on him.

He tightens his grasp on your collarbone, pulling you tighter against his chest. "Keep your leg up baby," Joel mutters lowly in your ear, letting go of your leg to guide his cock to your entrance.

His fat tip prods against your willing hole, making you dizzy with need. He runs his fingers along your folds one last time, gathering up your slick and using it to lubricate his cock.

Your heart is beating a million miles per hour. The moment you had been dreaming of for so long was finally here.

Joel, taking your virginity—your prayers were answered.

Slowly, Joel starts inching his way inside, the stretch making you gasp.

It feels fine at first, just a dull ache, but then it hurts���bad.

You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, trying to push through the pain. However, your body clenches down on the intrusive appendage, causing Joel to groan out.

It feels good for him, but he's been around the block a few times to know what's happening.

"You okay? I need'a stop?" He asks in that raspy voice of his, to which you immediately shake your head.

"Nonono, god no, don't stop. Just—just ram it in." You say foolishly, making Joel scoff.

"No, sweetheart, as much as I want to—bad idea." He brings his hand back down between your legs, rubbing a few slow circles into your clit. "Just relax and open up for me, thaaaats it," He encourages in that tone that lights fires in your core.

The perfect stimulation on the bundle of nerves made you forget all about the pain, letting your hole ease up a bit.

He takes the oppurtunity to keep breaching you deeper, peppering kisses to your neck and back in the process. His fingers stay glued to your clit, and before you know it, he's half way inside.

Your holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

But you're so full of him and it's perfect. You can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. Either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips and feeding Joel's growing ego.

"You feelin' good sweetheart?" He rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth till he reaches that half way mark. You nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for a kiss.

He satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

His dick in you, his tongue down your throat, his arms pinning you to him. Fuck.

But you still want more.

In a shocking move, you slam your hips back against him, burying him all the way inside.

Moans fill your little bedroom, both his and yours, and for a moment, a flash of regret hits you like a truck.

He's big, and it fucking hurts.

But once the initial pain subsides, it’s like ecstasy.

"Fuck—girl, what'd ya do that for?" Joel hisses, tensing up because he's trying not to come fast.

"Couldn't wait," you pant, tears spilling out the corners of your eyes. "Please move." You're pleading because being stationary is somehow even more painful. You squirm in Joel's strong grasp, trying to stop the ache between your legs.

He's no match for you.

In a gentle but swift motion, Joel situates himself on top of you, closing your thighs together and putting them on one side of his body—all while still inside of you.

He cages you in with his big strong arms, looking down at your needy expression as he gradually starts rocking his hips into you. You're twisting your torso to remain looking at him, clawing at his biceps with your nails.

"This how you like it?" He huffs out, the sweat evident on his brow. "Deep n' slow?"

You want to respond to him, but it's hard to because every other sound you make is a moan.

He's so deep and never fails to hit the one spot that just makes you melt.

Opting for a non-verbal response, you nod with fever, gyrating your hips to meet his thrusts.

He chuckles, the sound alone makes you wanna come.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer—Joel finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

But he's no better, he'd been groaning in your ear since the start of it. He really cant help it, your cunt is like a silky, wet vice molded perfectly for his cock.

Joel lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. He continues he's deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. He also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

Christ.

Your head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The stimulation was insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

Your body wracks with jolts and spasms—your body trying to cope with everything it's feeling. Joel takes notice, a proud and lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"M'gonna cum," You whine, your body writhing against him with each thrust.

Your pussy is clenching down on him with each piston of his hips, Joel is not far behind you.

He rubs your clit in a way that makes you come undone, your back arching up off the bed and your toes curling from pleasure.

At the same time, Joel picks up his pace, only to pull his cock from inside you and pump it a few times before unloading his seed onto your naked torso.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing coming from the both of you. Joel's staring down at your pussy, entraced with the way your hole is constricting around nothing.

Then, he looks at your face. Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted, your chest is heaving up and down. He's admiring you and all your fucked-out glory.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping off the tear stains with his thumb. "You alright?" He husks out, looking down at you assessingly.

"M'perfect." You coo, slowly opening your eyes and leaning up to kiss him. Joel returns it, loving the way your mouth opens so readily for him.

He'd have to try it out with his dick next time.

"Can we go again?" You murmur into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joel scoffs because he thinks you're kidding. You're not. When he realizes this, he shakes his head in disbelief, pushing you down onto the bed by your shoulders.

"Don't worry, we got all summer."

[hyprfixate]

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

read on AO3

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

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

pairing: bang chan x reader

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

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

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

word count: 21.6k

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

Chan was acting weird.

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

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

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

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

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

The guy you're secretly in love with.

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

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

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

Right. Your appointment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's Chan.

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

something came up.

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

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

Something is definitely wrong. 

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

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

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

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

Channie: i'm so sorry.

Channie: i can explain. i promise.

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

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

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

As usual.

You: breathe, Chan. it's ok. 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

Channie: had plans?

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

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

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

Channie: give me some creditt

Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned

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

A win-win.

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

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

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

Channie: i'm here babygirl

Channie: coming up to help w ur bags 

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”

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

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

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

“You're in pain.”

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

“Yes, I am, but how did you–”

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

Hm. He caught you there.

“How bad is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

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

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

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

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

No biggie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're just happy to have answers.”

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

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

“Maybe a six,” you breathe.

“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”

“It did, it's just wearing off.”

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

“What do you need, babygirl?”

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

“‘Course it is. Here.”

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

“Is that your couch blanket?”

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

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

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

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

“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”

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

This is home.

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

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

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

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

“Is it supposed to rain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

"You okay, babygirl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is not the protein bar box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.

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

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

And Chan happened to be one of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still Chan.”

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

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

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

It does not frighten you the way it should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you pawsitive?”

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

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

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

"What is it?" you ask softly.

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

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

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

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

Your brain short circuits as the request processes.

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

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

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

Fuck it.

“Of course, Channie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything is fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ignore the heat in your stomach.

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

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

“Your hip,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“This good, babygirl?”

“Mmf.”

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

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

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

Things seem less charged in the morning.

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

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

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

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

You pause in the archway of the kitchen.

Food is… an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"It's going to rain?"

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

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

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

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

“During the full moon?” You supply.

He nods quickly. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

It's fine.

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

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

“My hands.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

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

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

“Try again.”

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

“It's a seven,” you breathe. 

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

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

“Which bottle is it?”

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

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

Wow. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Comfy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You repeat your mantra in your mind:

Everything is fine.

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.

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

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

You are immediately invested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.

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

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

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

Chan.

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Okay. Okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worst Cooks in America?”

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

Great. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Probably.

… Maybe.

Everything is not fine.

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

Or pretending to.

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

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

You weren't sure what to do.

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

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

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

“Chan,” you start.

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

He's not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop on a thread that catches your attention:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's the one,” he grinned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subsequently drop the cup on the floor.

Chan is not asleep.

Chan is very much awake.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

You can't look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His pupils blow.

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

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

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

You take another step closer.

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

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

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

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

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

Then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you murmur. "Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, there's silence.

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

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

You almost choke.

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

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

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

"Please?”

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

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

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

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

"Use your words babygirl."

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

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

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

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

Or as normal as you can, under the circumstances.

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

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

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

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

"Chan," you breathe.

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

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

"Oh god," you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh shit.

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

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

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

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

Typical stuff. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello?" You breathe.

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

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

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

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

The floor falls from under your feet.

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

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

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

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

You need to move. You need to get out.

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

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

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

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

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

But Chan…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's been crying.

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

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

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

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

Your heart breaks in two.

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

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

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

“Tell me what I did.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Classical Ehlers Danlos,” you supply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask me why,” he breathes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chan,” you breathe.

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

The hopeless romantic in your heart is giddy. 

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

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

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

To you he is just Chan.

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

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

It feels like home. It feels like safety.

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

It feels like perfection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, Alpha?" you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you not love all that he is?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bites you then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His everything.

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen act with their acts-of-service s/o

requested by 🦆 anon! kinda veered into me talking ab svt's love languages in some places lol (some1 remind me to write that hc at some point...) masterlist

seungcheol

might sometimes fight u on this but don't take it personally ok?? he's just so used to taking care of other people that having someone do things for him instead is so… weird. it definitely takes some getting used to, but he certainly doesn't hate it. it's quite sweet. returns the favour by showering you with as many gifts as he possibly can

jeonghan

you know that this is literally his dream come true, right? you know you're his soulmate now, right? absolutely adores getting doted on like this so you can BET he's beyond pleased that your love language is literally taking care of him. don't think it's just one sided, however. jeonghan is a mix of all the love languages, so you can bet he's doing countless other things for you too

joshua

watching his face morph from confusion to surprised realisation when he notices you've done something for him never fails to make your day. for joshua, it's still surprising every time (he's just 24/7 touched by ur love) and he knows how much you love doing things for him, and so he just lets you do what you love. it's also so devastatingly sweet, and knowing you pay attention to him this much makes his heart melt

junhui

loves it, mainly because every time u do something for him, it gives him the excuse to smother you with kisses. his love language is touch, okay, but sometimes he knows he can get overwhelming… but if he's giving you a kiss as a thank-you for doing something for him, then there's no way that can be overwhelming yk!! still kisses you all the time, tho. the acts of service thing is just an excuse. 

hoshi

he's a youngest child, so obviously he loves it. getting doted on like this is the best thing in the world for him, but also he loves seeing you light up with joy every time you do something that you think will make him happy. you look so gorgeous when you're happy like this, so you can bet he's bounding over to pepper your faces with kisses and shower you with compliments because oh, he's just soo lucky to be loved by you

wonwoo

has admitted to you during pillow talk more than one time that he loves when you take care of him like this. it makes him feel so—noticed, like he's something precious, something worth paying attention to, and it touches his heart to be loved in that way. always repays the favour through his actions and his words wherever he can, telling you sincerely how much he loves you and is so grateful that you love him

woozi

pretends to hate it but actually really likes it. he doesn't like it all the time, but there is something nice about how sometimes, he'll have this overwhelming list of things he has to do and then he finds that—oh. you've done some of those things for him, without him even breathing a word of it to anyone. it makes him feel seen, incredibly touched that you cared enough to notice and take some off the load off his shoulders. 

minghao

whenever you try to engage in acts of service for minghao, it kind of fails bc it turns into both of you doing stuff together. it's what happens when your love language of acts of service meets minghao's love language of quality time. everything becomes a duo activity. but honestly, you don't mind, because you love anything that has to do with minghao

mingyu

mingyu is so acts of service coded that this can go one of two ways. 1) he adores u doing things for him. you knowing what he needs done without him even saying? peak love fr. or 2) he's adamantly against it bc hey, he's meant to be taking care of you, wdym you did all the laundry for him this week???? either way tho, mingyu probably ends up sweeping you in his arms and kissing u soft and sweet 2 show how much he loves u too

dokyeom

melts into the floor every time you do something for him omg. this man canonically loves being called a princess so this kind of princess treatment is perfect for him!!! gets all touched and giggly when you carry out tasks for him, blushes when you feed him food and is just all in all a complete mess of adoration for u. it's one of the many reasons you love doting on him so much. 

seungkwan

both of you are acts of service people and it's honestly so funny. you tidy the living room bc you know he's been wanting it done, and he'll cook dinner bc he knows how tired you are. that's all well and good, but then it becomes you doing a deep clean of the house because you know that seungkwan knows that you wanted that done because he wanted it done and you're doing it now to help seungkwan help you to help him... which is a bit weird, but that's just how things work with you two

vernon

you do things for him, and in return, he does things for you. probably at the same time as you do things for him, too, in a kind of quiet, co-existing way. you'll dust his vinyls as he waters your plants, or you'll massage his shoulders as he's cleaning your jewellery. he likes existing in the same space as you and doing things for you at the same time as you do things for him. it's calming. 

chan

beyond grateful every. single. time. whenever he finds you've made him lunch or done the shopping or even done something very small, he's falling over himself in gratitude bc oh lord you're so SWEET and he's gonna cry. sings your praises to everyone he knows bc you're the best person in EXISTENCE and he's so lucky to be with you. tells you he loves you at every opportunity because it's true, and he'll never get tired of saying it

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[tojisun]

the way you wrote simon “my cock is too big it won’t fit” riley was jaw dropping, eye-rolling, and heavenly!!!

I’m imagining Simon who finally puts it in and is even more desperate than reader (cue male whimpering audio)

awww thank u so much!! i had such intense need that i bonked my head n went, “yup. this is the horny thought for the day” <333

oh but he was always soooooo desperate, even more so than the reader!! especially before they finally fucked!!!

thinking about the way he fucks his fist every night after your date ends :((

while you were at your home, stuffing your hole with your fingers (and toys, really—your eyes having devoured the chub underneath simon’s pants every time you two would sit close together, snuggled as you watched a movie, before rushing home and putting in on an order for toys because god do you need one. or four…), simon was locked in his room, messily fisting his cock.

there is too much lube, and it is staining his boxers and his pants because he was too horny to even strip properly. he bites down his moans, hesitant to let them out even when he is alone at his safe house, his eyes pressed close as he imagines the way he'll take you: on your knees while he pinches your nipples, flicking the buds with the blunt ends of his nails, or on your back with your legs folded to your chest because there is no way in hell that simon's not going to breed you.

it's that thought that always makes him cum, rumbled groans pouring out like rippling water.

“jesus,” he murmurs as he stares at his cum-stained palm, mind running at the way you clenched-and-unclenched your legs during dinner—something, he notes, was happening more often. “this is torture.”

(simon has always known how you look good in your own desperation, ragged in the way you stare up at him with furrowed eyes and lips jutted into a pout, but there was something different then. it was charged. primal. and simon realized how the ache must have peaked for you.

good, simon thought. i need you just as much.)

he slid two fingers in your twitching hole, relishing in your stuttered moans at the ease of their plunge. the wet squelch made his cock jump, thumping against his thigh, but he wasn’t done.

it wasn’t enough.

(simon has had countless partners before you, just like you had others before him.

you told him of the dissatisfaction, how cocks only ever breached your walls for the pleasure of the body it was attached to and never for your own. you told him of your elation that bubbled into sputtering disappointment because they never knew how to coax an orgasm from you with just their cock. you told him of the accidental orgasms, those that they cannot recreate because it wasn’t intended. sure, you told him of their wonderful fingers or mouths, of their robust laps you were grinding on during those days when sex is more foreplay than the penetration, but it wasn’t what you ached for.

you told him all of this, in return, simon told you the others who could never really fit him. the others who tried but they were never really interested in the preparation. the others who could only take half of his length, hissing when an inch slides in even when it shouldn’t.

“impatient,” simon murmured when you asked why his ex-partners couldn’t fit him.

“and they don’t have that…” he trailed off, tongue heavy in his mouth.

“they don’t have what?” you prodded, blinking at him all so darlingly, your blood buzzed with alcohol.

“they don’t have that masochistic streak,” simon replied, voice gentle. testing.

your only reaction was a quiet gasp, heavy eyes widening a fraction as the words settled in. he watched as you began fidgeting, throat bobbing at your dry swallow.

that was all simon needed to know you are made for him—soul and body.)

the moment your greedy hole managed to gobble all of his four fingers was when simon knew you were ready. he flicked his eyes away from your dripping slit and watched as you laid on the bed twitching, your eyes red from your tears, your skin dotted with sweat.

you looked like a beautiful, hot mess and simon was ready to engulf you whole.

simon slots himself between your legs, fist warm around his flushed cock. your glazed eyes focus on him, watching with open-mouthed gasps, and simon coos, unable to stop himself.

“ready f’r me, pup?” he asks, tapping the head of his cock against your sensitive sex.

it makes you keen, hips squirming, mussing up the already soiled sheets. simon chuckles, heat filling his cheeks, and taps it once, twice, three more times before finally lining the leaking head of his cock against your twitching hole.

the slow press in makes you two moan, bodies locking at the explosion of ecstasy that fills up your senses. overwhelming pleasure quickly razes through him, overtaking his sanity as the wet squeeze of your walls grips him deliciously.

he buckles, muscles liquifying, and the dizzying euphoria makes him stumble. he slips, his cock sliding in deeper, breaching further—

simon whimpers, unable to stop himself as unadulterated bliss grips him. he couldn’t help it: he sinks all of himself in you, your walls not even protesting as they swallowed him in, hungry in the way you are all filled up by him.

“si-!” he hears your delirious squeal, the rumble of your voice scratching into a ragged echo, and simon—

simon gurgles a response.

his mind has been zapped by the peaking high, rendering him unable to string coherent thoughts as all of his synapses sing nothing but the enveloping pleasure, running him on overdrive.

simon feels like he is being devoured. like he is stripped into nothing but his sensitive spots.

“t-too good,” he mewls. “pup, s’too good–”

[heechwe]

ANYTHING FOR YOU | 전원우

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ꒰ MY FIC FOR JUPITER'S SECRET CUPID COLLAB

⟢ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 3K ⟢ GENRE: slight comedy, fluff, smut ⟢ TAGS: best friends to lovers au, drunk confession, dirty talk, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Wonwoo has been your best friend forever. And maybe something more could be in the cards with a mature, sophisticated confession. Or a lot of alcohol. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspired by LANY's song "anything 4 u"! Big thanks to my betas for this fic Tiya (@gyubakeries), Honey (@heesuncore), and Mitchie (@seokgyuu)! I love you all so much. And this fic is for my Secret Cupid Ally (@lovetaroandtaemin)!! I love you loads and you're an incredible friend. I'm so glad I got you so I could share a small token of appreciation for our friendship. I hope you love this story as much as I did writing it! ♥︎

Valentine’s Day weekend. The one weekend you have to suffer through everything being doused in red, pink, and white decorations. It’s everywhere: across your work office, all around the city you live in, and even plastered around the hole-in-the-wall bar that all of your friends are drinking in now. 

It’s not one of your least favorite holidays, per se. But the intensity of it can be incredibly draining. The constant declarations of affection, the emotionally gooey visual representations of one’s desire for another person, it’s too much even for some of your own friends who are coupled up. 

The reality of your loneliness pushes your mood down just enough that staring down your third bottle of beer makes you yearn for another, despite your alcohol tolerance being less than stellar. And to make matters worse, it sucks to be surrounded by others’ happiness when you’re so alone in love and in love with someone too enmeshed in your life as a friend, rather than a person of romantic interest.

Wonwoo sits with Vernon and Soonyoung at the high-top bar, nursing tequila shots and Coronas without bothering to look back at the rest of your table of friends. Yes, you were all celebrating Soonyoung’s new promotion and Vernon finally nabbing a girlfriend in time for Valentine’s this year, and they only stalked off a few minutes ago to share a few drinks on their own, but you wish Wonwoo was sitting next to you again. 

You always mocked him for telling you to slow down. To drink water to avoid dehydration or to eat something to offset your alcohol intake. With all of his parroted wisdom that drives some of his closest friends crazy, you love him for it. You love him for a lot of reasons, really.

“Maybe you should just tell him, you know?” Seokmin says across from you, looking over at you from the rim of his Whiskey Sunrise. It’s a sickly shade of red, grenadine mixed in with the other ingredients to commemorate the holiday season. You wonder if it tastes like cough syrup, because it sure looks like it.

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” You ask with a slur, licking the remaining beer on your lips. “It’s not that easy to destroy seven years of friendship.”

“Come on. You act like nobody else has noticed when it’s plain as day, babe,” Seungkwan pipes up next to you, elbowing you softly in the ribs with an accompanying waggle of his eyebrows.

“And what is your best course of action, Dum and Dee?” You split your stare between both of your friends, your irritation peaking. “I just go over to that bar and confess everything to him. Then he’ll say he’s felt the same this entire time and we ride off into the sunset together?”

“One, you don’t need to be rude,” Seokmin responds. “Two, you don’t have to make it so dramatic. Get him alone tomorrow, maybe. Talk it out, see where it goes.”

“Exactly,” Seungkwan says. “It doesn’t need to be this big movie scene thing.”

“What movie?” Soonyoung asks, sitting back down next to Seungkwan and in front of his empty bowl of ramen. The other boys follow suit, Vernon alongside Seokmin and Wonwoo next to you once again.

It feels like torture and sanctuary in the same moment, so close but so far from what you wish the two of you could be.

“Nothing, just this documentary we all saw the other night,” you respond. You press your lips to your bottle again, pouting when the last droplets hit your tongue. “I’m gonna get another,” you say to nobody in particular. Wonwoo perks up once he notices you stumbling to get out of your chair.

“Not so fast,” Wonwoo says as you fall back into his arms. “I think I should get you home.”

“No, the night’s still young!” You whine into his jacket, your hair ruffling the skin on his neck. His chest rumbles with laughter, but nothing at the moment is funny to you. You don’t want to leave just yet, and he doesn’t need to treat you like a baby. “We still haven't even gone to karaoke.”

“Another night. Go sleep it off!” Vernon calls from behind you.

“You kids have fun!” Seokmin says with a conspiratory wink. You and Wonwoo walk towards the entrance of the bar, and you want to throw something at Seokmin to make your idiot best friend’s dumb smirk and even more ridiculous idea of confessing your feelings to your mutual friend blip out of existence.

Wonwoo has seen you at your lowest. He consoled you after you ran your car into a parked motorcycle when you were sixteen, your humiliation palpable the whole three hours you both waited for the police to show up. He’s held you in his arms after every failed romantic relationship, telling you it was always them and never you when it ended poorly. There’s nothing the two of you haven’t been there for each other for, no experience too vulnerable to share and overcome together.

But Wonwoo holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you throw up may just be the all-time low of your embarrassing moments. He whispers in your ear that you’re okay and rubs your back with a soft hand, and you feel all the worse for it. How could he ever love someone this prone to disaster, this cringeworthy?

“You should go home,” you cry into the toilet bowl. “I’m disgusting.”

Wonwoo says your name in a mocking tone, pretending to be serious but in no way critical of you or the situation. He takes off his plaid button up and throws it in some random corner of your bathroom, free to hold you as close as possible as you continue dry-heaving. “You’re not disgusting.”

“Of course you’d say that, you’re you.”

He laughs again, tucking what hair he can from your face so you can lift your head off of the toilet. “And what’s that?”

You look at him with puffy, half-open eyes. “Perfect.”

He helps you up from the tile floor and moves you to your bedroom on your weak legs. He sheds off your overshirt as you kick off your denim jeans. Your mind rumbles with a whirlpool of thoughts as his brain ruminates on the word you used when comparing himself to you.

“I’m in no way perfect, kid,” he whispers. The nickname he’s used on you forever feels like a backhand, a copious amount of salt in a wound you know will never heal. He’ll always see you at a distance from him, his feelings leagues away from yours.

“Don’t call me that,” you cry into your pillow, resting your cheek deep into the material to muffle the quiet sobs in your throat. He can’t be serious, talking to you so tenderly when you’re falling apart.

“Hey, can you look at me?” You shake your head and settle deeper into the pile of comforters and throw pillows. Wonwoo suddenly feels his gut turn into a dozen knots. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, how to fix it, or what to say to make things better, and it kills him. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because you’re too perfect to love someone like me. But I love you so much, and it fucking sucks,” you hiccup, the darkness of your bed making you believe he’s not there, this isn’t real, and it’s okay to release all the words in your heart into the dark. “And every time I see those damn red and pink hearts all over the place, I think of you and I want to die.”

The force of your confession almost knocks Wonwoo on his ass. At the very least, he settles onto the desk chair near your bed and hears your whimpers give way to light snores.

He runs his hands through your hair again and tucks the covers up to your chin. He holds himself back from pressing a kiss to your forehead, the one thing he’s always done when you’ve passed out countless times before in his presence, but never recalled the next morning. This time, though, he prays you’ll remember your drunken admission.

“I hope you meant everything you said,” he whispers before retreating to your couch to fall asleep to the sounds of the cityscape below.

You wake up to low jazz playing from your living room TV and the smell of sizzling eggs. Each limb aches from the heavy sleep you fell under last night. You quietly pad out of your room to find Wonwoo cooking what looks to be the perfect mix of breakfast and hangover food. A makeshift Bloody Mary sits on the counter next to him, waiting for you.

Wonwoo turns when he senses you behind him, and he grins. “Hey, you’re awake. I was worried you’d be passed out until the afternoon. I wouldn’t blame you, though.”

You blush a shade deeper, still sporting your tank top and clad in a pair of boy shorts. You forgot you had taken your pants off before slipping into bed the night prior, but it isn’t the first time Wonwoo’s seen you half-clothed. You drink half of the concoction and set it down, your headache throbbing a little less. “How bad was I last night?”

He smirks. “Bad enough to throw up another three times.”

You groan into the back of your hand and hitch yourself up on the counter across from Wonwoo, his focus still on the over-medium eggs in the pan. “I’m sorry you had to take care of me again.”

“I wanted to,” he says without looking up at you. “I always want to be here when you need me.”

“I know, I know, it’s your job to say that,” you joke.

He drops the metal spatula next to him on the stove, and you jump up at the sound. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say a word for a moment, and you’re unsure if he’s even breathing when you ask him if he’s okay. “So, you don’t remember then?” His question comes out almost like a statement, but the wavered edge of it proves he is concerned with whatever has slipped your mind.

“Woo, you’re freaking me out.”

He turns the stove to a low, simmering heat before facing you. His eyes look sad but expectant, waiting for the inevitable to come to you. “You really have no idea what I’m talking about?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear, and in that instant, you recall that last hour before you fell asleep. Wonwoo helping you into bed. Crying in your bed. And all the words that followed.

The memories bring tears to your eyes and your hands to your face. “Oh my god—”

Wonwoo takes your palms away and holds them to his mouth. “Stop running from me.”

“Don’t make me say it again, Woo, please.” Your bottom lip trembles. You fight every instinct to run from the kitchen and out of the apartment altogether, wanting to accept the continuous pain of hiding your feelings than the truth that this could be the end of the both of you as you know it, for better or worse.

“Fine, you don’t have to.” Wonwoo’s lips curl into that grin you’ve adored for almost a decade. “I’ll say what I need to first, then.”

He takes a deep breath and sets his jaw. “I’ve been in love with you since the minute you threw your ice-cream at that biker who almost clipped me in the foot on the way to school. Remember? I may have loved you long before that, but that’s the moment I realized.

“And I don’t want to lose you. I want to be more than just the guy you call your best friend. I want to be the only friend that matters, the friend that kisses you goodnight and tells you how beautiful you are because there’s no other way to describe you. I love you, too, kid, whether you realized it or not.”

A breathy yelp leaves your mouth before you kiss Wonwoo on the mouth. It’s a hard one, a clash of teeth and a bit of tongue, but you didn’t expect less from such an unexpected and perfect confession. Maybe this was the way you rode off into the sunset together. Sure, there was the smell of burning eggs instead of the sounds of a white stallion gallivanting off to the unforeseeable future, but it’s perfect. It’s yours.

Wonwoo shuts the burner off entirely before he takes you by the hand into your bedroom. When your bed is in full view, he kisses you long and slow. It’s nothing like the first kisses you shared a second ago, but it’s earth-shattering all the same.

You moan into his mouth when he presses a free hand to your breast, teasing the skin above your shirt until your nipple pebbles.

“Is this too fast?” He asks in a gruff voice. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable, I just—”

You press a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. “If you do not take my clothes off right now and fuck me, I will never speak to you again.”

Wonwoo smirks and kisses you once more, only stopping to pull your tank top over your head and rip your underwear off of your legs. His fingers delve between your folds, and you shudder in his hold but refuse to let him take his hand away.

“You like this,” he whispers, the statement thick with his lust.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you whimper. You gasp when two of his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb still nestled on top of your clit to swirl around with the pad. The amount of pleasure he’s already given you is indescribable, and he hasn’t even truly done much yet.

You whine when he takes his hand away, but it’s to discard his own clothes and sit at the edge of your bed. He beckons for you to sit on top of him, and he doesn’t think twice about swirling himself between your essence and lining the head of his dick with your entrance. His tip is so swollen and covered in pre-cum, there’s no problem sinking it inside of your heat.

You share a mutual curse of pleasure when he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting your skin. You stay like that for a moment. You’re so full and unable to move from the size of him filling every empty space inside of you, you think this has to be a dream. Last night has not given way to day yet, and now is just a conjuring of your cruel mind. 

You get lost in your thoughts for so long Wonwoo brings his hand to your face and traces his fingers over your cheek, staring at you lovingly. “Where’d you go?”

You smile shyly and kiss his nose. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you it’s real.”

He takes your ass between his hands and spreads you out before thrusting up inside of you, making you gasp hard. He moves long and slow underneath you, almost taking his cock out of your pussy completely before delving back into you.

“I want to give you everything,” he pants. “All that I have—will have—is for you. You know that, right?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whisper, meeting his hips with yours as you try to set your own pace, sinking down onto him with every thrust where your skin meets with loud smacks.

“I love you so much,” he says into your neck before biting down on your soft skin. You moan loudly and press yourself deeper and harder against him. His cock hits you at the perfect angle as you straddle him, and you feel the start of your climax deep in your stomach.

Seven years of missed opportunities. More than too many chances for days and nights like this spent together so intimately gone to the wind. It’s easy to be regretful for all the time that you’ve wasted without each other, but you realize it’s not wasted at all.

Every step, every thread of fate that tied you two together, brought you here. Whatever comes of today is just an extension of what has already existed in your hearts. So what more is there to ask for?

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he growls in your ear. His balls smack against your skin as he continues to slam into you. Tears spring in your eyes as he moves even harder, trying to take you both to your peaks together. “Where can I come, baby?”

“Inside of me. I want all of it, all of you. Please,” you beg. You bounce harder on top of him, circling your clit with your fingers to fall off the precipice with Wonwoo by your side.

“You want to feel all of me, yeah? So full of my cum it’s all you’ll think about?” He smirks and replaces the fingers on your clit with his own. “Maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you with how much cum I give you. Would you like that?”

You see stars behind your eyelids as you listen to the beautiful, dirty words on his lips. You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than for him to claim you in this way. It’s all you’ve thought about for years, truthfully.

“God, I’m coming,” you say into his neck, thighs quivering as the rest of your body goes slack from the pleasure. Wonwoo grunts into the shell of your ear as he orgasms himself, his seed spilling into you so deep you think there’s no way any remnant of him will slip out.

When he takes himself out of you, he swirls the mixture of both of your releases on his fingers before you take those fingers into your mouth, sucking them dry.

Wonwoo chuckles and kisses you deeply, the taste of the two of you on both of your tongues. “That’s one way to end Valentine’s weekend, don’t you think?”

You giggle and kiss him on both cheeks, too eager to see the rest of your future together. “You could say that.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @okiedokrie-main @brownbunnyb

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @/sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

[pha55ed]

Your Fault || OP81

type :: smut

tw/cw :: dacryphilia, degradation, rough, mean!dom!oscar, he calls u ugly...

summary :: "oscar is so nice!" "he's so cat coded!" "he's so shy!" - no tf he's not, and you experience that first hand after a bad day - engineer!reader

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || OVULATING CELLY!!!

"Not" thrust "a single" thrust "thing" thrust "right." Oscar pants as he releases his frustrations of the race onto you. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. And although he could have blamed it on Lando, other drivers, other engineers, he didn't. He always focussed on you.

How you didn't speak up on the radio. How you didn't check him into the pit lane fast enough. How you misplaced the mechanic's drills one inch further than usual. How you didn't even wish him luck beforehand?

"S-sorry" You tried to mumble through your tears as he scoffed in your face. His thrusting never stopped, only getting stronger. He wasn't facing you, instead facing your back. Thank god, or else he would have a field day laughing at your crying.

"Shut your fucking mouth." He grumbles, too focussed on making sure you can't speak again.

Both of his hands were on your hips, making you move back and forth on his dick even faster and deeper than he was already going. He forced you to bend over fully too, your chest flat against the cool table. You could feel your goosebumps rise with the gusts of wind form his harsh thrusts.

But Oscar wasn't cold, far from it. Since only you were naked, while he was still fully clothed besides his dick peaking out. It made you so embarrassed, knowing that if someone dared to open his driver's room they'd see everything from you and not an ounce of skin from Oscar. And even if they did catch a glimpse of his dick, they'd only see his deep it's buried inside of you.

"Aren't you ashamed?" he asks, slamming into you fully before halting for a second. His hands reach for your face, oh no.

And as he forces you to look at him, you fight back for a second. Before he quickly reminds you.

"Turn your fucking head." He says, as he forces you to look at him. And seeing the cold tears roll down your face only makes him happier. "Oh my gosh." He grins.

He stops thrusting and instead pulls your body up, making your back lean against his warm chest. His thumb grazes your cheek and sweeps up your tear. As if his shit-eating grin wasn't enough of an ego crusher, he goes as far to taste his thumb.

The saltiness of your tear making him lick his lips. He stares into your eyes, not seeing your soul, but only seeing a source of fuel for his ego.

"You're an ugly crier." He says, bluntly with a small chuckle. He sweeps up yet another tear and licks his finger again. "We need to go back to doggy."

He says, as he turns your crying face back to the table as he begins to thrust into you yet again. And you weren't sure if you should be turned on or just start bawling from how rude he's being today.

[kissforyouu]

I LOVE YOUR TITTIES BECAUSE THEY PROVE I CAN FOCUS ON TWO THINGS AT ONCE !

pairing : bf!jungkook x reader

genre : established relationship

warnings : boobs boobs boobs BOOBS !!! massive boob kink idk everything boobs :P

request : hii, can i ask for something like my bf wont stop touching me but instead of her butt make it her breast? only if ur up to it <3

note : I FINALLY POSTED A FIC R YALL HAPPY WOOO. hope u like dis :D

unedited.

bf!jungkook who's had some sort of a hyperfixation on your tits ever since you both had sex for the first time.

he would always take the chance if it meant he'd get to look or touch your tits.

you walk around your living room with your broom as you swept the floor. jungkook was comfortably seated on the sofa, manspreading as he consumed whatever that was on the tv. you sweep around the sofa, poking the broom under the sofa to check for any trash thats possibly left under it. deciding that that wasn't enough, the place the broom carefully so that it's laid against the sofa, you get down on your knees.

this action catches your boyfriend's attention, his eyes shifting from the tv to you in the matter of a second. you don't notice though. you sit properly on your knees, slightly raising your body up a little so that you could tie your hair up in a messy bun. jungkook licks his lips, fully infatuated by you. but the moment you bend forward to peep under the sofa, that's when he loses his mind. your tits were peaking out of your shirt oh so clearly. he could see the swell of your tits and the thin layer of sweat covering them.

your boyfriend smirks, "thanks for the nice view."

your boyfriend was a little perverted. okay, a lot maybe. only for you though. he always made you wear those see through lace tank tops at home. he'd buy all the cute tank tops to make your tits look pretty and squeezed against one another. not like you minded. you loooveeedddd getting spoiled. plus, free clothes. who would say no? he would always find a way to grope your tits at any moment. but not in public though. that was weird.

jungkook's back was resting against the headboard of the bed as he typed away on his computer. some work matters, you thought. you looked at your boyfriend who was so focused on whatever document he was typing. his eyebrows were furrowed and he was also doing that thing he did whenever he was frustrated--his tongue was poking his cheek.

you slide under the covers, scooting next to your boyfriend and gently lifting his arm up so that you could go under it and lay on his lap while his arm rested on your body while typing. you do just that, your head now resting on his lap while you stared at whatever he was typing on the computer.

minutes pass by, jungkook's hand was comfortably laying on top of your clothed tits. he tapped his fingers on the fat of your right breast, mindlessly pressing onto the flesh finger by finger in a pattern. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, index finger, middle finger, ring finger—

and of course you expected it, it didn't take him any longer before he slid his hand inside to pull out your right tit. jungkook's entire hand envelopes the fat, squeezing it tightly. his touch was very warm, you didn't mind. you squirm in your spot, shifting your position once jungkook switches to your other tit, pulling out the flesh out of your top.

he had no intentions of doing anything sexual after, just wanted to fondle with your tits. maybe he'll suck them if you behaved well. but you couldn't control the growing wetness in your pussy, already wetting your panties. you mewl a little once he twists your nipple in between his fingers, and that's when he notices.

"is my girl getting horny?"

before sleep, he always made sure to give your tits a few kisses. and sometimes (most of the time), they turned into a little more.

"ah...mh, mh, hm" you hum in utter satisfaction, eyes shut while enjoying the pure bliss you're getting from your boyfriend's skillful tongue.

he swirls his tongue around your nipple, eagerly lapping on the hardened bud. jungkook's eyes never left your tits as he made out with the hardened buds, making you feel sooooo good.

"please. don't stop." you whimper out while caressing your boyfriend's hair. his hair smelt exactly like yours, since he started using your godly vanilla shampoo. you just wanted to bury your face in his hair. you massaged his scalp good, had him moaning and groaning into your tits.

he pulled back for a moment to look at his little artwork. you had his saliva all over your tits, making them glisten under the dim light in the room. jungkook spits on your tits again, then spreads it around using the tip of his tongue. it was so nasty. he licks around your areola with the very tip of his tongue, then envelopes your nipple again. he teasingly bites it, causing you to let out a small yelp. he flicks your nipple with his tongue while it was inside of his mouth and pulls away to return back with another harsh suck.

"that feel good?", his fingertips were pressed onto your waist as he smothered his face all over your tits (literally). you could feel the tip of his tongue glide all over your chest and his cheeks pressing onto the flesh of your breath. it was nasty. the saliva on your chest was no longer just there but also on his face as he hungrily inhaled your breasts in and consumed them for the full extent. he was so so so erotic.

jungkook kisses you until you run out of breath while his fingers pinched your nipples hard, twisting them with intentions of causing you pain sexually. you wince. god, you feel your body twitching. your pussy's so wet. clenching on absolutely nothing. it was so evident. the wet patch on your panties. the way your panties hugged your pussy so tightly, the slick was coating the thin material so nicely. the way it hugged your pussy drove jungkook crazy. the material was so tight that it perfectly made out the shape of your chubby pussy.

he cups your breasts with both of his hands, squeezing them till the worlds end. this was supposed to be a comforting moment where he just fondled your breasts before sleep. but now you're grinding against eachother like horny freaks.

another thing that got him so riled up was the cute gold "J" necklace he got you that you would wear. he loved the way it sat on your cleavage, right in between your breasts. he liked it even better when the cute lace tops you got him squeezed your breasts together and the sparkly J initial sat in between the soft pillows. it drove him craaaazy, actually. jungkook always made you ride him when you looked like that.

"jus' like that, baby, hm", his head was slanted against the headboard of you guys' bed, eyes dazed, but still looking at your breasts. you rode his dick till dawn, up and down, up and down.

one of your tits were out of your tight, lace see-through bra and molded into jungkook's palm. he squeezed the flesh in his palm while you made circles on his dick. his tip was hitting the exact right spot that drove you crazy, and it had you twitching on spot.

your boyfriend leans in to lick your hardened clothed nipple of the neglected breast, tugging on the nipple and wetting the lace as well. it was just a big wet smudge on your right tit.

he was like an animal when it came to fucking you. he would pull up with the nastiest ways to have you. jungkook had no shame. his hips raise upwards as he thrusted from below, overtaking your slow ass pace.

"m—mm, hah! please, so fast...!", your tongue was out, panting, and so was his. instead his was licking a stripe from all the way from your stomach, up your cleavage to your lips. he kicked your messily, both of you exchanging saliva to one another in your mouths, passing it around like a football. he tugs on your nipple, harshly pulling it and twisting the bud.

that hurt, obviously.

jungkook pulls away from the kiss and rests his back against the headboard again, still thrusting into you though. at this point both of your tits were out of your bra, jumping up and down, putting on a show for his attention.

you notice the way he moans while eyeing your tits. his eyes travel to the gold necklace in between after, the J necklace that you treasure so much.

"looks so fuckin' hot between those pretty titties. you keep this on all the time, yeah? makes you look prettier when i fuck you, babydoll." he kisses your shoulder blade, trailing kisses to your neck. wrapped around your neck was the gold chain, and jungkook lolls his tongue out to trace the metal chain. he tugs on the chain with his teeth, pulling on it with a groan.

you were getting so tired from jumping on his dick. the more you rode him, the closer you got to your release. jungkook let go of your chain, but grab hold of it this time with his hand. his palm lands two loud slaps on your asscheek, making you moan. same time, he could feel you tighten around his cock. "liked that?" you nod your head repeatedly.

jungkook tugs on the chain, pulling it backwards and then twisting it around his knuckles, choking you with the chain.

fuck, fuck, fuck. so hot.

you crack out a laugh, tongue out, panting. you were so close. so so so close. you had your tits squeezed between eachother tightly, your hands squishing the flesh as you felt the orgasm take over you. your pussy was spasming around his dick as you moan out loud, body thrown over jungkook's chest, tits pressed against his. jungkook definitely loved that feeling.

soon after you cum around him and milk his cock, he does too. his cum slips out of your contracting pussyhole.

jungkook lets out a laugh, hand patting your back and smoothing it. then he looks down from above, enjoying the birds point of view of your squished up tits and necklace in between.

he might just get hard again.

aftercare with jungkook has always been simple. you + boobs + him .

"humph, kook." you groan once you feel your boyfriend's hands squeeze your tits one more time. "bit more." he tugs on your nipple with the tip of his fingers, wiggling on his spot to find a comfortable position in the crook of your neck.

"aah, 'm so sore, baby." your voice aches through with yet another groan. "it's okay. you know it's okay." jungkook reassures.

"how about i give you a massage?" he raises his head up to look at your passed out face. "that's just another excuse for you to touch my tits..."

your boyfriend laughs, "are you complaining, though?" you shake your head with a small smile and turning on your back so that you're laying on your stomach.

jungkook slaps the fat of your ass before he begins to massage around your shoulder area. he does it soooooooooooo good though. he makes sure to press onto your bones and tightly circle around, causing you to moan in satisfaction. you enjoy his massage well until he gropes your breasts from the back, giving both of them a tight squeeze. you yelp in surprised. well, not really, you knew this was coming anyway.

he squeezes your tits and massages them well and even makes sure to give both of them equal attention.

and you both fall asleep with his head nuzzled between your tits and your hand massaging his scalp.

whenever you sucked his cock, at the end, he would always ask "where do you want it?". stupid question. there was only one answer.

jungkook's tip twitches in your mouth and he loosens his grip on your hair, a cracked moan also escaping his lips. "f—fuck, baby. you're so pretty with your lips around my fucking dick."

you flutter your eyes open, bobbing your head up and down. you feel jungkook twitch in your mouth, again. "mhm, where do you- want it?"

there was always only one answer.

you were wearing this grey oversized shirt with the thinnest material. it showed your nipples so well. dare i say jungkook got off to that as well. to answer his question, you squeeze your breast through the material and moan, mouth still filled with dick. he gets the memo and pulls his dick out of your mouth.

you cough out but quickly dismiss yourself and pull the neckline of the shirt down to expose your tits, both coated with a layer of sweat. jungkook cusses at the reveal of your breasts, fastening the speed of his wrist before he spurts his cum onto your exposed boobs.

"haaaaa. oh my god, fuck". you moan out, watching the spurts of cum land all over your breasts, some on the shirt as well as your neck. the white liquid was all over your nipples. so you make sure to rub them with both your index fingers, coating them well before bringing them to your mouth at once to taste them. you lick yourself erotically just as you did to his dick just a few seconds ago and taste your boyfriend's cum in your mouth.

"you taste so so good, baby."

and it's like jungkook's hypnotised again.

[cinnammonfairy]

omg hihi !! I love your blog so much :) do u think you could do sm w hubby price! Like maybe some really sweet slight somno with some overstimulation , creampie and maybe some squirting ? (If this makes u uncomfy pls ignore <3)

"t-too much!"

the sting of his mustache on your clit, with his tongue dipping slightly into your hole after he brought you to orgasm, as you awoke from sleep to him getting back from a mission was overwhelming in your state of lethargy.

chuckling slightly, his hands holding your stomach down as he took one full lick spanning the length of your hole to your clit before pinching it between his teeth, nibbling lightly, teasingly, eliciting a gasp and moan at the sudden blinding stimulation.

"my beautiful girl, cunt's all wet and ready fr' me now yeah?"

his cock bobbing out of his trousers, sliding it over your wet hole teasingly leaving it gaping for the intrusion before sloppily rubbing it on your clit leaving a mess of creamy thick pre-cum all over your now sloppy pussy.

legs over his shoulders, lips sealed to yours, as he starts to insert his cock in your quivering hole, always an adjustment to accommodate his size. the sweet moan that leaves your lips as you're full of him, the throaty groan lost as he captures your lips in his in a chaste kiss. the adhering of his balls to the lower part of your pussy lips still slick with his spit.

"good girl, such a good girl f' me."

"little hole taking my cock so pretty."

he looks down to where the both of you are joined as he starts to thrust. looking back up at you with a soft smile as you mewl at his ministrations. holding your chin in his hands in an effort to get your eyes to meet his. he loved watching you feel good because of him.

"love you sweet girl."

almost to placate you as he starts thrusting faster and deeper, never failing to hit your spot with each thrust forward. he could feel you reach your peak, the erratic clench of your pussy as it gripped his cock tighter. his thumb tracing your hole then rubbing fervently at your clit.

"m' cumming!"

"yeah cum for me baby, cum on my cock, make a mess f' me sweetheart let me see it. let me see your messy little hole squirt on m' fat cock."

the evidence of your pleasure peaking in the form of wet gushes and streams of wetness on his abdomen, goaded by his cock, evident by the overwhelming mess gathering below your ass and coating the length of his cock. your hole quivering and tightening on his cock encouraging his orgasm, his thick load filling you.

"there y' go baby, came so pretty on my cock. so pretty full of my cum."

— i'm sorry this took so long :( i hope this was okay <3 thank u sm for the request!

[joonjuul]

r u mine? jjk

pairing: rockstar!jk x reader

wc: 6k

warnings: fboy!jk, dom!jk, hookup/one night stand, crazy bar bathroom sex, hickies, bruising, choking, mirror play, overstimulation (f receiving), light finger (f receiving), light crying kink, reader is crazy horny smh, this is disgusting im so sorry

a/n: first fic on here whats up yall

‧.⋆｡°

the dim lighting surrounds you in a hazy room, feel the sweet stink of smoke fill your lungs as you inhale the second-hand killer. you feel your stomach stir as you relish in the scent and nostalgia of a good cigarette, silently kicking yourself for quitting two months prior.

you make your way through the crowd, bumping aimlessly against shoulders as your hand grips tighter to your drink. although this isn’t your first time here, there’s nothing like admiring the faces of strangers and passersby that you may never see again, wondering what brought them to this place.

‘sal’s’ was for the low of the low, you only came here if you were a teenage delinquent trying to escape your brutal parents, a washed up inbred fuck up who peaked in high school, or a hooker trying to make ends meet. fortunately, you’re none of those things.

sal’s was your spot, it always has and always will be. it was the only place relating to the general public that you could emotionally withstand. people left you alone here, at least for the most part.

“hey watch it.” a voice rasped in your direction as you miscalculated whether or not you could squeeze between a tighter crowd.

“sorry.” you feel your eyes locked momentarily. as long as you’d been coming to sal’s, you’d never seen a face quite like his. he surprisingly doesn’t look inbred, definitely not a delinquent teen, that only leaves one option.

you watch as he smirks down at you gently, his eyes fiery, something within them ravenous, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on for what. as you caught your breath and continued your ministrations to the front of the stage, you take a swig of your drink of choice tonight: neat whiskey. things have been tough lately. you let the bitter liquid slide effortlessly down your throat as you finish off your glass. hopefully its a quick set tonight, i’m tired of fighting groupies off at the bar just to get a simple refill.

you watched as the lights surrounding you began to dim, seemingly thickening the haze. with the screech of a microphone, the night had begun. you often found yourself here on friday nights specifically to get a feel for what kind of talent was swimming through this low-life town these days, you always had a soft spot for rock music, and sal’s was the place for up and coming artists, typically being teenage delinquents, but it’s sal’s so what do we expect?

“alright ladies and gentlemen! thank you so much for coming tonight, we got a great show for you all so hold onto your drinks and give a warm welcome to ‘the tragedies’!” your ears were already ringing and the show hadn’t even started yet. is the crowd normally this loud?

you watched as three silhouettes slowly appeared on stage, their faces not yet visible, even at a close distance. with the thumping of the small stage in front of you, you felt that familiar sensation as the music began to play, the bass vibrating through your chest all the way down to your toes.

“i’m a puppet on a string…” your heart clattered in your chest as the lights came on, a tall, curly headed boy standing before you dressed in all black. he was mesmerizing, his tattooed fingers carefully tracing each and every string of the guitar, his voice raspy as he cradled the microphone with his mouth.

as his eyes finally opened, scanning the faces of each audience member carefully, you felt your heart skip a beat as they carefully landed on yours. your chest only panging faster as you began to realize that he was the man you mistakenly ran over in the crowd only 10 minutes prior. you suddenly felt your cheeks heat at the realization, watching as that same sly grin appeared on his lips that you had seen once before.

“when she’s not right there beside me i go crazy…” his voice rang through you like a sinner in church. as anxious as you felt, you couldn’t deny the genuine talent that man had. he wasn’t like the normal performers at sal’s, and the audience could easily tell that as well, every last one of them just as intrigued as you. and it wasn’t just him, but his other bandmates too, they were all good, and not too hard on the eyes as well. you wouldn’t be surprised if they were just stopping in as a special appearance, they definitely weren’t locals that’s for sure.

-

as the set came to a close, you found yourself yearning for the feeling of your body vibrating to the music again, taking a moment to catch your breath before heading back over to the bar.

as a sal’s regular, most of the bartenders knew you, as you came in at least once a week. you found yourself mindlessly taking a seat at the bar, directly in front of the taps where you somehow always ended up.

“y/n! enjoy the set tonight?” a voice pulled you out of your daydream as you looked up to the smiling bartender over the counter.

“oh hey puck, yeah you know what i actually did. who are those guys? i’ve never seen them here before.” you questioned, watching as puck began to pour you another whiskey neat, picking you right back up where you left off.

“i heard they’re from korea, trying to spread word about their band over here because rock music isn’t as big there. very modest country, ya know?” puck hands you your drink as you immediately take a sip, feeling your throat tense just as easily as it did with the last glass.

korea huh? it was like he was being handed to you on a silver platter. a beautiful man who was talented, not a delinquent, hooker, or inbred, and the best of all, not from around here. living in a small town like rockville, everyone knew everyone, and let’s just say there hasn’t been a refresh in the dating pool in at least a decade. losing patience is an understatement.

you looked up briefly from your drink to see him approaching the bar, surprisingly taking a seat only two chairs away from you.

“whiskey neat please.” his voice even raspier than before thanks to his set only minutes earlier. you smiled to yourself at his choice of drink before taking a sip of your own, suddenly feeling inclined to look around at the lovely architecture at sal’s, even though you had been there more than my own house. anything to avoid accidentally acknowledging his presence.

“what did you think?” your mind was pulled back to reality at his familiar voice. how can he sound talented even when talking?

you looked over at him to see his eyes already halted on yours. never had you felt small under a man’s gaze until that moment.

“m-me?” you looked around briefly. “it was great. you’re really talented man.” you lifted your drink towards him before taking another sip. your hands sweating even at just a minor interaction said a lot about your love life recently. times have been tough.

“i’m glad you liked it.” he watched as puck placed a fresh glass before him, reaching out and stirring the brown liquid in the glass a few times, admiring the liquor before bringing it up to his lips and taking a swig. he looked down at it, almost as if judging the taste.

“what’s your name?” he places the glass back in front of him, turning his body to face yours completely, running a hand through his shaggy, slightly sweaty hair, and bringing his other up to his shirt pocket, before pulling out a small cardboard box of marlboro reds. my favorites.

“y/n, you?”

you watched as he brought a fresh filter up to his lips, bringing a green lighter up right after it and cupping his hands around it instinctively.

he takes a deep inhale, enjoying every last bit before slowly exhaling the smoke as the words dripped from his mouth, “jungkook. jeon jungkook.”

you looked up at him almost in awe as he lifted the cigarette in your direction, offering you a puff.

you gently reached up to his hand, your fingers brushing against his slightly as you removed the small object from between his fingers and into your mouth, feeling your lungs rejoice as you inhaled slowly.

his eyes never wavered from yours as he watched carefully. his lids heavy from whatever drugs him and his bandmates decided to take before the show.

“aren’t you something?” his voice low and husky as he brought his glass to his lips again.

“forgive me. i quit a couple months ago. i had been behaving until just now.” the smoke filling the air as the words left your mouth. your chest burnt in pleasure, a feeling you had missed deeply. you looked down, your fingers still held it like it was yesterday. you quickly shook the thoughts from your head and reached your hand back out to him, offering him to take it back.

his eyes burned holes in yours, staring at you like he hadn’t blinked once. “you keep that one, love. i think you need it more than i do.” his gaze was dark, his presence more than just intimidating. he was almost painful to be around.

but you kept the cigarette nonetheless, your desire for pleasure overtaking your desire for comfort in this moment. his gaze never faltered as you brought the filter up to your lips once more, almost choking on the smoke as you watched him move to the seat closest to you.

“you’re quiet.” he spoke, his voice gentler than earlier.

you exhaled, creating a cloud of smoke between you both. “i am?”

he nods in response, his eyes tracing your frame, the same smirk from before never leaving his lips. “most girls can’t keep their cool when they see me, but i’ll say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

you quirk your brow in response to his cockiness. “well what makes you think i know who you are?” you lean forward, tapping the end of the cigarette above the nearest ashtray, but your movements are stopped as he grabs your wrist tightly, his eyes burning holes into yours as he guides your hand towards his mouth, placing the cigarette between his lips and inhaling deeply, before leaning back in his chair and tilting his head back, letting the smoke escape his body once more.

god this man was pure sex.

“i guess you’re right, you might not know who i am now, but you’ll want to know soon enough.”

you look up at him, taking the time to examine his tattoos carefully. the way they messily scatter up to his shoulder, getting scarcer as they move down towards his hands.

“and what makes you think that?” you feel the words leave your mouth before you have a chance to think.

he chuckles, his eyes dark as he looks back up to face you, leaning forward until your lips are barely touching, his voice just over a whisper.

“trust me baby, you’re gonna want to know who i am.”

his breathing is ragged, bouncing against your face easily at the close proximity. his eyes dancing carefully between yours and your lips, grazing along every mole and bump along the way. you feel your stomach curl at the thought of closing the distance between the two of you, breathing in his air and relishing in the feeling of having his hands touching every nook and cranny your skin has to offer up to him.

“and what if i don’t” you gain your composure enough to formulate a response, but not enough to mask the desire in your voice. and it’s obvious he can tell based on the smug grin across his face.

“then i’ll make you.”

you feel a blush creep across your cheeks as his hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. the touch so simple, but coming from him, you could feel yourself melting already.

“such a pretty little thing.” his words raspy as he speaks almost out of breath, and you feel yourself getting hotter, almost overwhelmed by his presence combined with the crowdedness of the bar surrounding you. you feel your legs begin to twitch and shake, the nape of your neck getting stickier and stickier as his soft touch trails down your face and landing on your collarbone.

just breathe, don’t panic.

saying those things to you never help when you have a man like this touching you in ways you’ve never even dreamt.

“e-excuse me, i’m sorry.” you blurt, standing up abruptly and hurrying to the bathroom as fast as you can.

as much as you want to be with him, and you’d kill to let him take you home and do whatever he wants to you, you have nowhere to go.

you fumble into the bathroom, hurriedly locking the door and rushing to the sink, the skin he touched still tingles gently as you splash cool water on your face, doing anything you can to calm myself down.

you open your eyes, facing yourself in the mirror before taking a deep breath. “you can do this y/n, just have sex in his tour bus or something.” as much as being homeless has it’s perks, it definitely doesn’t help in terms of getting laid.

you feel your heart jump slightly at the sound of a gentle knock on the door.

“just a minute.”

your heart jumps again hearing the knock for a second time, your patience growing thin.

“i said just a minute.”

after the third knock you’ve completely lost it, storming to the door and turning the knob slightly.

“you know it’s very rude to-“ your heart stops as jungkook pushes the door open, his hands on your shoulders as he pushes you back into the doorway, using his foot to shut it behind him.

“hey what are you-“ you’re cut short once again at the feeling of his lips enclosing yours, his hands running up your waist and engulfing you fully into his chest. after a small protest on your end, you finally give in, allowing yourself to be completely taken over by him.

his lips never leave yours as he gently backs you into the wall, his hands gripping at any free patch of skin he can find, before landing on your hair and gripping it back harshly to pull you out of the kiss.

“think you can get away from me that easy, hmm?” his eyes dark and wide with lust as they land on your neck, kissing it roughly, hard enough to leave marks.

you feel a gasp escape your lips at his sudden ministrations on your neck, biting your lip to stop from any other noises to escape, but it’s too late. you feel him grin into the crook of your neck before bringing his head out to look at you once more, his hold on your hair tightening as he pulls back again gently.

“what, you like that hmm? you want me to be rough with you, baby?” his words are dripping with sex, lids heavy and lips swollen as he admires your flushed out state, feeling minuscule under him.

“what you don’t know how to respond when someone asks you a question?” he pulls back a little harder now, scalp burning at the sudden sensation.

“n-no i do.” you’re able to meekly respond, still surprised by the sudden intrusion.

“then answer it.” he grits through his teeth, his cocky demeanor from earlier melting into something much more rough and dominant.

“y-yes i l-like it, jungkook.” his ego swells at your words, knowing he can make a submissive, obedient mess out of you just like he did with the last 10 girls, and the last 10 before that.

“good girl, now how much have you had to drink tonight, baby?” his question surprises you, but you answer nonetheless.

“i-i don’t know maybe 3 glasses of whiskey, w-why?” he examines your facial expressions closely, trying to gauge your honesty to him. but he smirks, believing you to be truthful.

“just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. now, is it okay if i touch you, baby?” his words go straight to your core as he leans in to pepper kisses on your neck, soothing the bruises that had been placed there only a couple seconds earlier.

you moan and writhe at the sensitivity, but muster a response before he can grow impatient.

“y-yes. please.” he smiles at your enthusiasm, loving how quickly you opened up to him.

“good girl. now spread.” he nudges his thigh between your knees, and you quickly oblige, allowing him to push your body further into his. you let out a gentle moan at the sensation of his thigh being pressed tightly against your core. you were uncomfortably sensitive and didn’t have the patience for teasing, considering you hadn’t been laid in several years.

jungkook smirks again at your reaction, loving how easily you respond to his touch. he gently brings his hand up and places it on the side of your neck, his other hand tightly gripping your hip to hold you tightly against the wall.

he watches closely as you fight against his hold, trying to gain friction in any way possible. he can’t help the smirk that lands on his lips.

“what’s wrong, love? feeling desperate?” his words taunt you, seeing your flushed out state knowing that his words are only driving you crazier.

“god jungkook shut the fuck up and do something already.” and at that he wastes no time in finding your lips again. his fingers wrapping tightly through your belt loops to pull you closer into him, feeling his bulge through his pants only spurs you on more. your bodies hot as you pant against each other, trying to find friction and skin to grab every which way. it’s not until his hands find the hem of your shirt that you finally feel your nervousness wash away, and your arousal begin pooling beneath you.

you pull away from the kiss briefly as he quickly pulls your shirt off and throws it onto the dirty bathroom floor behind you. the walls lined with graffiti and lights flickering dimly as you both hungrily tear at each other’s skin.

you feel a moan escape your lips as his head ducks down between your breasts, rapidly switching between each one of your boobs, messily leaving sloppy kisses on each one, and twisting your nipples as he pulls away to look at you.

“can’t wait to bend you over that fucking sink over there.” you let out a low groan at his words, his fingers beginning to unbutton your jeans quickly, fumbling with the button here and there before finally unzipping them. he smirks down at you before trailing kisses from your collarbone, down to your stomach.

“you’re gonna look so pretty bent over it begging for me to fuck you.” your gaze follows him, mouth agape slightly as you watch him slowly pull your tight jeans down over your thighs. your arousal on clear display now, making jungkook’s cock twitch in his jeans, his pants suddenly becoming too tight to bare. he lets out a low growl but continues to work your jeans off completely, tossing them behind him to fall somewhere with your shirt.

he leans before you at your feet, gently palming up either one of your thighs, admiring the small mole or freckle he meets along the way, before bringing his hands up to your underwear.

your body tenses under his touch as you feel him wrap either finger around the waistband, teasing you gently as he runs his finger along it, getting dangerously close to your core.

“see that mirror too? don’t let me catch you closing your eyes. i want you to watch while i fuck the shit out of you. see what a fucked out mess you look like when i’m done with you.” his words send shots to your core as you can no longer control the moan leaving your lips.

jungkook reaches a hand down to palm over his pants briefly at your sounds. god they made him animalistic, he’s never heard a girl sound so angelic, he already knows you’re going to take him so well.

he resumes his place on your waistband and pulls your underwear off in one swift motion, leaving them to pool by your feet as he pulls you away from the wall roughly and drags you to the sink, wrapping one arm around your waist tightly, and using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing you to look at yourself.

“look how desperate you look already and i haven’t even started yet. what, has no one fucked you like this before?” his fingers grip your chin tightly as you cower under his hold, feeling so minuscule before shaking your head no.

you quickly register his surprised expression through the reflection in the mirror, but that look is quickly replaced by a cocky grin and a darkness in his eyes.

“don’t worry baby, i’ll take care of you.” he brings his hand from your chin down to your core, teasingly grazing against your clit.

you moan loudly, tossing your head back against his chest. but he’s quick to pull his hand away.

“look at yourself or i’ll walk out of here right fucking now and leave you a needy mess.” his sudden change of tone surprises you, but you obey, opening your eyes and watching as he continues his ministrations between your legs.

he begins rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves, watching you carefully through the mirror. although he’s surprised you’re obeying, he wants to test your limits. he swiftly moves his fingers from your clit, to prodding at your wet hole, making you moan in desperation.

“god please jungkook please.” you beg for anything at this point, anything to soothe the pain within you.

“please what baby?” his voice teasing as he continues to prod at your hole, dipping in gently only to pull back out making you writhe under his hold, squirming aggressively. his gaze through the mirror only making it harder for you to contain your moans.

he pulls his hand away quickly, bringing it to your back and pushing you down against the sink counter.

“dumb fucking bitch stop moving.” you listen as he begins to unbutton his pants, watching carefully through the mirror as his dick springs out between you. big is an understatement. you’re genuinely shocked at his size, your eyes wide and you want nothing more than to start begging for his cock, but you already know you’re on thin ice.

he uses his hand on your back to hold you down against the counter. “move and i take my fucking cock out of you, understood?” your eyes widen at his request.

“wha-“ before you can question him any further, his tip is buried deeply into your cunt, sliding into you in one swift motion.

“f-fuck jungkook.” the words escape your lips as you feel him fill you up completely, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. you moan gently, loving that he’s giving you time to adjust, until you slowly realize, he’s not moving for a reason. you feel the first tear slide down your cheek.

jungkook quickly notices and tries to gauge your response before speaking. he feels no resistance between the two of you, if anything, all he can feel is the arousal dripping down your thighs and coating his balls. he’s never seen a girl get this wet before.

“awww what’s wrong baby, talk to me.” his words are mocking but you can’t help but seek comfort in them, in him.

“y-you’re n-not moving.” you sniffle, your breathing ragged as you look at yourself in the mirror. lips pouted, neck painted in bruises, face wet with tears.

“is that what you want?” jungkook reaches a hand out to your face, watching in the mirror as he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. “you want me to move baby? you want me to fuck you?”

your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his words spurring you on even more as you nod desperately, looking at him through the mirror.

he smiles sheepishly, feeling a pang of sympathy for you, as well as the pain in the base of his cock begging for some sort of friction.

“use your words, love.” his voice is more gentle now as he strokes your back instead of holding it in place, trying to calm you down from the fucked out mess you’ve become so quickly. he’s never seen a girl get worked up this easily before.

you nod, gulping harshly before speaking, trying to ensure your voice is as stable as possible.

“jungkook, please move. i can’t take it.” your voice comes out in a beg, only making jungkook’s dick twitch more. he groans deeply, looking down at his cock buried deep inside of you, your legs shaking gently between him and the sink counter, and your fucked out state in the mirror before finally deciding to let go.

“if i see you look away from that mirror i stop, understood?” his words go straight to your core as you finally feel like you might get some sort of relief. you shake your head enthusiastically, showing him that you’re ready to take him, all of him.

barely satisfied with your response, but not having the energy to make you speak, he decides to let it go, reaching up and grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you harder than you were prepared for.

you’re embarrassed by the noises that emit from your body as he begins to fuck you mercilessly, his hand on your hair pulling you back slightly only spurring you on more.

“god you’re a noisy little thing aren’t you? you like being fucked like this?” his voice raspier than before if that’s even possible, making you whine and shake even harder. but he no longer has the patience for your unsatisfying behavior.

he quickly yanks your hair, pulling you back against his chest.

“answer me when i’m fucking talking to you.” you gulp, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure but knowing you’ll regret if you don’t follow his orders perfectly.

your voice comes out shaky and quieter than you expected as he continues to fuck into you. “y-yes, i like it fuck i like it a lot. please keep going.”

satisfied with your response he grins, letting go of your hair completely and letting you fall to the counter. his thrusts only getting rougher and more messy as he watches to ensure you’re looking at the mirror.

“good girl, look how pretty you are getting fucked like this.” he reaches his hand forward and brushes a few strands from your face, your mouth agape as he begins to brush against your g-spot with the change of angles.

you can no longer contain the noises coming out of you, screaming in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, hitting you perfectly every. single. time. “fuck kook, don’t stop, p-please keep going fuck.” you know your throat is going to be sore tomorrow with all the screaming, but you don’t care anymore. all you can think about is the way his balls slap against your legs, and the way his hands roam from your face down to your hips and back up again. the words dripping from his mouth that you can barely comprehend, only enough to know that they’re driving you insane. you want more. you need more.

jungkook groans watching as more slick begins to run down your thighs. and even with how wet you were you were still tighter than any girl he’d fucked. he was obsessed with the noises you were making too, they only made him want to fuck you harder, but you were drawing too much attention to them.

he reaches his hand up to your face, covering your mouth to quiet you down slightly. “it’s like you’re begging for someone to come in here and kick us out, baby. shut the fuck up before i make you.”

there was something about every word he uttered that pushed you closer and closer to the edge. you were writhing under his touch, trying impossibly hard to keep your eyes on the mirror as not to upset him, but you were nearing the edge and you were starting to lose control.

“kook, p-please.” you were able to mutter, just barely above a whisper through the crook of his hand.

he hears your voice come out gentle and shaky, slowing his thrusts momentarily to make sure you’re okay. “what is it baby?” he ducks his head forward and moves his hand slightly to hear you better. but all you can focus on is his thrusts slowing down.

“n-no, keep going, k-keep going please please.” you feel your eyes begin to water in desperation, and with jungkook in close proximity, he realizes immediately just what you need, picking up his pace again.

“you’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? are you gonna cream around my dick like a good little girl, huh?” he places his hands on your hips, guiding you down to fuck him harder, only pushing you closer and closer to the edge. you begin to moan loudly again, not caring if you’re disobeying him anymore. you were just so so close.

jungkook however, notices this along with your bad behavior, and stills his hips mid thrust, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to force you to look up at him in the reflection before you.

“what the fuck did i tell you?” his words sent a shiver down your spine and all the way to your core, tensing up around him, and this does not go unnoticed by jungkook.

“NO! n-no please please jungkook im sorry im sorry please don’t stop i promise i’ll listen!” and there it is, another tear sliding down your cheek gracefully before landing on the counter top below you.

jungkook’s heart flutters at the sight before him, your body so close to finishing, your hair a tangled mess, the tears running down your cheeks. he almost feels sympathetic.

he leans forward, tucking a hair behind your ear. “darling when i tell you to be quiet you need to be fucking quiet, understood?” his voice is gentle, almost mocking you, as he carefully pushes small pieces of hair out of your face. his other finger going down to your cheek to wipe the tears away carefully.

“you want to be good for me, right?” his voice is soft and devilish, making you clench around him once more, he bites his lip to keep a moan from escaping his mouth.

“yes, yes i do, i want to be good for you just please… im so close.” you watch as he wipes another tear from your face, returning back to his original position to admire the state of your body once more.

he leans down, watching your pussy throb around him unknowingly, the slick that was once pooling by your folds now running down your thighs, both of your juices mixed together as one. he brings a hand up to your thigh, caressing it gently and watching it shake in response.

“you want to cum, hmm?” a touch that would typically be soothing is only creating more pain and anguish for you. you want nothing more than to shut your eyes and roll your head back, but you refrain, knowing that your obedience right now is crucial to ensuring you get what you want.

“yes i do, i really do. please. show me mercy, jungkook.” you words stir something inside of him, something that he’s been suppressing until now.

he removes his hand from your thigh and instead brings it around to the front of your throat, watching your face contort as he tightens his grip.

“be careful what you wish for.” are his final words before he’s fucking you inhumanely. he’s almost animalistic as he thrusts into you deeper than you even thought was possible. if it wasn’t for the hand around your neck you’d surely be doubled over on the sink’s counter by now, or screaming at the top of your lungs. but fortunately, his restriction on your throat is making that nearly impossible, only allowing hushed squeals to escape your mouth.

“this is what you fucking asked for baby. take it.” he growls, watching as you struggle for air.

“you’re awfully quiet now, love. can’t talk?” his teasing only brings you closer to the edge, the restriction around your throat burning in the most beautiful way as you feel your high approaching again, the knot in your stomach tightening faster than you had time to prepare for, and before you know it, you’re seeing stars.

jungkook watches as you come undone around his cock, your face perfectly contorting into a piece of art before him as you squirt and cream around his cock. the tightening of your walls almost pushing him out of you. he groans loudly at the sight before him watching as you come down from your high.

“god you’re a fucking slut. you just squirt on random dudes at the bar like a dumb whore?” his thrusts are starting to become messy as he feels his high approaching, but not fast enough to leave you an overstimulated mess.

you push his hand away from your throat, gasping for air and words as you begin to plead and beg for him to stop. “too much, t-too much.” is all you’re able to get out as he brings his hand between your thighs to rub on your clit harshly.

“can’t take it? i did warn you.” his thrusts speed up even more, watching as you squirm and writhe at the overstimulation.

“ahh, n-no, j-jungkook.” watching you cry out underneath him only pushes him over the edge too, burying deep into you as he fills you up completely, his hips stalling out when he feels the tension in his abdomen has finally released.

he removes his hand from your clit and brings it up to your mouth, ignoring your protests and forcing you to lick it clean.

“good girl. that’s a good girl.” he praises, his other hand going up to the side of your head to brush your hair down gently, trying to tame it as best as he can.

you’re completely warn out, oblivious to the mess you made of not only yourself, but of the bathroom. you forgot how often you come here, probably should’ve went outside at least.

jungkook pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your already dripping cunt. he leans down, admiring his masterpiece before retrieving some tissues and wiping you up as best as he can.

“are you okay? i apologize, i can get really into it sometimes.” his voice is gentler now, calm, almost like nothing ever happened. he barely looks affected by the encounter at all.

“im more than okay.” your voice sounds borderline distraught compared to him, wishing you could remove the embarrassment of knowing how much that interaction affected you. it’s unlike you to have hookups, especially with a man you’ve just met.

he chuckles at your response, finishing his tidying before bringing himself back up to look at you, taking your chin in his hand and carefully examining your neck to make sure there’s no bruising.

“im fine, trust me. im a big girl.” you blush under his intense gaze. you’ll definitely feel the aftermath of your interaction tomorrow, but that was for your future self to worry about.

he smiles down at you before pinching your cheek cutely. “you sure are.”

[pastryfication]

Hi, so I'm a one:one teacher and I have heavy anxiety (among other things) especially this year and I use colouring as a de stressing method? So I was wondering if maybe you could write something about going to a GP with boyfriend!Oscar and you're caught colouring in the garage (you only do it during red flags or delays or whatever; you're glued to the race at all other times) and you get widely criticised for that and Oscar (and Logan and Estie and Lewis -- bc I love them and want to be their friends) all defend you? Grazie!

thank u so much for this request!! i’ve tried to write it as well as possible, but i know everyone deals with their anxiety differently. i’ve based this slightly on the way my sister deals with hers (though she has adhd and ocd as well so it might be a bit different) to make it as realistic as possible 🫶🫶

colouring books | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x anxious!reader

warnings: mentions of anxiety and toxic fans

your anxiety had always been something you had to manage carefully. you loved your job, and you found immense joy in successfully handling the challenges it faced you with, but the pressure could be stressful and at times very overwhelming. to deal with it, you discovered a love for colouring. the simple act of filling pages with bright, intricate patterns helped mollify your mind and ease your stress. letting your brain focus on something else, something so simple yet calming, became your sanctuary.

your boyfriend had always been supportive of this method. he knew how much colouring helped you stay calm, and he admired the way you balanced your demanding job with your personal struggles and always found peace amidst your daily chaos.

today, you found yourself in the bustling paddock in the city of monaco. the excitement and energy were palpable, even more so than normal, and while you were thrilled to support oscar, the sheer intensity of the environment began to weigh on you.

you stuck close to oscar for as long as possible, your hand holding firmly onto his. it didn’t take long for him to notice your tension, and he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “remember, if it gets too much, you can always find a quiet corner in the garage,” he reminded you. “you don’t have to watch the entire race.”

“i want to watch the race. i’ll be fine.” you assured him, giving him a warm smile as he left you.

as the action began, you watched nervously from the team’s garage. the roar of engines and the frenetic activity around you was both exhilarating and overwhelming. you tried your very best to focus on the race, but your mind started to spiral. when a red flag halted the race due to a crash, the sudden surge of activity and concern as the garage filled with engineers, mechanics and media personnel—all buzzing with tension and uncertainty—pushed your anxiety to its peak.

needing a moment to yourself, you found a quiet corner of the garage and pulled out your colouring book and pencils. the familiar motions soothed your nerves, gradually calming your mind.

lost in your activity, you didn’t notice the curious glances from some of the team members and fans who had found their way into the garage.

“is she seriously colouring right now?” one fan muttered.

“does she not care about what’s happening?” another scoffed.

“some support she offers . . . oscar deserves a better wag.” came a third opinion.

their criticism stung, each word amplifying your anxiety, but you forced yourself to shrug it off. they didn’t know you. they had no right to comment.

it didn’t take long before oscar entered the garage, the red flag lasting longer than expected.

he immediately noticed you huddled in the corner, trying to hide your distress. without hesitation, he walked over and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, thump moving back and forth on your skin to comfort you.

“hey, what’s going on?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes.

you explained in a hushed voice, looking down at your lap. “some people are upset that i’m colouring. they think it’s unfair to you.”

oscar’s expression hardened. “i’m gonna go talk to them.” he decided.

“no, osc, it doesn’t matter.” you tried to calm him. “i’m used to it.”

your words didn’t help in the slightest, only working to make his frown deeper. he stood up, moving to address the group of fans standing outside with a firm voice. “excuse me, everyone. i would appreciate you not talking badly about my girlfriend. she’s not being a bad support; she’s taking care of her mental health. if anyone has a problem with that, they can come talk to me.”

the room fell silent, a few people looking away sheepishly as they halfheartedly apologised.

you looked down at your lap, slightly embarrassed, but you also couldn’t help but smile to yourself, feeling your heart swell at the actions of your boyfriend. looking pleased with himself, oscar turned back to you, giving you a sweet kiss that made your heart flutter.

later that day, when you where laying next to oscar in the hotel bed, both scrolling through your phone before going to sleep, oscar turned to you with a smile on his face.

“have you seen the way the other drivers stood up for you as well?” he asked. “some fan apparently filmed the whole thing and it was shown to some of them.”

“really?” you asked, excited at the prospect of the other drivers standing up for you.

oscar only handed you his phone in answer, the screen open on a twitter thread.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 9

Series Summary: In order to save money for law school, you accept a job working as a maid for high end clients. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in more than just your curiosity peaks.  Word Count: 5k CW: see small red lettering below the cut AN: I'm going to miss them!! I'm absolutely heartbroken that I'm done, but so fucking proud of myself for what I've created. Thank you to @lotusbxtch for being my beta from pretty much the very beginning. I am so grateful to you and so honoured (yes, with a u because I'm Canadian lol) to call you my friend. Also little shoutouts to @for-a-longlongtime, @alltheirdamn, @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for listening to me go on about them for 80% of 2024. As always, graphics and dividers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: unprotected p in v, one spank, multiple orgasms and Overstim hinted at, pining, heartbreak

Eight Months Later

Joel

“I got yelled at by a feisty brunette last night at that gala,” Tommy says as the two of them sip whiskey at the bar of the club. 

“Probably deserved it.” Joel deadpans and closes the folder of invoices he’s looking over.

He should be doing this in his fancy, and newly renovated, office across the street. He was in the large office for all of three minutes the day after you left when he could only see the ghost of you. From the chair you sat in when you first asked him to teach you how to be a sub, to the door he pinned you against and confessed how out of his mind he was over you, everything was you, and it had to go if he had any chance of following what you needed from him. Joel hasn’t even been in his room at the club out of the fear of what it would do to him. Would I still be able to smell the lavender of her shampoo in there? Still be able to hear her beautiful cries of pleasure and pain bouncing off the walls?

“She thought I was you,” Tommy says, glancing over at his brother and interrupting Joel’s impending spiral.

Joel sighs, slipping his reading glasses from his face before taking a long pull of the amber liquor from his crystal glass. Tommy looks straight ahead as he continues.

“She’s doing great, by the way. Or at least that’s what her friend said when she was scolding me.”

 Joel winces at his words, “Of course she is, Tommy.” Even though it's been almost a year since you left, just the mention of you rips his barely-mended heart back in half. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, he still feels like he did in his kitchen. 

The very fibers of his being ache just as hard for you now as they did then. He longs to see you and touch you, to feel your warm, soft skin under his hands again. Anyone before you was always, ‘Yes, Mister Miller,’ even when they weren’t in a scene; but not you. You weren’t afraid to be curious and unapologetically yourself. He hasn’t laughed as hard with anyone, including Tiffany, as he did with you. But the part that he misses the most is the way you look at him the first time you see him. Your eyes soften, velvety pink lips parting slightly before they curl into a smile that makes his heart hammer behind his ribs. Then, he watches your shoulders relax and it makes him feel like he hung the moon and stars for you, and if he could have, he would have.  

He clears his throat and then rasps, “She’s too smart to not be doing well.”

Tommy stands, bringing his hands to rub at Joel's shoulders. He squeezes his tense deltoid muscles and with a hint of mischief in his voice he says, “Lots of pretty girls here tonight if you feel like moving on.”

Joel shakes his head and pulls away from Tommy’s grasp with a grunt. “Never gonna happen. Get outta here before you get yelled at two nights in a row.”

���Just too bad for me that you aren’t a hot brunette,” Tommy says with a laugh.

“I have brown hair,” Joel replies defensively, running his fingers through the grown out curls. 

“Not to kick you when you’re down, but it’s mostly grey at this point.”

Joel holds up a single finger at Tommy over his shoulder as he laughs and walks away. 

Two and a half years later

You

You’ve been up to your eyeballs in studying as you prepare for your finals. These last few years in California have been the hardest yet most fulfilling time of your life. Two nights in a row now, you’ve fallen asleep in the library, only waking when your Spotify would switch from the white noise playlist you use to help you focus, to your “getting ready” playlist. After dragging yourself to your dorm room in the dead of the night, you’d get a few restless hours of sleep before heading right back to your favourite studying spot. You can’t believe that in just a few short weeks you’ll be graduating and stepping into the life you’ve always envisioned for yourself.

The unmistakable FaceTime jingle fills your AirPods. Jamie’s name is splayed across the screen of your phone, along with a photo of the two of you at Albany Beach when she visited this past Christmas break. You put your highlighter down and slide the answer toggle over. 

“Hey!” She says, her warm smile shining up at you. You squint, trying to place where she is. You don’t often let yourself think of Joel, but the cracks across your screen make FaceTiming difficult, and the selfish side of you always wishes you had grabbed that new phone before you left. Your head cocks to the side; broken screen or not, you don’t recognize the background.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m good, thanks. How are you?” She jests with a mocking eye roll.  “I’m at a cabin.”

“What cabin?” You say, glaring at her jokingly. A deep laugh comes from the otherside of the phone and your eyes widen. “Who’s that?”

The man's voice comes from offscreen, “I can’t believe you thought she wouldn’t ask where you were. She’s going to be a lawyer, for god's sake.”

“Jamie, who is that? What is going on here? Blink twice if you need rescuing!” You joke. 

Jamie blushes, looking over the phone at whoever that voice is coming from. “I just wanted to call to see how the studying is going, and to let you know that I got the graduation tickets.”

A glass of white wine appears in front of Jamie and she smiles before puckering her lips in a kissing motion towards the man in the room with her. “Ok, seriously, who the fuck is that and where are you?”

“I was also calling to let you know that Laren can’t make it anymore and Odette is in New York,” she takes a small sip of her wine.

“Oh, well that’s ok,” you say, trying to squash the disappointment and hoping it doesn’t show in your voice or face. You wished that at least two of your three best friends would be there for you. “It can just be me and you, baby!” 

“Well…I’m wondering if I could maybe bring my boyfriend? Might be a good opportunity for you two to meet.”

“What? What boyfriend?” You say, officially abandoning all study materials until you get some answers. Jamie raises a perfectly manicured finger and calls the mystery man over. 

You swallow hard as Tommy Miller appears beside her. 

Jamie glances up at him, her bright green eyes full of admiration, his mirroring hers. The starry look in their eyes tells you everything you need to know; they’re so far gone for that even a search and rescue team wouldn’t be able to save them. She looks back at you. “Meet again, I guess.”

You try to push for answers, but either of them give in, claiming you need to focus on finals. Before you hang up, Jamie promises to tell you the entire story when you see each other next. You’re happy for your friend, especially seeing the way Tommy looked back at her. Even through your cracked screen you could see the love, but as you try to go back to studying you have a hollow feeling in your stomach.

Graduation Day

You

The late afternoon sun fills your dorm room, boxes of your belongings stacked haphazardly around you. After walking the stage tonight, you are going out to dinner with Jamie and Tommy, and then he has paid for a hotel suite so the two of you can have a girls’ night. You can’t wait to hear how Tommy went from, in Jamie’s previous words, “my dad’s new asshole friend” to her boyfriend. 

You step in front of your floor length mirror, zipping up the black graduation gown over your knee length, form fitting, deep emerald velvet dress. The California sun has been good to you, your tanned legs and sunkissed nose and cheeks are glowing. You place your blue and yellow Berkeley Law stole over your head and then grab your cap, ensuring the ‘Class of ‘28’ tassel is secure. You fluff your curls one last time as a light knock comes from your door. 

“Ready to graduate, gorgeous?” Ronan smiles at you, eyes trailing down your gown. He’s the type of handsome that’s almost painful to look at, but more importantly - you wouldn’t have made it through these last three years without him. You met the first day - the lock on your door wasn’t working, and he waltzed in on you half naked when he mistook your room as his. 

You smile at him in your doorway now; remembering the way you screamed at him that first time, trying to cover your chest, and him scrambling to close the door. His eyes were clamped shut, and he slammed his finger so hard that you had to take him for stitches. Now, several years later, he fills out his graduation gown perfectly with those wide rugby shoulders, a sight you couldn’t even have imagined back then. Whichever angel made him didn’t make a single mistake - he’s tall and insanely broad, with dark sandy blonde hair, and clover green eyes that in the right light are a golden hazel. He’s easily one of the smartest men you’ve ever met and an incredible athlete. The cherry on top, because of course there’s more: he’s an international student and has a panty-melting Irish accent. 

“Beyond ready. Let's become lawyers, babe.”

He steps aside, one arm out in a ‘ladies first’ gesture. Handsome, charming, and thoughtful - a dangerous trifecta. You slide your hand in the crook of his muscle-lined arm and walk across campus together.

Ronan jerks his head towards the coffee cart. “Remember when you spilled your entire coffee on your new puffer jacket?”

You glare up at him, you saved for weeks to buy that jacket. “No, but I remember you throwing up in that trash can after the Halloween party last year.” 

“Well, if Beach Party Barbie had helped Lifeguard Ken with all those shots we wouldn’t have had that problem, would we?” You laugh as Ronan puffs out his chest, but you both know he was more than willing to take your half of the ‘Best Couples Costume' shots. 

Finally, you reach the courtyard where the law students will be walking across a stage that acts as the symbolic bridge to the rest of their lives. I’m a lawyer, you think to yourself and try to force a smile. The magnitude of the day only really starts to sink into your bones as you see the friends and families of your classmates start to take their seats. The excited feeling you had earlier starts to morph. You’re proud of yourself for what you’ve done these last three years, and this was just the first step. You have so much to look forward to, so why do you feel a sense of dread building in the pit of your stomach? 

Ronan walks you to where you need to line up alphabetically, kissing your cheek and then, after leaning in and placing his large hand on your lower back, he whispers a joke about how you better not trip. You glance around the thick crowd for Jamie and Tommy. After realizing it’s hopeless to try and spot them in a group this large, you slip your cap over your hair and get in the procession line. 

You try to soak in every minute of the day, from the speeches to the birds chirping in the background, but something akin to loss flutters at the base of your spine. You’re just as sad to be leaving Berkely as you are excited to carve out your future. Leaving here isn’t what’s causing you to feel this way, however. You try to tell yourself that maybe it’s just nerves; even with all the job offers coming in from your internships, it’s normal to be nervous about what comes next. 

As the student union president gives his toast to the family and friends, you look down at your lap, pushing back the cuticle on your left thumb. Maybe it’s leaving Ronan. He’s been an anchor for you, grounding you almost every day of the last three years and you don’t know how you let yourself become this dependent on anyone, especially a man, again.  

You shake your head at yourself and try to move your focus to the cuticle on your other thumb. Seeing the skin clean from the nail bed eases the tension slightly for you. ‘I’m allowed to be nervous when leaning on people, but not everyone will leave me,’ you recite almost automatically in your mind, the mantra you’ve had these past few years whenever you feel yourself getting this anxious. Just as you finish the thought, a car revs in the distance and the realization of what - or who - you’re actually missing slams through you so hard that you almost feel winded. Your lungs ache, tears pushing behind your eyes as his name rings loudly through your mind.  

Joel.

You kept yourself busy since the minute you left Austin. The busier you were, the less time you had to focus on the void in your heart. During the school year, you didn’t have to find things to stay busy with; law school nearly chewed you up and spit you out. Over the summers, you worked as an intern and visited your friends. There was never a quiet moment, never too much time alone with your thoughts, and it was better this way. You can confidently say that you’d only thought of Joel six times since you walked out of his house that day: when you fell asleep on the beach and were so sunburnt you could barely move for three days; when you failed your first test; when your rusted SUV, that acted as your ticket to freedom at eighteen, died on the freeway in rush hour (from that point on you had to rely on public transportation to get you to the homes you cleaned). When you experienced your first earthquake; when you stayed up for forty-two hours straight after your partner in a group project didn’t have their side of the work done; and, lastly, this past New Year’s Eve when you were in Austin and thought you saw him at a party. 

“Is he here?”, that little box of feelings that you shut away in a vault long ago wonders. “Has anything changed for him in the last three years?” 

The small smile that pulls at your cheeks, and the excited flutter of your heart when you think about the possibility of seeing him again, proves that maybe nothing has changed for you. As the minutes tick by, your mind races with all the possible scenarios for after the ceremony. What if he is here? What will you say? What will he say? How will Ronan react, you know he has strong feelings about what happened between you and Joel. Even worse though, what if he’s not here? But maybe he’s at the hotel where Tommy and Jamie are staying?  

Before you know it, your row is standing and walking single file towards the stage. With each strike of your high-heeled strappy sandals against the concrete, a memory of Joel floods your system. The toast he made you in his kitchen, the kiss in that dimly lit hallway on your birthday, the way he walked you through his club and how calmly he talked about you being in charge before going into the voyeur room. The multitude of orgasms he gave you within the four walls of his private room. Him singing on the small stage of the dive bar you found, followed by him spanking you right there in the bathroom with his hand clamped to your face to keep you quiet. His strong hand grasping your thigh as he drove you to his house. The way he tasted on your tongue. The smell of his skin: all ash and leather, occasionally mixed with whiskey or mint. The feel of his body: hard, broad and hot. His shuddered breaths as he confessed so many things in so few words. 

‘It’s only you, sweet girl.’

‘Just call me Joel.’

‘I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.’

You carefully walk up the stairs, forcing the thoughts of Joel from your mind, just in time to hear your name announced as a graduate of Berkeley Law. You float across the stage, grabbing the piece of paper that acts as your degree until the real one comes, shaking the hand of the Dean who flips your tassel before you walk to the stairs on the other side; the stairs that symbolize the ending of your time here and the beginning of the rest of your life. 

As you reach the top of the steps, you look out into the audience and see Jamie. She pumps her fist in the air and before you can process the empty seat beside her, you feel it; a strong tug from behind your navel. It takes you less than a heartbeat to find him and the sight before you floods your body with a familiar warmth. Standing under a large tree at the edge of the audience, dressed in all black, and holding his Stetson hat to his heart, is Joel. For the first time in years you feel whole again.

 You keep your gaze on him, worried that if you so much as blink that he’ll be gone. You are supposed to follow your classmates, but you veer left, walking towards Joel. The closer you get, the more at ease you feel. He’s real, you think, he’s here. You stop a foot or so in front of him. 

“Hi, Freckles,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. His eyes dance around your face, almost as if he’s trying to memorize this moment. You can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling exactly how you are.   

“Hi, Sweet Cheeks,” you say, the same tremble in your voice, as you try desperately to hold it together. “You’re here.”

He nods and you give him a tight-lipped smile as your mind races. There’s so much you want to say, but now that he’s standing right there in front of you after three years, you don’t know where to start. 

Joel breaks the silence, jutting his chin in the direction of the other graduates as he says, “I saw you come in with your boyfriend. When I saw you kiss, I was going to leave, but I made you a promise.”

You knit your eyebrows together and take a step closer. “Boyfriend?”

“The man you walked over here with,” Joel says, his black Stetson sliding down the chest you so desperately want to touch as he drops his hands to his sides. He’s left no barriers between the two of you except the heartbreak that’s evident on his face. 

You laugh quietly, “No, he’s - that’s Ronan.”

Joel nods. “Okay.”

“He’s my friend,” you clarify, and when Joel’s face stays the same, you add, “And he’s still as gay as the day we first met!”

Joel lets out a whoosh of a breath and closes the distance between the two of you, his free hand comes to one of your curls, twirling the end of it around his thick fingers. Soft and silky meets rough and calloused. “I’m so proud of you, Freckles.”

You don’t miss how he watches your tongue dart between your lips, “Thank you.”

“So? How does it feel?” He gives you a soft crooked smile, his dimple carving into the short facial hair of his salt and pepper beard. Between that smile, and the way his brown eyes wash over you, you’re overcome with affection. He let you go. He did exactly as you asked him. He didn’t chase you or try to convince you to stay. You told him if he really loved you, then he’d do exactly this; and in turn, he did what he said he would. 

He showed up. 

“I love you,” you state and the air between you turns electric, almost like this moment could either set you both aflame or act as a generator for your future together. Joel gives you that look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe. He lets the curled end of your hair slip from his fingers, reaching up towards your graduation cap but hesitating.

“May I?” He rasps and swallows hard.

You nod, and knowing exactly what he’s going for, you take the Stetson from his other hand and place it on your head after he removes your cap. The brim of it blocks out everything but the two of you.

“Say that again, sweet girl,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” it’s barely a whisper this time. “Even after three years apart, you are everything to me. I asked you to let me go so I could accomplish this, and you did. You’ve always done what I asked, what I needed. I’m not sorry for what happened between us, but I am sorry that I missed out on getting to spend the last three years with you looking at me how you are now. I love you, Joel Miller.”

He brings his lips within a breath of yours, and your body practically vibrates with the knowledge that if you leaned just a bit forward, you’d finally have his mouth on you again. You can almost taste the mint on his tongue as the familiar fragrance of ash and leather surround you. “I have dreamed of hearing those three words leave your beautiful lips more times than I can count, baby. You’re it for me. I’ll do anything for you, even if it means breaking my own heart, but I’m always going to be here for you, rooting for you and encouraging you. I’m glad you’re not sorry, because I’m not, I’m so fucking proud of you. I love you, too, my sweet girl.”

Finally, he presses his warm, firm lips against yours while pulling you tight to his body. You wrap an arm around his neck, holding the black cowboy hat against your head with your other hand. It doesn’t matter that the ceremony isn’t done, or that there are hundreds of people to your right. For the first time in three years, everything goes quiet. He hums contentedly and you feel yourself melt against him, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss. He parts his lips, letting you take the first swipe of your tongue against his. Need floods your system, and based on the way he grinds into you, he’s feeling the same. 

He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours. “Take me home,” you practically purr.

“Where do you want home to be? I’ll go anywhere,” Joel rasps, running his nose down the bridge of yours. 

“Austin,” you respond, your breath catching as his lips ghost along the side of your mouth.

“I sold my portion of the club to Tommy and Tess. I don’t have anything holding me in Austin anymore, sweet girl. If you have a job offer you really want, that’s where we’ll go.” You pull back to look at him. You can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s serious. 

“I want to go to Austin. I have a job offer there.”

“Good thing I told Tommy not to touch my room at the club then.”

“That’s a very good thing,” you moan and then pull him in to kiss again. The audience behind you erupts into cheers, celebrating the accomplishments of every student in that crowd. 

You’re a lawyer, and suddenly, the future doesn’t seem so scary.

Joel

Taking you home to Austin that night unfortunately wasn’t an option. After finding Jamie in the crowd, and being formally introduced to Ronan, he called the car to pick up the three of you. You all met Tommy at the restaurant, celebrating with all the expensive homemade pasta and overpriced wine that you wanted; even though seeing you in that curve-hugging velvet dress was slowly killing him. Joel had kept at least one hand on you since seeing you again, and he doesn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. 

He didn’t want to rush you on your big night, so he waited patiently, listening to you tell stories of your last three years, and revelling in the evident joy that you and Jamie share over being together again. When dessert comes around he catches Tommy’s attention and gives him a small smile. It’s fitting that the two brothers, who have been so close their entire lives, would fall in love with best friends. 

Once in his room, he spent two hours stripping you down at an almost painfully slow pace. He kissed every inch of your skin twice over and has pulled five orgasms, and counting, out of you so far. 

Now, Joel is seated in the wide velvet arm chair in the corner of his hotel suite. His cock is buried deep inside of your tight cunt as you straddle him. Your skin feels like butter under his hands as he trails them along your back and the globes of your perfect ass. He’s missed tying you up, but this is what he longed for: the earth shattering intimacy he feels with you in these moments.   

“Please,” you mumble into his neck, desperate to move your hips.

“Not until you answer me,” he demands softly. “How many times was it that you needed me, but were too stubborn to reach out?”

Earlier tonight you told him about the six times you really needed him. He’d kissed you softly after each confession, returning the trust with a time he needed you. After the last one, he’d pulled back to look at you with dark eyes. He’d hated that you needed him and he couldn’t be there. He’d clenched his back molars twice before he said you’d be denied six orgasms the next time you were at the club, but tonight you have permission to come as often as you need to. 

He swats your already reddened ass cheek and your pussy flutters as you cry out. “Mister Miller, stop. Please, just let me move.”

“Do you need to use your safeword?”

“No,” you respond with a pout. 

“How many times?” He says again through gritted teeth, even though already knows the answer. 

“Six,” you sob. 

He tuts and then growls, “That doesn’t sound like my good girl, does it?”

You shake your head against his throat and moan a sound of disagreement.

“Do you want to come for me again?”

“Yes, Mister Miller. Please!”

He trails his fingers up and down your back again, the thin sheen of sweat on your skin makes it easy for him to caress you. He smiles to himself at the shiver that racks through your body at his touch. You react so beautifully to him. “Yeah? You wanna grind your swollen little clit on my piercing, baby girl?”

“Please,” you whine again, stretching out all the vowels in the word.

“Show me. Ride my cock, take what you need.” 

You lift your head from the crook in his neck and pull back slightly, rocking your hips back and forth; a sultry laugh leaves his lips at your eagerness. You look at him with hooded eyes, hair stuck to your forehead. His eyes trail down your neck to the bruises he sucked into your collar bone earlier and then to your breasts; both of which are covered in his marks. He watches the little gold nipple clamps, and the chain that connects them, bounce with each flick of your hips. 

“That’s it, sweet girl. You look like a goddess, my goddess. Who do you belong to?”

“I’m yours, baby,” you say through shallow breaths. He pulls at the chain and you cry out in pain. “S-sorry, Mister Miller.”

“Again, sweet girl. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Oh fuck, y-you, Mist -” his hands come to your face and when he whispers your name the rest of your sentence dies on your tongue.

“Just call me Joel.” The commanding voice of his alter ego is gone as he says it. 

Your hips slow, changing from a frantic back and forth to a sensual swirling motion. “I’m yours, Joel. Forever.”

He kisses you softly, a silent telling of how vulnerable he is at this moment. “Don’t ask me to let you go ever again.”

The smile you give him causes his heart to skip, “I won’t.”

“You might, sweet girl. I won't survive it if you do, so I’m going to remind you of this moment as often as possible for the rest of my life. Remind you how much you’re loved and supported. You’re mine, Freckles.” Your hips swirl and he feels you tighten up around him. “Come for me, my sweet girl.” 

“Fuck, fuck, Joel!” It’s a cry and moan all at once. 

“I’m here, it’s ok, baby.” With that, your body shudders and you fall into him as you shatter. Your pussy clenches and releases rapidly around his length. His cock twitches, and once he can’t hold it anymore he relaxes, letting his orgasm rock through him in time with yours.

“I’m yours, too,” he gasps as he melts into you.

The End

Coming Soon:

Curious how Jamie ended up with her "dads new asshole friend?"

Part 2 of the BDSMaid Trilogy coming mid 2025!

Also, stay tuned for the epilogue for Joel and Sweet Girl.

[rueclfer]

Can I get a gentle reminder smau with Shigaraki? And maybe with a little excerpt of him checking in on us 👉🏻👈🏻 love your writing, but don’t feel inclined to do this request if you don’t want to :)

ily u r sweet yes u can get some of this soft n tender shiggy

gentle reminder // tomura shigaraki

“keep track of your shit.” tomura says once more, tossing your pill bottle onto your bed, right next to your figure hidden beneath the mass of blankets.

“you see a bottle of pills that looks kinda important, that you know i left in your room since last week and you don’t think to at least notify me?” you huff, peaking your head out.

“i dunno.” he shrugs. “you leave shit in my room at the time. think i have half your closet on my floor.” 

you tightly clench the fabric of the blanket up over your nose as heat spikes up to your ears.

tomura doesn’t need an invitation to make himself comfortable in your bed. you feel the shift of the mattress underneath you and hear the rattle of the pills as he shakes it in his hands.

“so this tiny ass pill” he lays on his back, one hand behind his head, the other holding up the small orange bottle to his eyes. “is the one thing that keeps you together?”

“unfortunately.” you sigh, pulling the blanket down under your chin. “can you pass me one?”

you watch him carefully shake out the small pale pill into the palm of his hand. he returns the stare as you swallow the pill dry, returning your head down onto your pillow.

“feel better?” he sets the bottle on the nightstand.

“no.” you laugh at the naivety. “gonna take a little to get used to them again.”

“what do you need then?” he blankly stares at you. “‘cause you can’t do this for another week.”

you two lock into a staring contest while you think for a moment. 

what do i need?

you feel like shit. you haven’t taken a proper shower in a few days. you haven’t really eaten anything. your throat is dry. this migraine is pounding its way out of your skull. this is the most you’ve spoken to someone in a week.

“maybe just stay here.”

it takes him by surprise- you see the shock in his eyes. 

sure you’ve messed around a bit (a lot), but you’ve never asked him for any sort of warmth and comfort. this is new territory for the both of you.

tomura fully turns on his side and inches a bit closer to you. he’s scared to touch you, so he just invades your bubble a little bit more than he usually would. your breaths intertwine in the stuffy air of your bedroom and you see the room slowly grow dimmer as the sun sets.

“is this helping?” he whispers.

“yeah.” you close your eyes, fingers reaching out to rest on top of the back of his hand, lighting tapping over his fingers. “thanks, tomura.”

“just don’t be stupid and forget again.” he sighs, switching your hand positions, his now firmly laying flat over yours.

“maybe it’s all a ruse to get you in my bed.” you tease.

“not that you need a ruse. it’s you. i’m always available.” he scoffs. “idiot.” he quickly adds on.

tomura’s glad the sun was almost set at this point. you wouldn’t be able to see his growing flushed face and chewed bottom lip as he continues to stare at your slight smile, and tousled hair from laying in bed all day.

he’ll make a mental note to make it a habit to stop by your room and remind you to take your meds from now on. he doesn’t realize until now that this piece of solitude in each other’s presence has been something he’s been craving, almost like an insatiable hunger. 

tomura scooches closer now, letting himself in the cocoon of your blankets. you accept him in between your arms, letting him rest his head against the crook of your neck.

“thank you, tomura.” you mutter against his hairline.

“yeah.”

[jamingbenn]

year in review - hockey rpf on ao3

hello!! the annual ao3 year in review had some friends and i thinking - wouldn't it be cool if we had a hockey rpf specific version of that. so i went ahead and collated the data below!!

i start with a broad overview, then dive deeper into the 3 most popular ships this year (with one bonus!)

if any images appear blurry, click on them to expand and they should become clear!

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before we jump in, some key things to highlight: - CREDIT TO: the webscraping part of my code heavily utilized the ao3 wrapped google colab code, as lovingly created by @kyucultures on twitter, as the main skeleton. i tweaked a couple of things but having it as a reference saved me a LOT of time and effort as a first time web scraper!!! thank you stranger <3 - please do NOT, under ANY circumstances, share any part of this collation on any other website. please do not screenshot or repost to twitter, tiktok, or any other public social platform. thank u!!! T_T - but do feel free to send requests to my inbox! if you want more info on a specific ship, tag, or you have a cool idea or wanna see a correlation between two variables, reach out and i should be able to take a look. if you want to take a deeper dive into a specific trope not mentioned here/chapter count/word counts/fic tags/ship tags/ratings/etc, shoot me an ask!

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with that all said and done... let's dive into hockey_rpf_2024_wrapped_insanity.ipynb

BIG PICTURE OVERVIEW

i scraped a total of 4266 fanfics that dated themselves as published or finished in the year 2024. of these 4000 odd fanfics, the most popular ships were:

Note: "Minor or Background Relationship(s)" clocked in at #9 with 91 fics, but I removed it as it was always a secondary tag and added no information to the chart. I did not discern between primary ship and secondary ship(s) either!

breaking down the 5 most popular ships over the course of the year, we see:

super interesting to see that HUGE jump for mattdrai in june/july for the stanley cup final. the general lull in the offseason is cool to see as well.

as for the most popular tags in all 2024 hockey rpf fic...

weee like our fluff. and our established relationships. and a little H/C never hurt no one.

i got curious here about which AUs were the most popular, so i filtered down for that. note that i only regex'd for tags that specifically start with "Alternate Universe - ", so A/B/O and some other stuff won't appear here!

idk it was cool to me.

also, here's a quick breakdown of the ratings % for works this year:

and as for the word counts, i pulled up a box plot of the top 20 most popular ships to see how the fic length distribution differed amongst ships:

mattdrai-ers you have some DEDICATION omg. respect

now for the ship by ship break down!!

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#1 MATTDRAI

most popular ship this year. peaked in june/july with the scf. so what do u people like to write about?

fun fun fun. i love that the scf is tagged there like yes actually she is also a main character

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#2 SIDGENO

(my babies) top tags for this ship are:

folks, we are a/b/o fiends and we cannot lie. thank you to all the selfless authors for feeding us good a/b/o fic this year. i hope to join your ranks soon.

(also: MPREG. omega sidney crosby. alpha geno. listen, the people have spoken, and like, i am listening.)

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#3 NICOJACK

top tags!!

it seems nice and cozy over there... room for one more?

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BONUS: JDTZ.

i wasnt gonna plot this but @marcandreyuri asked me if i could take a look and the results are so compelling i must include it. are yall ok. do u need a hug

top tags being h/c, angst, angst, TRADES, pining, open endings... T_T katie said its a "torture vortex" and i must concurr

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BONUS BONUS: ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA

as an a/b/o enthusiast myself i got curious as to what the most popular ships were within that tag. if you want me to take a look about this for any other tag lmk, but for a/b/o, as expected, SID GENO ON TOP BABY!:

thats all for now!!! if you have anything else you are interested in seeing the data for, send me an ask and i'll see if i can get it to ya!