The bass thumps through the crowded club, lights flashing in sync with the pulsing music as you laugh with your friends at the bar. Conan stands a bit to the side, nursing what you don't know to be a soda. You've caught yourself glancing at him all night. His black curly hair frame his dark brown eyes, and you notice that his frame has filled out lately, lean biceps straining against his shirt sleeves, and you know there's a chiseled six-pack hidden underneath. He's cracking awkward jokes that make everyone chuckle, and something about him always draws you in.
You're swaying to the beat when a tall guy sidles up, his breath hot and beery as he leans in too close.
"Hey, beautiful, dance with me"
Before you can twist free, Conan's there, his hand on the guy's shoulder, shoving him back with surprising force.
He slurs, ignoring your polite smile and the way you step back. You shake your head, saying firmly,
"No thanks, I'm good."
But he doesn't back off.
"Playing hard to get? I like that."
His hand clamps down on your arm, yanking you toward the dance floor. Panic flares in your chest. You pull back but his grip only tightens.
"She said no, man. Back off."
His voice is steady, but you hear a slight uncertainty. The aggressor wheels around, eyes narrowing.
"Mind your business, punk"
Words escalate fast, shoves turn to swings. Conan dodges a wild punch, landing a solid hit to the guy's gut that doubles him over. They grapple, fists flying, until Conan pins him against the wall, growling,
"Get the fuck out before I really hurt you"
The guy stumbles away, muttering curses, the crowd parting like he's radioactive.
Conan's breathing hard, wiping at his face. Blood trickles from a split in his lower lip, and his nose is streaming red. Your heart races, not from fear, but from the raw heat surging through you. He protected you, that shy guy stepping up like a hero. he glances up at you, body heaving heavily. Breathing hard, Conan turned to you first, wiping blood from his chin with his sleeve. His dark eyes searched yours, concern cutting through the pain.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
He gently grabs your arm where the man squeezed it to inspect it. His voice was rough, that awkward gentleness peeking through even now.
"I am... are you? Let me help you clean up, Conan," you say, grabbing his arm gently. He winces but follows.
"I'm fine, really. It's just a scratch."
In the dim club bathroom, you wet some paper towels under the faucet, dabbing at the blood on his nose. He stands rigid, dark eyes flicking to yours.
"You don't have to do this. I can handle it."
But you insist, your fingers brushing his jaw as you tilt his chin up. The metallic tang of blood mixes with his clean, musky scent. Up close, his face is stunning, his curly hair disheveled, face etched with strength. Your thumb brushed his jawline, lingering, pulse racing as attraction surged. You'd always noticed him, but this protectiveness made you crave more. Your heart raced, adrenaline mixing with something hotter, a rush from seeing Conan step up for you, his muscles flexing under his shirt, that normally quiet guy turning protector.
"Conan"
You murmured, voice husky.
"Can I kiss you?"
His eyes widened, a flush creeping up his neck despite the blood. He hesitated, shy as ever, but nodded. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his carefully, tasting the salt of blood but not caring. He kissed back tentatively at first, then deeper, his hands finding your waist. It stung his lip - you felt him hiss softly, but he didn't pull away, his tongue brushing yours in a hungry slide. The make-out built heat fast, your body pressing closer, nipples hardening against your top as arousal throbbed between your thighs.
You broke the kiss, breathless, and took his hand, lacing your fingers with his.
"Come home with me?"
He searched your eyes, that funny awkwardness flickering before he grinned through the pain.
"Yeah. Hell yeah."
You slipped out of the club, the night air cool against your flushed skin, hailing a cab back to your place. The ride was charged, his hand on your thigh, thumb stroking circles, your pulse racing with anticipation.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you pushed him against it, kissing him fiercely again. He groaned into your mouth, hands roaming your back, pulling you flush. You dropped to your knees, fingers fumbling with his belt, yanking down his jeans and boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, veins pulsing along the length, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. You wrapped your hand around the base, stroking firmly as you looked up at him, his dark eyes hooded, curly hair messy.
"Fuck" you whispered, then took him into your mouth.
Your lips stretched around his girth, tongue swirling over the head, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum. He gasped, fingers threading into your hair, not pushing, just holding as you bobbed deeper, sucking with wet pulls. You hollowed your cheeks, taking more of him until he hit the back of your throat, gagging slightly but pushing on, saliva dripping down your chin. Conan's hips bucked involuntarily, his shy nature cracking as he moaned low.
"God, that feels... so good."
You hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch, and worked him faster, licking the underside, fondling his balls, drawing out every ragged breath.
He pulled you up before he came, kissing you messily, blood forgotten in the haze.
"Bedroom,"
He murmured, voice rough. You led him there, stripping off your clothes as you went, top first, revealing your breasts, then skirt and panties, leaving you bare. He shed the rest, his muscular body on full display: those lean biceps, the defined six-pack rippling as he moved. You pushed him onto the bed, climbing over him, guiding his cock to your slick pussy.
Conan sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist, his mouth latching onto one breast. He sucked hard on your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak, tongue flicking relentlessly. You arched into it, moaning as he switched to the other, lavishing it with wet pulls and bites that sent jolts straight to your core. His free hand kneaded the first, pinching, while you clenched around his cock, riding faster. The coil tightened, his mouth hot and insistent on your tits, his thrusts meeting yours from below, grinding his pelvis against your clit.
You sank down slowly, inch by inch, his thickness stretching you deliciously, filling you up with a burn that turned to pleasure.
"Oh fuck"
You gasped, rocking your hips once seated, grinding against him. His hands gripped your thighs, then slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples. You rode him harder, bouncing now, the slap of skin echoing as his cock plunged deep, hitting that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyes.
You came first, shattering with a cry, pussy spasming around him, soaking his length. He followed seconds later, groaning against your breast as he pumped up, flooding you with hot cum, pulse after pulse filling you deep. You collapsed together, panting, his lips brushing your skin softly now, shy again, but sated.
"That was incredible" He whispered, and you smiled, knowing this was just the start.
The museum had been your best idea in months. Taking your best friend's daughters Lily and Maya, on a Saturday afternoon felt like a good deed, and honestly, you needed the break from your own thoughts. The girls were buzzing as you walked through the cool, dimly lit hall of the animal section, their fingers pressing against glass tanks filled with beetles and frogs.
But then you saw him.
Standing in the reptile area, adjusting his glasses with a hand, was a guy who looked like he'd been plucked straight from a librarian fantasy. Tall and lean with a crisp polo shirt tucked into jeans. Curly black hair that bounced slightly when he turned his head. And faint freckles that framed his dark brown eyes that squinted when he smiled.
"Hey there," he said, voice a little strained, like he was trying to sound cooler than he felt. "You guys wanna meet Houdini?"
Lily, eight and fearless, was already nodding. Maya, six, hid behind your leg but peeked out with wide eyes.
"Okay, so," he knelt down, bringing himself to their level, "I'm gonna take Houdini out real slow. He's a corn snake, totally harmless. Just a big noodle, really."
You watched, mesmerized, as he guided the snake from its enclosure with practiced ease. His veiny were steady and gentle. He showed the girls how to let the snake slither through their fingers, laughing when Maya squealed as the tail tickled her arm.
"See? He likes you." That breathy laugh was adorable.
When the girls ran off to look at a mounted stag beetle, you found yourself stepping closer.
"Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt your work," you said, "but you're amazing with them."
He stood up, and you noticed how close you were. Up close, his shoulders filled out the polo in a way that suggested more muscle than you'd expect from a museum nerd. The fabric pulled slightly across his chest.
"Oh, thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been doing this for a while. Kids either love it or scream. Yours are the love-it type."
"They're not mine," you corrected quickly. "They're my best friend's daughters. I'm just the fun aunt today."
"Ah." A pause. "So you're a snake person? Or just here for the-you know, taxidermy?"
You laughed. "Haha not really. But I do have crested geckos at home. 2 of them."
His face lit up. "No way! I miss keeping geckos. I had 3 when I was a kid. Tigris, Flamer and Slammer."
"Did Slammer earn his name from slamming himself against the glass? Mine are always waking me up in the middle of the night." You said with a soft smile.
"Yeah, tell me about it. I miss it, though..."
"You should come see mine sometime."
The words tumbled out before you could stop them. His cheeks flushed, and for a second you worried you'd been too forward.
"Really?" he asked, fiddling with his name tag that read 'Conan - Reptile Expert'.
"I mean—yeah, I'd love that. If you're serious."
"I'm serious."
You exchanged numbers - his fingers brushed yours when he took your phone, and you noticed the way his bicep flexed as he typed.
A week later, your doorbell rang at exactly 7:00 PM.
Conan stood on your porch, clutching a small potted succulent like a peace offering. He'd swapped the polo for a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows—showing off those arms that definitely didn't belong on a museum educator. His glasses were slightly crooked, and his hair had a rebellious curl that refused to stay put.
"Hi," he said, holding the succulent towards you. "I didn't know what to bring. Figured plants are safer than chocolates because I don't know your allergies."
"They're perfect." You stepped aside. "Come in."
He spent a good thirty minutes cooing over your terrarium setup, carefully scooping each gecko into his palm, marveling at their orange spots and tiny claws. You watched him talk to them, saying things like "Hey buddy, look at you, with your big eyes" and felt warmth in your chest.
Dinner was pasta and cheap wine, easy conversation that flowed from geckos to bad movies to the time he accidentally locked himself in the museum storeroom for two hours.
"It took me a while to realize that no one was coming to get me..." Conan said with a chuckle.
"That's tragically hilarious."
"Gotta laugh or you'll cry, right?" He smiled, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes. You reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He looked down at your fingers, then back up at you.
"You're really nice," he said softly.
"You're easy to be nice to."
After dinner, you settled on the couch. The nature channel played softly, some documentary about wolves, but neither of you were really watching. You sat close, thighs almost touching, the heat of him radiating through your jeans.
He smelled like laundry detergent.
You inched closer. Your thigh pressed against his. He didn't pull away—instead, his breath hitched, and he turned his head to look at you.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hey."
Your hand landed on his thigh. The denim was warm, the muscle beneath tensing under your palm. He swallowed hard, his glasses sliding down his nose.
"Is this okay?" you asked.
"Yeah." His voice cracked. "God, yeah."
You leaned in. The first kiss was a tentative brush of lips, testing the water. He tasted like red wine, and his mouth was soft and warm. Then his hand came up to cup your jaw, fingers trembling slightly, and he kissed you harder.
You shifted, climbing onto his lap, straddling him on the couch. He groaned as your weight settled on him, his hands finding your hips, gripping like you were something precious.
"You're-" He broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Fuck, I'm kind of nervous."
"Me too," you admitted, even though you weren't, really. But you wanted him to feel safe.
His laugh was shaky. "Liar. You seem so confident."
"Doesn't mean I'm not scared of messing this up."
You kissed again, deeper this time, tongues sliding together. Your hands roamed down his chest, feeling the definition beneath the button-down. You pulled at the hem, slipping your fingers under the fabric. His stomach was warm, muscles jumping at your touch.
"Yeah?" you murmured against his lips.
"Very yeah."
He helped you unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off. Fuck. The museum uniform had been hiding a masterpiece. Lean muscle, defined shoulders, a dusting of dark hair across his chest that tapered down his stomach. His abs were visible but not bulky.
Your hand traced down his sternum. "Jesus, Conan."
"Y-you like it?"
"I love it."
He blushed all the way down his neck. And then he pulled you into another kiss, hands sliding under your shirt, fingers skimming your ribs. You arched into him, and he took the hint, lifting your shirt over your head.
"God," he breathed, looking at you. "You're so pretty."
You unhooked your bra yourself, letting it fall. His breath caught as he looked at your breasts—then he leaned in, kissing your collarbone, tracing a line down to your nipple. His mouth was hot, tongue flicking over the peak, and you gasped, your fingers threading into his curls.
"More," you urged.
He switched to the other side, sucking gently, his hand kneading your breast. The friction of his palm against your sensitive skin made you moan.
You reached between you, palming the bulge straining against his khakis. He whimpered against your skin.
"Fuck, I'm not gonna last-"
"That's okay. We've got all night."
You unbuttoned his pants, tugging them down his hips along with his boxers. His cock sprang free—hard, flushed, curved slightly upward. Pre-cum glistened at the tip. He looked down at himself, then at you, embarrassment flickering across his face.
"Sorry, I'm-"
"Don't apologize." You wrapped your hand around him. "You're gorgeous."
He made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan as you stroked him slowly, spreading the moisture down his shaft. His head fell back, exposing the long line of his throat. You leaned in, kissing the hollow beneath his Adam's apple.
"You're so good," he whispered. "So good."
You pulled off your jeans and panties in one motion, then positioned yourself over him. His hands found your hips, gripping tight, his brown eyes wide and vulnerable.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure." You lowered yourself onto him, inch by inch, and the way his eyes rolled back, the way his mouth fell open, was worth a thousand museum visits.
You sank down fully, both of you frozen for a moment, adjusting to the fullness. He was thick inside you, stretching you perfectly.
"Conan," you breathed.
"Yes-fuck-"
You started to move, rising and falling slowly, letting him feel every inch. His hands guided your hips, his breathing ragged. He watched you ride him, his glasses fogged, a strand of hair plastered to his forehead.
"You feel amazing," he said, his voice strained. "So fucking amazing."
You leaned forward, changing the angle, and he gasped—a broken sound that turned into a moan as your clit brushed against his pelvis with each thrust.
"There," you said. "Right there."
His hands moved to your ass, squeezing, helping you rock against him. The couch creaked beneath you as the pace quickened. Sweat slicked between your bodies.
"I'm close-" he warned.
"Come for me."
He looked at you, that awkward, adorable guy from the museum, with his freckles and his glasses and his nervous laugh, and then his mouth opened in a silent cry as he came, hot and pulsing inside you. The feeling pushed you over the edge too, waves of pleasure radiating from your core.
You collapsed against him, both panting. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.
"That was..." He laughed, soft and disbelieving. "I didn't know it could be like that."
"Me neither." You kissed his cheek. "Stay the night?"
His arms tightened around you. "Yeah. Definitely."
And when you woke up tangled in his arms the next morning, his glasses crooked on the nightstand, his curls a mess, you knew the museum wasn't the only place you'd be visiting again.
The chill air bit at your exposed skin as you swiftly walked to one of the many cafés on campus, textbooks hugged against your chest. The earthy smell of fresh ground coffee and cinnamon greeted your nose as you swung the door open, ringing the festive bells donning the corner of it. The café was always buzzing with the usual mass of students, but the ever increasing snowfall outside seemed to have everyone seeking the refuge of the shelter and the promise of a warm drink. Snowflakes fell against the windows, starting to build a fortress on the sidewalks. You managed to get a seat, laying your textbook and laptop out neatly, waiting for Conan. He was your biology tutor, a shy nerd with thick curly dark brown hair that always looked a little tousled, and those warm brown eyes that darted away whenever you caught him staring.
The bells chimed and you looked up to see Conan walking through the door, tapping snow off of his boots at the doormat. His cheeks flushed from the wind. You watched as he looked around the room searching for you, and his cheeks flushed as he finally found your eyes. He weaved through the patrons towards you.
'Sorry,' he mumbled, sliding into the seat across from you.
'The storm's picking up.'
He unpacked his notes, and got straight to business, focusing intently on the diagrams of cell structures. The cafe was filling fast, the noise level rising with laughter and chatter.
You tried to concentrate on the lesson, but your brain was struggling with the increased competing noises and sights. Accidental touches seemed to keep happening, your hand grazing his as you both reached for the same pen, his knee bumping yours under the table. Each time, he'd pull back quickly, a blush creeping up his neck. 'Um, so, mitosis...' he'd stammer, pushing his round glasses up.
The café soon hit capacity. An exhausted looking barista stumbled to put up a sign that read: No more seating. The snow outside was now a full blizzard, swirling fiercely.
'We could... maybe go to my place? I honestly can't focus in here’' you suggested, heart pounding a little. It was close by, but the idea of continuing the lesson there felt oddly intimate, stirring up anxious emotions inside.
Conan's eyes widened, but he nodded. 'Y-yeah, that works.'
The walk to your apartment was short but brutal, icy wind and snow whipping into your faces. By the time you stumbled inside, shaking off coats and boots, you were both laughing breathlessly. Your place was cozy—a small living room with bookshelves, leading to a kitchenette. You cleared space on the couch for the textbooks. 'Coffee?' you offered, and he accepted, settling in close to review the material.
As Conan had you explain a tricky concept to him, your fingers touched accidentally. This time, neither pulled away and you lingered there, skin touching for a second. The air thickened, charged. Conan's soft eyes met yours, hesitant but curious. You shifted closer, your thigh pressing against his. He didn't move. Carefully, you reached up, your fingers threading through his thick curly dark brown hair, soft and wild under your touch. He inhaled sharply, tentatively leaning towards you.
You closed the gap and your lips met softly at first, a tentative kiss that deepened as he sighed into the kiss, relaxing. You pulled back, staring at his face attempting to read his expression. You looked into each other's eyes for a second until his hands found your waist, pulling you nearer on the couch. You made out slowly, tongues exploring, breaths mingling. His kisses were shy but eager, tasting of coffee. You ran your hands through his hair again, gently massaging his scalp, eliciting a soft groan from him.
The supposed tutoring session blurred into something else entirely, but eventually, you both pulled back, flushed and smiling awkwardly. 'I should... head home,' Conan said, glancing at his nerdy wristwatch. You both looked towards the window and saw that outside, the snow had buried everything—cars invisible under drifts, streets empty. He tried the door, but it wouldn't budge against what you guessed to be a huge pile of snow on the other side. 'Looks like I'm snowed in,' he said, half-laughing, half-nervous.
'You should stay,' you insisted. 'It's too dangerous out there.' He agreed, settling on the couch with a blanket while you made dinner. The evening passed in comfortable talk, but as night fell, the blizzard raged on. Then, with a flicker of the light, the power went out. All of your lights died, plunging the apartment into darkness.
‘Shit’ you said, as you scrambled to find your emergency flashlight. The cold seeped in fast, the heater silent.
Conan was currently huddled on your couch, and you had gone to your bedroom and tried to get comfortable under the sheets to no avail. You padded across the hallway to the living room.
'It's too cold to fall asleep’ you managed through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms around yourself
'Do you… want to come to my bed…? We could uh… share body heat.'
Conan's eyes grew wide, but then agreement washed over his face and he nodded carefully. Your bedroom was small, the bed piled with quilts. You changed into sleep clothes in the bathroom—soft flannel pants and a tank for you, lending him your sweatpants.
Under the covers, you spooned, your back to his chest. His arm draped over your waist tentatively. The warmth was immediate, sending you relief. Minutes passed, and you felt it—his cock hardening, poking against your ass through the thin fabric. He froze, shifting away slightly. 'S-sorry,' he whispered, mortified. 'I didn't mean to-’
Your mind raced but you gathered the strength to turn to face him, the moonlight from the window casting a soft glow on his delicate face. You couldn't help but raise a hand to curiously caress his soft skin. Cupping his face in your hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks, you smiled at his beauty. 'It’s okay… it's natural.' His brown eyes were wide, vulnerable. 'I've always found you cute, you know… From the first tutoring session.'
He swallowed, cheeks burning. 'I... I have a crush on you too. Have for months.' The confession hung sweet in the air. Then, softer: 'You should know that I've never... been intimate with anyone.’
Your heart pounded, your own arousal pooling between your legs. 'If you want… I can show you?' He nodded, eyes locked on yours. You leaned in again, kissing him slow and reassuring, guiding his hands to your body.
You peeled off your tank top, exposing your breasts. His gaze was reverent as you guided his hands to touch them, his tentative palms cupping, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened. You moaned softly, encouraging him. 'Suck them’' you whispered, and his mouth was warm and hesitant at first, then more confident, tongue flicking.
Your hands roamed his chest, pushing up his shirt to feel the lean muscle beneath. You ran your fingers along his toned abs. Tugging down his sweats, you freed his cock-thick and hard, curving slightly, pre-cum beading at the tip. He gasped as you stroked him, slow pumps from base to head. 'Feels... so good,' he breathed.
You shed your pants and panties, guiding his hand between your legs. 'Touch me here.' His fingers explored your pussy, slick with arousal, circling your clit clumsily at first, then finding a rhythm as you directed. You kissed his neck, nipping gently, while he fingered you, dipping inside your wetness.
‘Do you uh… have a condom?' he asked, blushing. ‘Don’t need one, I have an IUD’. You rose from the bed, positioned yourself above and straddling his hips. 'We'll go slow.' Lowering onto his cock, you took him inch by inch, your pussy stretching around him. He groaned, hands gripping your thighs, eyes fluttering shut.
You rode him gently, rocking your hips, building the pace. His thrusts met yours tentatively, then deeper as confidence grew. 'You're so tight,' he murmured, awe in his voice. You leaned down, capturing his lips, breasts pressing against his chest. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping softly, your shared moans.
Eager to see him in charge, you asked him to flip you beneath him. Missionary allowed an extra sense of closeness. His thrusts were careful and affectionate, each one drawing gasps from you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 'Just like that,' you praised, nails raking his back lightly.
The build-up was intense, slow waves of pleasure cresting. Conan's breaths came ragged, his cock throbbing inside you. 'I'm close,' he warned. 'Me too, come with me.' Your pussy clenched around him as orgasm hit, pulsing, and he followed, spilling into you with a shuddering cry, burying his face in your neck.
After, you held each other, his head on your chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. 'That was incredible, thank you (y/n)’ he whispered, as he slowly started to drift off. The storm outside raged, but in bed, a new warmth kindled.
Tags: strangers to something more, voice kink, phone sex, anonymous sexting, slow reveal, idol!Chan is lurking, dirty talk, mystery man AU, smut 18+, blindfolds, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dom chan, praise kink, oral (f receiving) fingering
Word count: 5.4k
Summary: It starts with a text. A no-name number. A bold stranger in the dark. He saw your comment in a chaotic Stay group chat—“those fingers could ruin my life”—and now he won’t leave you alone. But maybe you don’t want him to. Because his texts are flirty, filthy, and just the right kind of fucked up. Because his voice notes make your thighs press together. Because he talks like he already knows what you sound like when you come. And the worst part? His voice sounds dangerously familiar.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
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The first text came at 12:43 AM.
Unknown Number:
hey. you awake?
You didn’t recognize it. No name. No contact photo. Just numbers. But something about the timing—and the boldness—had your curiosity flaring.
You hesitated, thumb hovering. Then answered.
You:
who’s this?
Unknown Number:
just a bored stranger. saw your number in that stay gc. figured you wouldn’t mind the company.
You blinked. That group had been pure chaos, a flood of usernames and selfies and people throwing their numbers around like confetti. You almost forgot you’d joined it in the first place.
You:
wow. bold of you to admit you’re creeping in there like that lol
also… which one were you? i don’t remember you posting anything
A pause.
Then—
Unknown Number:
i didn’t
i like watching more than talking
especially when the girls are that pretty
Your stomach dipped.
Flirty. Shameless. You should’ve blocked him.
Instead, your lips curled.
You:
so what—you just stalked and picked the first girl who looked like she’d be down to text a stranger?
Unknown Number:
no. i picked the one who made that comment about chan’s hands during that encore stage.
you said, “those fingers could ruin my life” and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
You froze.
Your heart stuttered. You remembered typing that. The GC had been flying, no way to know who’d even seen it. And now it was echoing back at you from some faceless man in the dark.
You:
you’re a menace.
admit it. you get off on lurking. Chan would be horrified.
Another pause.
Unknown Number:
maybe, but i think he’d understand
You:
oh yeah? why’s that?
Unknown Number:
because if i were him, i’d want to know exactly who says that kind of stuff about me.
especially if she meant it.
Your breath caught.
You:
…and do you?
mean it?
Unknown Number:
every word.
but you tell me—should i be worried you’re the type to flirt with strangers this easily?
You smirked at your screen, heartbeat kicking faster.
You:
maybe i just have a thing for mystery
or maybe i like the idea that some stranger out there is thinking about me when he should be sleeping
Unknown Number:
you should stop saying things like that
You:
why?
Unknown Number:
because now i’m wondering how you sound when you’re out of breath
You stared at the message a beat too long. It’s not even what he said—it’s the way he said it. Like he already knew he could be the one to pull that sound out of you.
You:
that’s a bold thing to say to someone you’ve never met. you don’t even know what i look like
Unknown Number:
don’t need to.
i like your brain first.
your mouth second.
the rest is just a bonus.
Your breath stuttered in your chest. Who was this guy?
You:
you talk like you’ve done this before
seducing strangers through a screen
Unknown Number:
i don’t.
just bored. and maybe a little curious.
You:
curious about what?
Unknown Number:
what kind of girl sends texts like that about chan’s fingers
and whether she texts even filthier things when she’s comfortable
You bit your lip, grinning.
You:
maybe you’ll find out if you don’t scare me off first
Unknown Number:
oh baby, if you scare easy… you wouldn’t have replied to me at all
The way he called you baby shouldn’t have made your stomach flip like it did. It wasn’t even a real person. You didn’t know who was on the other end. And yet—you couldn’t stop.
⸻
Day 3
Unknown Number:
still thinking about the way you said “ruin my life”
i wonder how far you’d really let someone take that
You:
depends on who it is
Unknown Number:
so if it were chan? you’d let him?
You:
you ask a lot of questions for someone hiding behind a fake number
Unknown Number:
maybe i’m just trying to find the perfect way to ruin you myself
Day 6
The texting hadn’t stopped.
It was not constant—but it was regular. Little things. Late-night provocations. Random check-ins. Sometimes he was sweet. Sometimes unhinged. But always flirtatious. Always suggestive. And always reading you too well.
Unknown Number:
you at work?
You:
yeah, bored af… why?
Unknown Number:
just picturing you trying to act normal after everything you said last night
like a good girl pretending she didn’t admit she wanted to be choked
Your fingers paused mid-typing.
You:
you’re twisted
i like it
Unknown Number:
i know you do
you’re just as fucked up as me and i haven’t even told you the worst parts yet
A few seconds of his typing bubble coming and going, before the next text dropped.
Unknown Number:
what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined about him?
No warning. No easing into it. Just dropped into your messages like a match on gasoline.
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You could’ve played coy. Could’ve brushed it off. But it was late, your inhibitions were low, and this was him—your anonymous stranger, your chaos comfort. The one person who let you say anything without judgement.
So, you gave him the truth.
You:
i think about riding his thigh way too much, like full on grinding in his studio, late at night.
headphones on, shirt off, music playing like nothing’s wrong, but i’m coming on his leg while he pretends to mix tracks
There was silence after that. No typing bubble. Nothing.
For a minute, you wondered if you’d finally gone too far. Made it too real. But then your screen lit up again—except this time, not with a message.
A voice note.
You stared at it.
The little waveform pulsed quietly, like it was waiting. And before you could think twice, you pressed play.
It started with a low breath. Like someone trying to keep their cool and failing.
Then—
“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”
The voice was deep. Gravel and heat and something so raw it skated straight down your spine. Familiar. Not too familiar—but something about it made your skin prickle.
“I shouldn’t be imagining it, but now I am,” the voice continued. Rough. Lazy. Wrecked. “You bouncing on my thigh, making those soft little noises you don’t even know you make…”
A pause.
Then a quiet, throaty chuckle.
“…and you expect me to sit still and pretend nothing’s happening? Baby, if you ever climbed on me like that, you wouldn’t be leaving the studio for hours.”
The recording cut off with the sound of a sharp inhale, like he was about to say more—but stopped himself.
Your heart pounded.
It wasn’t just the filth. Wasn’t just the way he said baby like he already owned your body. It was the tone. Something in it that teased the edges of recognition, like a song you couldn’t quite place. Not a perfect match—but a ghost of one. You frowned, replayed the voice in your mind, again and again.
And failed to ignore the stupid, impossible thought that whispered— No. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
You:
that voice
have we met before?
The message stayed unread for a few minutes.
And then—
Unknown Number:
not yet
—
You shouldn’t have replayed the voice note.
But you did.
Over and over. Lying in bed with your knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear like it held answers. And maybe it did—just not the kind that made sense. Because that voice did something to you. Tugged on a thread you didn’t know was loose.
Low. Deep. That exact kind of rough that spilled into your dreams when you thought about Chan whispering filth behind your ear.
Except… this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.
You’d said his name in front of a stranger. Described yourself melting on Chan’s thigh. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.
He’d responded like he’d wanted it. Like he was the one holding your hips down.
And God—that voice.
You tapped open a random behind-the-scenes video. Just to compare. Just to check.
Your breath hitched.
No. No way. Not possible. You were being insane.
Still… your chest felt too tight.
You:
i’m spiraling, don’t mind me
just casually obsessing over that voice note. you sound so familiar it’s driving me crazy
No reply. For hours.
But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that while you were busy unraveling, so was he.
Because you’d told him your name once. Offhanded. Way back on Day Two, when he called you baby girl in a text and you laughed, saying—
“you don’t even know me, my guy. it’s [Y/N], by the way.”
And that was all it took.
He went looking. Lurking. He searched through the GC again, found your profile. Clicked your socials.
And then he saw you.
Saw the face behind the dirty little texts. The smile that curled when you teased. The thighs you said you wanted to ride his with. The lips. The eyes. The one bikini pic you posted with zero shame and a caption that said “it’s too hot out” like you didn’t just set his whole body on fire.
He stared at your selfies so long he forgot to breathe.
And when he finally responded— It wasn’t with a text.
It was another voice note.
You saw the waveform and your stomach flipped.
Pressed play.
“Just saw your page.”
His voice came out lower this time. Slower. Like smoke and honey and trouble.
“You’re real pretty, y’know that?”
A pause. You could almost feel him grinning.
“Exactly my type. That mouth of yours would look even better wrapped around my fingers.”
You choked on air.
“If I had you in front of me right now, baby… I’d ruin you. You’d be soaked just from hearing the way I breathe your name.”
Your pulse skipped.
“Should I say it? Should I moan it for you next time?”
Click. It ended there.
You stared at your screen like it had slapped you. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, heat crawling up your neck. He knew now. He’d seen you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore.
It felt like a trap.
And you were walking right into it.
You:
what else did you see?
Unknown Number:
enough to want more
every. single. night.
You didn’t respond right away.
You needed time to breathe, time to cool down—except, you didn’t. Not really.
You were already wet before the voice note ended.
Already playing it back in your head like it was your favorite late-night playlist. That voice, so low and thick in your ears. That cocky little pause before he asked if he should moan your name.
You almost said yes.
Almost begged for it.
But instead, you smiled—schemed.
You weren’t stupid. He’d seen your socials. He was definitely stalking now. You had no doubt he’d clocked your Chan obsession.
So you decided to play a little.
Test the limits.
You:
i keep wondering what you’d sound like really moaning my name
like… if i had my mouth on you
would you curse? or say something soft in… korean maybe?
Three dots. Then nothing.
A beat.
Then the voice note came in. You didn’t even hesitate this time.
Click.
“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”
Your mouth went dry.
“But you’d have to beg for it,” he added. “On your knees. All needy, telling me exactly what you want. Exactly how deep.”
Click.
Your core throbbed.
Still—you had a goal tonight. And it wasn’t just soaking your panties.
So you pushed further.
You:
you’re so good at dirty talk
you sure you’re not some secret idol who’s had media training or something?
you kinda sound like you know how to use a mic
You smiled as you sent it. Waited.
Unknown Number:
haha! you’re cute
That’s it? No voice note this time. You narrowed your eyes, smirking.
You:
i’m serious though, i listened to one of chan’s old vlives today
he’s got a sexy ass voice, kinda deep like yours when you talk slow. you two could be twins
You watched the “read” receipt pop up instantly.
No response.
You:
wait…you’re not him, right?
imagine
Nothing.
Your phone stayed silent for almost ten whole minutes.
And then it buzzed again—another voice note.
You could already feel the grin spreading across your face as you hit play.
“I’m not him,” the voice crooned, low and slow like warm silk. “But if I was… you think I’d let you get away with saying shit like that without consequences?”
You bit your lip hard. The recording continued.
“You’d be bent over that couch before you finished the sentence, baby. Face down. Ass up. I’d remind you exactly what my voice sounds like when you’re full of me.”
Click.
You didn’t realize your thighs had clenched together until your muscles ached.
And still—you weren’t done.
You:
you’re really good at this
whoever you are
maybe too good, maybe i should be scared
Unknown Number:
then stop teasing or i’ll make you say my name while you come
Your pulse jumped.
And for the first time all night… you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you already had.
⸻
Your legs were already trembling.
You’d been edging yourself for the past ten minutes—hand under the sheets, replaying that voice note like it was a playlist you couldn’t live without. Every time he said baby in that ruined growl, your fingers slipped lower. Every time he whispered what he’d do to you, your breath hitched.
And then you got brave.
Your thumb hovered over the record icon. You didn’t think. You just pressed.
You let the silence hang for a second—just your breathing, soft and needy. You let him feel how real it was.
Then you whispered, voice hushed, drenched in heat:
“Wanna know how I sound when I imagine Chan fucking me?”
Another pause. Then a soft, teasing whimper. Just enough to make his imagination snap.
“I moan his name like it’s the only word I know,” you purred. “I picture him grabbing my throat, whispering dirty things in that deep voice and accent, and I can’t help it. I’m already dripping.”
You let your breath hitch again. Just once. Just enough.
“I imagine him pushing me up against the wall in his studio, whispering ‘good girl’ against my mouth, and I lose it. I come just from his voice.”
Click.
You stared at the screen, heartbeat in your throat. No regrets.
He didn’t answer immediately.
But when he did—oh, God.
It was instant.
Unknown Number:
baby.
Another voice note dropped in seconds later.
You didn’t even brace yourself this time. You wanted to hear him break.
Click.
“You really wanna play that game?” His voice was pure gravel now, thick with restraint. You could hear the tension, the crack in it.
“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”
You bit your lip.
“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that. Fuck—you’re dangerous.”
Another pause. A breath. Something almost like a growl.
“You wanna take this further?”
Your breath caught.
“Take a chance on me. Meet me. Let me ruin you for real.”
You blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason.
Then the final blow—
“I’ll tell you my name in person,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’ll be screaming it by the end of the night anyway.”
Click.
You stared at your phone, stunned. Soaked. Shaking.
Unknown Number:
yes or no
one word baby, and i’ll tell you where to find me
You didn’t text back. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking too hard to type. So you hit the call button.
Just like that.
Your thumb hovered for half a second before it connected. And then it rang. Once. Twice.
He picked up.
“Fuck,” he breathed—just that.
And it hit you low.
His voice—real, not filtered through a voice note. It filled your ear like silk-wrapped sin, deep and slick and raw.
“You really called me,” he said, almost laughing under his breath, like he couldn’t believe it either. “God, you sound—”
“Wrecked,” you rasped. “I sound completely wrecked.”
His inhale was sharp. You could barely get words out.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. “Your voice—your fucking voice—it’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had about Chan, but worse.”
He choked. “Worse?”
You whimpered softly, dragging your palm across your soaked core, no longer caring if he could hear.
“He ruins me,” you breathed. “In my head, he’s so mean. Doesn’t even give me time to adjust. Just whispers, ‘take it,’ and—”
“Jesus Christ,” he growled.
“—And I do. I take it like a good girl. Like I’m supposed to.”
He was silent. But you could hear his breathing—heavy, desperate. Like his hand was wrapped around himself already.
You swallowed, voice dipping lower. “I imagine riding his thigh and crying when he doesn’t let me come. You think I’m sick for that?”
“…No,” he rasped. “I think I wanna see it.”
You bit your lip hard. “You’d really watch me fuck myself stupid over your voice?”
“I’d hold your hips down,” he said. “Make you say please. Make you scream.”
And you moaned. Right into the speaker.
Soft. Real. Honest.
He gasped—just a little. That sound did something to him. You felt it.
“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say my name.”
“Chan—” It slipped. You didn’t even think.
And he shuddered.
“Fucking hell. Say it again.”
“Chan—” breathy, broken.
“Keep going.”
“Chan, please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me, I can’t—”
His voice broke, cracked, fractured in your ear. You still didn’t hear it. You didn’t notice.
Because in your head, this wasn’t real. There was no way your ultimate fantasy, your favorite idol, the man who owned your soul with one smirk on stage—was the stranger breathing ragged into your phone right now.
There was no way Chan could be real. No way he’d call you baby in that exact voice. No way he’d whisper—
“Say yes.”
Your lashes fluttered.
“To what?” you asked, dizzy.
“Say yes,” he repeated. “To seeing me. Let me prove what I’ll do to you.”
You swallowed hard. You wanted it. All of it.
Still clueless. Still soaked. Still talking to the one man you thought was impossible.
“yes.”
⸻
The car ride felt longer than it was.
Your thighs stayed pressed together the whole time, hands fidgeting in your lap. You kept reapplying lip balm even though it was perfect. Kept checking your phone even though he hadn’t messaged again—not since you said yes.
Just one message. “Penthouse” One pin drop location.
No name still. No other clue.
But you went. You had to.
You reached the building—quiet street, upscale high-rise. Your heels clicked softly against polished marble floors as you made your way through the lobby, every step heavier than the last.
Penthouse suite.
Of course.
He had money. You knew that already. The voice, the confidence, the way he said he’d show you what your fantasies felt like in real life—he wasn’t bluffing.
You stopped in front of the door.
Stared.
And then, hand trembling, you raised your knuckles and knocked once.
Silence.
And then—
The door opened. Your heart stopped.
The man standing there was familiar.
Too familiar.
Too—
“…Chan?” you whispered, eyes wide, stomach lurching.
He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair messy like he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. His chain glinted in the soft hallway light.
One corner of his mouth curved up.
And that voice—that voice that had ruined you all night—slid through your skull like molten sin.
“Surprise, baby.”
You froze.
Mouth parted. Eyes locked on his. Brain not catching up.
You were standing face to face with Bang Chan.
Your idol. Your obsession. Your late-night fantasy.
The man who whispered filth into your ear like it was made for you.
“You’re—” You choked. “No way. There’s no fucking way—”
Chan stepped closer. Just one slow, predatory step.
“You called me Chan when you moaned,” he said, dark eyes locked on your lips. “You knew.”
“I—I thought I was just—I didn’t think—”
He laughed softly, jaw flexing. “But it was always right there in front of you baby”
You backed up a step, but his hand shot out—gripped your waist. Firm. Steady. Possessive.
“I’ve been dying to touch you since the second I saw your profile, Y/N. You think I didn’t notice the way you talk about me online? You practically begged me to ruin you.”
Your knees buckled slightly.
“Now,” he murmured, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you, “I’m gonna make good on every filthy thing we both said.”
Your back hit the wall.
“But this time,” he whispered, voice all gravel and heat, “you won’t be able to pretend it’s just a fantasy.”
His mouth hovered inches from yours. Pupils blown.
Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, smoky, dark. Your pulse thudded in your ears, wild and loud. You still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t breathe.
Chan’s hand slid from your waist to your jaw, slow and steady, like he was testing how much of you he was allowed to own. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, tugged it slightly, eyes never leaving yours.
“Still think this is a dream?”
You shook your head, barely.
“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t want you waking up anytime soon.”
You leaned in, lips parted, waiting—begging—for his mouth.
But he smirked. Didn’t kiss you.
Instead, he leaned to your ear, breath hot against your skin, and whispered—
“You thought about me in this hoodie, didn’t you?
Your stomach dropped.
“Imagined me pulling it off, pressing you into my mattress—making you forget your own name.”
You whimpered, thighs clenching together.
“I heard every sound you made earlier,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to hide how wet you were.”
“Chan—” you whispered, but it cracked.
“Mm. Just like that. Say it again.”
“Chan—”
He groaned.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look you over. His gaze dragged down your body—slow, heavy, hungry. “Fuck, you’re exactly my type. Pretty little mouth, skin I wanna bite, and thighs begging to be spread.”
You shivered, hands gripping the front of his hoodie.
“Touch me,” you whispered.
“Not yet.”
You blinked. “W-What?”
His mouth was at your neck now, barely brushing your skin. Not kissing. Not biting. Just hovering.
“You already gave me everything over the phone, didn’t you? Your moans. Your voice. Every filthy thing you wanted me to do.”
His voice dropped to a sinful purr.
“So now I wanna watch you beg.”
You gasped.
“You gonna let me see how desperate you get for me? Right here, baby. Against this wall.”
You swallowed hard. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers trembling.
He grabbed your wrists—lightly, but enough to stop you.
“Mm-mm,” he hummed, lips brushing your cheek. “I said beg.”
“Chan, please,” you whimpered, arching your back just slightly, pushing your chest against his. “You don’t know how badly I need you.”
“No,” he said, low and lethal. “I do. And that’s why I’m not giving it to you yet.”
His hand slid up your thigh—almost. Almost.
Then it stopped.
“You think I’m cruel now?” he whispered. “Wait until I’m inside you and still not letting you come.”
You whined—loud.
And he laughed, dark and breathless. “There she is.”
Then finally—finally—he kissed you.
Not soft, Not sweet.
Claiming.
Tongue first. No warning. Hands gripping your hips like he owned them. You barely got a breath in before he pressed you harder into the wall, lips devouring yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.
And then—he pulled back, chest heaving.
“One more chance to back out, baby,” he said, voice wrecked. “Because after tonight, things are gonna be different.”
“Please—”
He led you down the hallway with his hand on your lower back—no words, no teasing now, just heat radiating off his body like it was built to burn you.
The lights were low, but his room still felt rich. Sleek lines, black sheets, cool-toned walls. And you—blinking at your reflection in the floor-length mirror across from the bed—trying to remember how to breathe.
“Sit,” he said, and you did.
The bed dipped beneath your weight, silk beneath your fingers. He stood in front of you, hoodie still on, eyes dark and patient like a man who already knew how the night would end.
But then—you stilled when you saw what was in his hand.
A blindfold.
You looked up at him, breath catching.
“Trust me?” he asked softly.
You nodded. He stepped closer, brushing hair away from your face before tying the fabric around your eyes. Not too tight. Not uncomfortable. But enough to change everything.
“You don’t need to see me tonight,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’ve heard me. Felt me. Begged for me.”
He guided you backward, hands careful on your shoulders, until you were flat on the bed.
“Tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting your throat, “you only get sound. And touch. And need.”
You whimpered, arching instinctively, trying to find his mouth, his hands, anything—
But he just laughed. Dark. Low. Almost cruel.
“Desperate already?” he murmured.
“Chan, please—”
“Mm. That’s the one.”
Then his hands—warm, wide—slid down your sides. Slowly. Reverently. But he still hadn’t really touched you.
Until— He moved.
Positioned you without a word. Straddled his thigh between your legs, gripped your waist, and pulled you flush against him.
You gasped—sharp, involuntary.
The muscle flexed beneath you. Solid. Hot. Right where you needed him.
“There,” he whispered. “Didn’t you say you thought about this?”
You nodded frantically, blindfolded and panting.
“Riding my thigh while I whisper all the things I’d do to you?”
“Fuck,” you whimpered, already grinding.
“That’s it, baby. Show me.”
He let you move. Just watched. Let you use him, breath heavy and dirty in your ear as he spoke.
“You’re soaked, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” you cried.
“Messing up my pants like a good girl. Gonna leave a stain right there, huh?”
He flexed again.
You whined.
His lips brushed your ear.
“You want my cock already, but I’m making you come just like this. Wanna hear how greedy you sound.”
You moaned—loud, desperate.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Or I’ll stop. We don’t come until I say so.”
“Chan, please—please—”
But he stayed still, hand pressing lightly on your lower back.
“You’ll come when I let you. Not a second before.”
And that broke you.
Your body shook, thighs trembling as he slowed you down, holding you in place.
“You wanna be good for me, baby?” he breathed, lips against your neck. “Take the blindfold off and get on all fours.”
You froze.
He tugged the blindfold free.
You blinked, dazed, ruined.
“Turn around,” he said. “Now.”
And you did.
Hands on the sheets. Ass up. Back arched.
You looked over your shoulder—heart stuttering when you saw him standing there, hoodie off, black tank hugging his chest, chain catching the light.
“You’re gonna take me now,” he growled, stepping closer, voice low and possessive. “Every inch. Every word. Every fantasy.”
“And after that?” you whispered, eyes wide, skin burning.
His smile turned sinful.
“You’ll never think of me as your idol again.”
You felt his body behind you before you heard him move.
A warm palm smoothed over your back, from the dip of your spine to the curve of your ass. Gentle. Reverent. Worshipping. He breathed slow, like he was grounding himself. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d devour you whole before he even got inside.
“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Fuck, baby. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”
You tried to answer, but the words melted on your tongue when he leaned down—chest grazing your back, lips brushing your neck.
“You let me hear you. Let me tease you. Let me own your body before I ever saw your face.”
His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, dragging slow.
“And now that I have all of you…” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re not leaving my bed until I’ve ruined you.”
You whimpered.
He laughed, breath hot and low.
“Still so shy? After everything you said to me?”
You turned your head, lips parted. “I want it. All of it.”
That broke him.
The sound he made wasn’t human.
He tore your underwear down and off in one swift pull. Fingers gripped your thighs—tight. Spreading them wide. Exposing you completely.
“Fuck me…” he breathed. “So wet. And you haven’t even been touched yet.”
“Chan—”
He dropped to his knees behind you.
And licked a stripe up your center.
You screamed.
“That’s it, baby,” he growled against you. “Sing for me.”
He devoured like a man starved—tongue precise, relentless, cruel. Two fingers slipped inside, curling just right. Your moans turned messy, hips jerking, hands clawing the sheets.
“That spot?” he rasped. “Right there?”
“Yes—yes—please—”
He spanked your ass once, hard.
“Then take it.”
You shattered—body convulsing, legs trembling, gasping his name like a lifeline. But even through your orgasm, he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you rest.
“One more,” he ordered. “I want you crying before I even fuck you.”
Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. You came again—harder, louder, incoherent.
And then— He pulled away.
You blinked back into the world to see him standing over you, eyes blown black, jaw clenched.
He grabbed your hips, dragged you up and back, and lined himself at your entrance.
“Last chance to run.”
You shook your head, tears on your lashes. “Want you.”
He thrusted in—slow, deep, unrelenting.
You both moaned—his hands squeezing your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.
“So fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”
You whined, head dropping.
He started slow. Intentional. Torturous.
Then leaned over, mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat.
“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll forget your name. Gonna fill you so full you’ll know who you belong to.”
Your moans spiraled into sobs. You were wrecked. Completely gone.
And still—he praised.
“Good girl. Taking me so well. Look at that pretty pussy swallowing me whole. Just for me.”
You lost track of time. Of the room. Of anything but the sound of your bodies slapping together and his voice dragging you through every layer of hell.
Then he flipped you. Straddled you.
Fucked you facing him. Eyes locked. One hand holding your face.
“I wanna see you come again,” he whispered. “Right here. Look at me while I ruin you.”
You nodded, tears spilling, body ready to shatter.
He slammed into you—hard, deep, ruthless.
“Now,” he ordered. “Now.”
And you screamed.
Came harder than you ever had. Back arched. Vision gone. World spinning.
He held you through it—kissed your forehead—whispered filth you couldn’t even process.
Then he followed you—coming with a groan so low and raw it vibrated through your bones.
He collapsed over you, breath tangled in your skin.
You lay there, chest heaving, both of you coated in sweat and bliss and something dangerous.
Then— A kiss to your temple.
—
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dangerous.
Your bare skin still touched his, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and the kind of risk you weren’t supposed to crave. His fingers traced lazy lines down your spine, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he was still memorizing how you felt stretched around him.
Neither of you spoke.
Because what the fuck was there to say? He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t even just some faceless number anymore.
He was him.
And he knew exactly who you were now too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you. Like you were something forbidden he couldn’t stop tasting.
You shifted, chest rising and falling against his, still breathless.
“I probably should go,” you murmured.
His hand flattened against your lower back.
“Should you?” he said.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop you either.
You pulled away slowly. Found your shirt in a messy heap on the floor, sliding it over your head without bothering to fix your hair. Your thighs still ached. The inside of them still sticky. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from pleasure or adrenaline or both.
“Is this the part where I pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, voice light but not teasing.
He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging across your figure.
“You don’t have to pretend.”
A beat passed.
Then another. And then—
“I probably should’ve stopped this,” he added, quieter this time.
“But you didn’t.”
You turned to face him fully now, shirt barely covering anything, mouth still swollen from the way he kissed you like he wanted to destroy you.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
You stepped toward him, slow.
Deliberate.
He watched you like prey—like the only reason he hadn’t pounced again was because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop the second time.
“I’m not asking for anything,” you said, standing between his knees now. “I know what this is.”
His gaze flicked up.
“What is it?”
Your lips twitched.
“Stupid. Risky. Completely fucking insane.”
He smiled.
And fuck, that smile—you could feel it between your legs.
“But you want more,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“I do,” you breathed.
“So do I.”
You swallowed hard.
The air between you practically buzzed.
No confessions. No declarations.
Just need.
And beneath it all, the low, simmering thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.
“So what happens now?” you whispered.
His hand slid up your thigh. Not possessive—familiar.
“You wait for me to text you,” he said. “Then you come back. Let me fuck that fantasy out of you again.”
Your breath hitched.
“And if I don’t?”
He smirked.
“Then I’ll send you a reminder.”
His fingers dipped between your legs through your shirt, slow and cruel, and you nearly collapsed right there.
“I’ll see you again,” he added, voice rough against your throat now. “You know I will.”
You kissed him. Hard. Brief. Addictive.
Then slipped from his grip like a storm cloud—messy, dark, full of promise.
You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t need to.
The second the door shut behind you, your phone lit up.
Unknown Number:
Next time, I want you riding my face before you even say hi.
Your smile was sinful. And your reply came fast.
You:
Next time’s too far away.
-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: ‘Unknown number’ portrays one of my most vivid imaginations about how i wanna meet Chan 😩 we’re all delulu so dont look at me like that! But yeah, Chan is always lurking? Well i hope he lurks and finds this fic too 😏😏❤️❤️
summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.
a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!
winter falls masterlist.
i.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“Shh, daddy smile.”
Soft whispers linger just outside of your apartment, elusive words that you are quick to dismiss as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks on your door.
A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever’s behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground.
“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She’s clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand.
“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor’s muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you.
“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure.
“Your dad?”
“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth.
“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head.
“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh.
She isn’t shy because she feels protected.
You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.
He’s beautiful.
Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.
“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.
“I’m your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips.
“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice.
“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.
“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly.
“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support.
“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”
“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.”
“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display.
“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.
“Yn. And you?”
“Chris.”
“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within.
Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.”
Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you.
“See I’m not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants.
Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being.
“She gets a pass, she’s still young, right Sowon?”
“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back.
“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers.
“Touché.”
A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed.
“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you.
“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”
“You don’t know how to make them?”
“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you.
“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.”
“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you.
“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move.
Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.
“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”
“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”
“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around.
An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen.
One hour later
You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight.
“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back.
“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind.
“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.
“You made them?”
“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief.
“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears.
“I know. I wanted to. and I’m a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don’t worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before.
“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth.
“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head.
“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It’s just them two.
“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both.
“I’m a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.”
“I’m sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.
“I…. I'll get going.”
“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”
“I'll see you around.”
“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it.
ii.
“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you.
You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.
You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention.
“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago.
“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours.
“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.”
“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.”
The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.
“I can text you the address?” you propose.
“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.
“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly.
“She insists on trying her makeup on me.”
“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek.
“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.
“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying.
“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”
“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her.
“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten.
“She can be very scary for such a little girl.”
“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror.
“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door.
“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch?
“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.”
“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend.
“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.”
And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.
“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well.
“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.”
☃︎⋆꙳•❅
“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements.
“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair.
“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth.
“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”
“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”
You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.
“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours.
Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest.
Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you’ve ever wanted slip from your grasp like fallen sand?
“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.
“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows.
“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.”
“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”
“Will you watch a movie later with me?”
“Of course, baby.”
“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue.
“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”
“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him.
“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it?
Your facade cracks. His voice wins.
“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.”
iii.
You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.
“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years.
“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him.
“Just with salt?”
“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly.
Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.
It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris.
“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.
“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture.
“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp.
“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours.
He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?”
“We? You were behind my back all the time.”
“I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”
“I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”
“You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”
“I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”
“Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him.
And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night.
“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.
“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”
“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.
It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.
“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter.
“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head.
“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.”
“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not.
“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly.
“The company.”
“I do find Sowon entertaining.”
“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back.
“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”
“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”
“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.”
“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near.
“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly.
He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near.
Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay.
One week later.
You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat.
“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.
“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead.
“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.
“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.
“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”
“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair.
“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”
“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.
“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.
“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.
“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.
“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”
“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing.
“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.
“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.
“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.
Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.
“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.
“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face.
“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess.
“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm.
The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems.
“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling.
You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.
“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter.
“Will she be okay?”
“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?”
“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks.
“She looks just like you,” you softly smile.
“I know,” he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.
“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up.
“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode.
You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.
A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’ hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.
You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.
The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.
Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak.
“Chris,” you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on.
“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.
“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze.
“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”
“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”
“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps, despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.”
“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears.
“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.”
“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away.
“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”
You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.
“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.
“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.”
Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before.
Five days later.
chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?
yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years
chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs
chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ
chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired
yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help?
chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring
You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock.
“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide.
“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”
“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.”
“Can I read what you wrote?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”
May these words be the first to find your ears
The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here
I'll give you everything I have
I'll teach you everything I know
I promise I'll do better
I will soften every edge
I'll hold the world to its best
And I'll do better
Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart.
“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago.
Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?”
“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.”
His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.
“Talk to me?”
“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.”
Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes.
“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.”
Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away?
“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own.
“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”
You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch.
“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.”
He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin.
“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”
“Is that what she told you that movie night?”
“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close.
“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.
You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.
“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?”
“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.”
“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.
“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.
“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.
connected.mp3 starts playing.
Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you.
You wished to be the only one Chris liked.
“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out.
So, you put on your best taunting smirk.
“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”
He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.
“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.
“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair.
“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”
“Who is she?” you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of passion.
“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.
“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.
“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold.
“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper.
“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.
To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it.
You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could.
You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.”
Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date.
iv.
You’re avoiding him.
Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks.
Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh.
He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory.
He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.
He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you.
He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.
How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?
“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.
“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.
“I don't know, baby.”
“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question.
“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”
“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.
“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!”
“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?”
“Okay!”
In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.
So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner.
“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.
“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.
“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.
“Look at me, hm?” he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. “Yn, please, I want to look at you.”
Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him.
And then you speak.
“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”
“Of course, always.”
“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“
“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.
He’s as scared as you are.
“Chris…”
“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”
“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm.
“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”
He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I'm staying.”
“You are?”
“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile.
“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.
“Thank you for asking me to stay.”
“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”
“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly.
“What happened to connected Chris?”
“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”
Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place.
“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”
“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”
“Good night, yn.”
You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again.
you win.
“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck.
Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”
He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.
bonus (one year later).
“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face.
“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.
“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly.
“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”
“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.
“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both.
It's her first time calling you mom.
You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"
“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”
“What happened to being a stylist?”
“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently.
“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.
In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.
Hi, baby! I'm sorry it took so long... I got carried away. This was also requested by my beautiful @ktxoxoxo . And the twins are 5yo (read foive haha)
8. "But I was wondering if maybe we can… go to… a date"
Word count: 4.5k
Warnings: smut
Pairing: single dad!Chan x kindergarten teacher! reader
Alexa, play Eternity by Bang Chan
Christopher Bang wasn’t late. Not technically. He just wasn’t…early. Which, in kindergarten time, might as well not have been a big deal.
“Come on, Seojin, your shoe is on the wrong foot again,” he said, crouching down to help the little boy stumbling beside him.
His twin sister, Jiwon, clung to his leg, holding a crumpled paper flower they’d made together the night before. “We’re gonna miss the morning song, daddy!”
Both kids were dressed in matching outfits— gray shirts with little cartoon animal prints, denim overalls with faded patches on the knees, that hinted at many backyard adventures, and backpacks that were easily half their size, dangling comically from their shoulders.
The sight of them, so small but so determined, made Chan smile as he helped Seojin adjust his shoes.
By the time they made it through the gates, the classroom door was already open. And there you were— Miss Yn— kneeling beside a table covered in crayons, your face lit up in that soft, welcoming smile that had always made Chan’s heart race.
“Good morning!” you greeted, your voice warm as your eyes landed on the three of them. “Rough start?”
Chan ran a hand through his curls, a sheepish laugh escaping him. “Let’s just say two kids and one missing sock is a recipe for chaos"
You knelt down, greeting the twins first. “Jiwon, is that a flower for me?” you asked, your voice gentle, eyes soft as they looked at the crumpled creation in her hands.
Then, turning to the boy, you grinned. “Seojin, did you try to put your shoes on by yourself? I’m proud of you"
The twins grinned, their eyes shining with pride. Seojin’s cheeks flushed a little at your compliment, and Jiwon grinned as she bounced excitedly on her toes. Chan’s heart hiccupped in his chest, a feeling that was both sweet and unfamiliar.
"Thank you, Miss Yn" Jiwon said, her voice a little higher than usual. She clutched the paper flower tighter, her little fingers wrapping around it protectively.
And for the first time that morning, everything felt calm.
You stood up and faced Chan, a knowing look in your eyes. “It’s okay, Mr. Bang. I get it. Mornings are always a bit of a battle.” You winked playfully, making him chuckle.
Chan glanced at the twins, now excited to begin their day. Seojin tugged at your sleeve, his eyes sparkling.
“Miss Yn, can I put the flower on the table? For you?” he asked shyly, his voice small but full of earnestness.
“Of course”, you said, gently guiding him to the table where he carefully placed the crumpled flower next to the crayons.
As you stood up, you caught Chan watching you, a tender smile on his lips. There was something in the way he looked at you— his expression was soft, his shoulders less tense, as though, just for a moment, he had forgotten the chaos of the morning.
He wasn’t just their dad, the one who had to juggle work and kids. He was someone who had to trust others, someone who could relax when things weren’t perfect.
And in that moment, with the kids happily occupied and the morning song about to begin, it felt as though everything, for once, was exactly as it should be.
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
You hadn’t meant to make it sound so serious. You just wanted to talk about the twins— Jiwon’s creativity, the way Seojin seemed to be reading well beyond his age group. It was a good thing. A proud parent teacher conversation.
But when you pulled Chan aside at pickup and said, “Do you have a moment sometime this week? I’d love to talk about the twins potential”, he stiffened like you'd handed him a surprise bill.
“Are they okay?”, he asked, brows knitting immediately,
“They’re wonderful”, you reassured quickly, a soft laugh escaping, “It’s not a bad thing. I just want to talk about how we can keep nurturing their strengths”
Relief washed over his face, followed by something more thoughtful.
“Uh… I mean, I’m off work around six most days, but it gets a little wild at home until…”, he hesitated, “Well… Until bedtime”
You nodded, sensing the chaos without needing details, "Understandable"
“But after bedtime, I’m free”, he added, then suddenly flushed, “I mean…. I didn’t mean that. Not like my bedtime. Theirs. I meant their bedtime. I don’t… uh… have a bedtime”
You bit back a smile, “After their bedtime sounds perfect”
“Cool! Yeah, I could…make tea or something?”, he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the ground.
“I’d like that”, you said, voice light “I’ll bring the files and the cookies”
He smiled, lopsided and relieved, “Okay, yeah… That’s perfect”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
When you arrived at the Bang residence, the porch light was on, making the front step glow. Chan opened the door before you could knock, and for a second, your words caught in your throat.
He was in simple clothes— a plain black tee that clung just a little to his chest, and loose grey joggers slung low on his hips. His hair was still damp, curling softly like he’d just gotten out of the shower after wrestling bedtime routines into submission.
He smelled faintly of baby shampoo and his toned, firm arms flexed subtly as he stepped aside to let you in.
"Sorry for the mess”, he said with a shy laugh, and you followed him inside.
It was the kind of mess only a home full of love made— drawings taped to the fridge with crooked magnets, some spelling ‘DADDY IS THE BEST’ in trembling letters. A blanket fort half collapsed near the hallway. LEGO scattered across the coffee table. Tiny mismatched socks clinging to furniture corners like they were forgotten for a long time. The place smelled like fabric softener and desperation
He led you to the kitchen where two mugs sat on the counter beside a dish of cookies you recognized from the classroom snack rotation.
“I hope chamomile tea is okay”, he said, scratching the back of his neck, “Or I could make dinner. I didn’t know what you’d want, so I kinda didn’t… plan anything”
Your heart softened, “Tea’s lovely. But if you have spaghetti, I’ll never say no”
He smiled, shy as usual, “Spaghetti it is, then”
As he cooked, you sat at the counter, watching him move carefully and methodically, checking the pot three times just to make sure. You wondered how often he’d made dinner with a child on each hip, how many nights he spent with no one to tell him he was doing okay.
Halfway through stirring the sauce, his voice dropped quieter.
“Most days, I feel like I’m just… trying not to mess them up”, he admitted, “Hearing that they’re doing well from someone like you it’s... It means a lot. I don’t get to hear that much”
You stood, walking slowly around the counter until you were beside him, “You’re doing better than okay, Mr. Bang. Those kids love you more than anything. I’m proud of you, honestly”
He blinked at you, his breath catching slightly at your words then quickly looked away like he didn’t want to cry over noodles.
Dinner was simple but good. The spaghetti was eaten in a comfortable silence and afterwards, the tea was easily replaced with wine, and you found yourselves on the couch, side by side, sharing stories.
At some point, you asked gently, “Can I ask about their mother?”
He paused. His thumb circled the rim of his glass.
“She left when the twins were about two”, he said finally, “Said she wasn’t ready. Said she loved them but couldn’t do this. I kept thinking maybe she’d change her mind. But she didn’t”.
Your hand rested over his, warm and comforting.
“And yet, here you are. Loving them enough for two people”
He exhaled, heavy, “Some days I feel like I’m barely holding it together. I lie awake wondering if I said the wrong thing, if I’m giving them enough, if they’ll remember their childhood as something happy or something chaotic”
“They’ll remember love, Mr. Bang”, you said, “They’ll remember those spaghetti nights and LEGO castles and their dad kissing their foreheads even when he was exhausted”.
His eyes had drifted down to your lips. Slowly. Intentionally. Then back to your eyes. Then again to your lips, “You can… call me Chris at this point. Ir Chan. It's up to you"
You pretended not to be too excited about that and just nodded.
Eventually, you stood, saying softly, “Can I… give them a goodnight kiss?”
He looked surprised, but smiled, “Yeah. They’re light sleepers, but… go ahead. They’d like that”
You tiptoed into their shared room, kissed each forehead. Seojin murmured something about Jupiter, Jiwon curled deeper into her pink blanket. Then, you came back to find Chan watching from the hallway, arms folded, soft smile on his face.
At the door, just before you left, he hesitated.
“So… Jinnie has been really into science lately”, he said. “And Wonnie thinks spaceships look like marshmallows”.
He rubbed the back of his neck again— nervous, but hopeful, “They’ve been asking to go to the science museum and I thought maybe, if you’re free… you could come with us?”
You smiled, tilting your head, “As a chaperone?”
He shook his head, a little shy laugh escaping, “As a friend. Or maybe more than that. If that’s okay”
Your heart flipped in your chest, warm and glowing.
“It’s more than okay”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
The museum was a whirlwind of tiny sneakers squeaking on polished floors and gasps of wonder echoing off high ceilings.
Seojin had grabbed your hand the moment you arrived, dragging you straight toward the “Build Your Own Rocket” exhibit.
Jiwon, who had glittery butterfly clips in her braids, was less interested in space and more fascinated by how the spaceship models looked like “giant marshmallows ready to melt”.
You laughed with them, knelt down beside them, listened carefully when Seojin explained about Mars' atmosphere like he’d been doing it his whole life. You caught Chan watching from a few feet back, arms crossed, smile soft and full of something deeper.
He joined you in the planetarium, sitting beside you in the low light, shoulders touching lightly. The twins sat between you, leaning against each of your sides. When the stars lit up above, Seojin whispered, “I wanna be an astronaut”, and Jiwon added, “I wanna paint the stars with glitter”
Chan chuckled beside you, low and quiet, then he looked over at you, his voice barely a murmur in the dark.
“You’re good with them”, he said. “Better than I imagined. And I imagined a lot”
You glanced at him, your lips curving, “They make it easy. You did a good job with them”
But really, you meant he made things easy.
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Outside, the sun was beginning to set. Golden light spilled over the parking lot, catching in Chan’s hair making him look even more attractive as he lifted Jiwon into her car seat. Seojin was still clinging to your hand, reluctant to let go.
“Do you gotta go now?”, he asked, looking up with wide eyes.
“Yeah, sweetie. But I’ll see you soon”
He frowned a little, “You’ll come next time too, right?”
You leaned down, brushing a curl off his forehead, “Anytime you want, sweetheart”
Jiwon peeked from the back seat, “Next time we can show you the jellybean galaxy!”
You grinned, “Deal”
As you stepped back, Chan walked you to your car, hands shoved into his pockets. He looked like he was working something out—- something big and maybe a little scary.
Just before you opened the door, he spoke.
“Hey. So this was… really nice. They loved having you. I loved having you around”
You turned, heart pounding.
He swallowed, then tried again, softer.
“I know we’ve kind of been… circling this. But I was wondering if maybe we can… go to… a date? No kids, no science museum… Just us”
You smiled, eyes warm, “I thought you’d never ask”.
He laughed, relief breaking across his face like sunshine. “So that’s a yes?”
“Hell yes”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Chan picked you up at 6:30 sharp, wearing a soft blue sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, a delicate cologne clinging to him that smelled like sandalwood and cozy days. He smiled when you opened the door.
“You look amazing”, he said softly, like he’d been waiting for say it the entire drive there.
He took you to a quiet Italian restaurant. It was rustic chic— exposed brick walls, soft jazz playing in the background, and lit candles between you. The kind of place where conversation came easily and time slipped by unnoticed.
He let himself lean into it, lean into you. He laughed, talked about the twins but also about music, late night ideas he used to chase, what he missed about himself before life got so heavy.
At some point, between sips of red wine and bites of pasta, he glanced at you and asked, “Do you ever feel like there’s a version of you out there somewhere? I mean, untouched by responsibility or grief or fear? Someone still wild enough to dream without a plan B?”
You tilted your head, eyes tender,“Who is that person for you?”
Chan exhaled slowly, like he hadn’t expected you to ask but needed the answer more than he realized.
He paused, “He used to stay up all night writing songs no one would hear. He believed things could work out just because he wanted them to. He didn’t think about failure or bills or being enough. He just… lived”
You nodded, “Do you miss him?”
“I miss how he felt, he admitted, “But I think... I think you bring that version out in me”
You touched his wrist gently, letting silence wrap around the moment before answering.
“I think that version of you still exists. I see him when you talk to your kids. When you laugh. When you look at me with that glint in your eyes”
He smiled, soft and a little shy. And when dessert came, he didn’t look away when he said, “I haven’t let myself want something just for me in a long time. But I want this. I want you”
You reached out for his hand over the table, squeezing it lightly, “I want you too, Chan”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
As he drove you home, you both laughed over the failed dessert.
“I mean, how can someone mess up tiramisu that bad?”, you teased, shaking your head, “It tasted like damp paper towels and whipped cream”
Chan laughed, “I was trying to be polite about it, but yeah… my mouth is still confused”
You turned to him with a playful smile, “I should make you my strawberry crumble instead. That never disappointed anyone”
He turned to glance at you at a red light, his expression softening, “Strawberry crumble?”
You nodded, “It’s kind of my specialty. A little tart, lots of cinnamon and just the right amount of crispy topping”
Chan hummed, clearly intrigued, “Now that... sounds like a dessert worth staying up for”
You smiled, playful, “Are you asking me to make you some?”
His gaze flicked to you again, “I’m saying I’d love to try anything you make”
“Well, then maybe I do”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Back at your place, you kicked off your shoes and bounced to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients while Chan watched you from the doorway, leaning against the frame like he belonged there. Like this moment had been waiting all along.
“So”, you smiled, tying your apron, “You still up for my famous strawberry crumble?”
“I’m up for anything if it means more time with you”, he said, his voice low.
He stepped closer as you moved around the kitchen, brushing past him to reach for the cinnamon. You felt him behind you before he said a word, his hand found your waist without thinking.
“You have no idea what you do to me”, he murmured, voice grazing the shell of your ear, “I’ve been trying to keep it together all night”.
You turned, breath catching as he caged you in against the counter, hands bracing on either side of your hips. His mouth found your neck, lips soft and open, tongue teasing your skin as he pressed closer.
“Every time you smile at me like that”, he whispered, voice raspier, “I forget how to think. You make me feel like a man again. Not just a dad, running on caffeine and Disney movies. Like I still exist like that”
Your hands curled in his sweater as he kissed down to your collarbone, and then up again, stopping at the curve of your jaw. His hips nudged forward against you, demanding without being possessive
“I want you so badly”, he murmured, lips brushing yours, “But I don’t wanna rush this. I just… need you to know”
You kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers pressing into your waist. It wasn’t just lust— it was weeks of glances, of bedtime giggles and science museums and stolen smiles finally turning into something more.
Eventually, with the crumble forgotten in the oven and your lips swollen from the make out session, he pulled back with a breathless smile.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to taste anything but you after this”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Weeks had passed since that first dinner. Since the bad tiramisu, since he walked you to your door with the promise to call.
And he called, and texted, and showed up with warm drinks and tired eyes after long days.
Your dates became routine in the best way— quiet dinners, evening walks, music shared between car rides. But even more than that, there were mornings spent with sleepy kids climbing into your lap and afternoons at the park with juice boxes and way too much energy. You weren’t just seeing Chan anymore— you were becoming a family.
You were at the Bang’s residence, the living room smelled like pepperoni and fresh dough. There was a kid sized mountain of pillows on the floor, and Ratatouille was playing in the background. But the real action was happening in the kitchen, where you stood in front of the counter with Jiwon and Seojin on a stool, each one beside you.
“Hold on”, Chan said, squinting at the recipe book, “What even is a ‘heaping tablespoon’?”
You laughed as Jiwon whispered, hand to her mouth, “Daddy always looks confused when he is around you”
Seojin nodded, “Daddy gets all blushy when people say your name”
“Like this”, Jiwon said dramatically, puffing out her cheeks and smearing flour on them for effect.
Your laugh echoed through the kitchen, full and bright.
“Do I really blush?”, Chan asked from the sink, ears already pink.
“Yes”, both kids said in unison
“It’s okay”, you said, nudging him with your hip as you passed, “I think it’s cute”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Later, with their bellies full of pizza and cookies, you helped Chan carry two sleepy, cookie drunk kids up the stairs. He tucked Jiwon in with her favorite stuffed wolf, pressed a kiss to Seojin’s forehead, and turned to flick off the light when the little boy’s voice stopped him.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“Can Yn live here with us someday?”
The girl blinked up sleepily, “I want her to help with bedtime stories”
Chan swallowed, heart catching in his throat.
“We’ll see,” he said softly, already daydreaming, “But that would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Downstairs, you were just finishing drying the dishes, when you felt a presence behind you. Chan’s hand slid across your waist, his touch needier than before.
He turned you around, guiding you gently but firmly toward the laundry room, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.
“Chan… what’s that?”
He didn’t answer. Just walked you backward until your back hit the dryer machine, then kissed you. Not sweet, not teasing.
Starved.
Tongues tangling, teeth grazing, hands gripping. His mouth devoured yours like he’d waited his whole life to be allowed this.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?”, he rasped between kisses, his breath hot on your lips, “I want you in this house. In my bed. I want to wake up next to you. Watch you make breakfast in my t-shirt. I want your voice in their bedtime routine”
You gasped, fingertips clenching his shirt.
“I want you to be mine”, he whispered against your jaw, kissing down your neck, slow and hot, “Not just here for the cookies and movies. I want you here everyday. For real”
You tilted his chin up so he could see your face, see your smirk softening into something serious.
“So make me yours, Mr. Bang”, you said, already breathless.
That word— Mr. Bang— drawed a raw, shaky breath from him.
His hands slid under your shirt, warm palms against your skin, pushing it up until you lifted your arms and let him tug it off. His lips find yours again— desperate, hungry, but still slow like he was savoring this. Like he was not ready to rush anything that’s taken him so long to let himself want.
He lifted you effortlessly, placing you on top of the dryer machine. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs as he settled between them. You tugged at his shirt, and he took it off, his muscles flexing. You couldn't help but touch him, dragging your fingers down his chest, his abs, until he groaned.
“You look like a fantasy”, you whispered
“Keep your legs around my waist”, he demanded, dragging his palms up the outside of your thighs, “And your hands on my shoulders”
Your breath caught.
“You can’t be noisy”, he warned, dragging his lips along the column of your throat, a teasing scrape of teeth just under your ear, “They’re asleep upstairs. Can you be quiet for me?”
You nodded, breath catching as his fingers teased down between your legs, slipping past your waistband and finding just how ready you were. He groaned into your neck as he slid your panties aside just to find out how wet you were.
“Fuck, baby… all this for me?”
“You make it hard not to want you”, you panted
He teased, circling two fingers slowly over your entrance, before sliding them in. You answered with a gasp, back arching as his fingers work you open, making you clutch at his shoulders to stay quiet. But you fail. A soft, broken moan slips out, and instantly— he stops.
He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, thumb dragging gently over your bottom lip, “Didn’t I say quiet?”
“I tried”, you whispered, flushed and needy.
He rewarded your honesty with a kiss, tongue sliding against yours as he fumbled with his pants. He lined himself up, rubbing the tip of his cock through your slick folds, until you whimpered, and finally pushed inside in one long, delicious thrust. You squeezed his shoulders, swallowing a moan as he filled you.
“I’ve wanted this for so long”, he muttered against your lips, “You feel like mine. All mine”
He fucked you like he meant every word he said earlier. Like he was claiming every second of the life he wanted with you.
Your body trembled, the pressure building until you were gasping, your eyes pleading.
His hips moved in devastating rolls, each thrust deeper, dragging soft whimpers from your throat. His hand clamped over your mouth, his own face contorted with the effort to stay quiet too. The rhythm stutters, then picks up— rougher, needier, but still careful not to knock over anything or make too much sound.
You were close, he felt it.
“Come for me, baby”, he panted
When you came, your body clenched around him so tight he choked on a groan, pulling out just in time, pumping himself hard with his hand as his release spilled over his fingers and your skin,chest heaving as he tried not to groan too loud.
He cursed low under his breath, panting into the crook of your neck, resting his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck… I couldn’t risk it. But god, you make it so hard”
He leaned into you after, kissing you softly.
“I’ve been dreaming about that”, he murmured, “And now I need round two. Where I can ruin you in every position I’ve imagined”
You laughed softly, nose brushing his, “You sure you’re not too old for round two?”
He narrowed his eyes playfully, “Oh, baby. You’ll regret that”
You giggled as he helped you get down from the machine, both of you half naked and buzzing with heat when you heard…
“Daddy?”
You both stopped immediately.
Chan mouthed a fuck, then looked for his shirt. You yanked your own top down and slid into the hallway, flushed and breathless.
There she was Jiwon, holding back tears.
“I can’t find Bubbles”
You kneeled, smoothing her hair, “Let’s go find him, sweet girl”
You searched together—under blankets, pillows, even behind the fridge— until you spotted the bunny tucked behind the couch. She smiled and hugged you tight.
From the doorway, Chan watched you. Hair messy, shirt a little crooked, still glowing from what just happened. And at that moment, all he knew was— if there was one thing he was doing right in this life… was choosing you.
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Epilogue:
It was just past lunch time when Chan told you to wear something cozy and not to ask questions. He held your hand the whole drive, humming under his breath, stealing glances at you like he still couldn’t believe you were actually there.
The road led to the edge of the city, to a quiet hill bathed, where the breeze blew through swaying grass. The twins had fallen asleep in the backseat, curled against each other like they were sharing the same dream, and Chan smiled as he parked, kissing your hand before stepping out.
“Come on”, he whispered, , “I have something for you”
You helped him lay down a few blankets near the car,on the grass. Then, from the trunk, he pulled out his acoustic guitar. You blinked, surprised.
“You wrote me a song?”
He grinned slyly, “Tried to”
When he started playing, it was tender. Every note carried the weight of memories: late night talks, messy mornings, little hands reaching up for yours, flour on cheeks, stolen kisses when both kids were giggling in the next room.
Then came the words, wrapped in that warm tone only Chan had.
I'm never letting go
Let's go on a little walk, see the world outside
Don't wanna let you go
The way that you give me your hands, I'll fly
Eternity
You didn’t realize you were crying until he leaned forward, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. His voice cracked on the last chorus, but he kept going, like the song was the truest way he knew how to speak.
When it ended, you sat in silence, your hand on his chest, feeling the way his heart still trembled under your touch.
“Was it… good?”, he asked
You nodded, tearful and smiling, “It was perfect”
He cupped your cheek again, foreheads touching.
“You’re it for me”, he whispered, “This… us, the kids… this is everything. I just wanted you to know… I’ll love you like this. Always”
Under the open sky, with the twins sleeping nearby and his voice still lingering in the air, you kissed him like a promise.
“I’ll love you too, my Channie. Forever”
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a genetic disposition (to loving you) :: [BC x Reader]
read on AO3
summary: seeing chan at the genetic clinic when he told you he was too busy to hang out was one thing. noticing he was now significantly taller than he was a couple weeks ago was another.
learning he's been diagnosed with the werewolf disorder is something different entirely.
pairing: bang chan x reader
tropes: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, modern werewolf au, no transformations tho, chronically ill reader, reader has EDS (ehlers danlos syndrome), some angst, slight miscommunication trope
smut warning: masturbation (m), handjobs, blink-and-you-miss-it subby chan, voyeurism, pussy eating (x2), no actual ABO dynamics but that's not stopping Chan from calling himself Alpha, dirty talk, lots of begging, standing/wall sex, cumming inside AND cumming outside.
content warning: talks about being in pain, self deprecating talk, anxiety spirals, very brief internalized ableism, panic attack
word count: 21.6k
author's note: if you saw the three different attempts to post this, no you didn't. enjoy! <3
Chan was acting weird.
To be fair, he always acts weird. Weird might actually be his default. But this was a different type of weird– a weird that involved canceling plans last minute and making up flimsy excuses about why.
Today, he was supposed to accompany you to your doctor's appointment. A simple, low stakes kind of hangout. You looked at your phone with a sigh.
Channie: sorry, can we do a raincheck for our hangout? not to sound like a fuckboy but something came up
Channie: i really am sorry babygirl. i'll make it up to you i promise. please tell me how it goes okay?
You let out a small huff of air. You would love to be annoyed, mad even, but at the end of the day, this is Chan, your best friend since elementary school. The guy who held you through heartbreaks and stressful semesters. The guy who memorized your ridiculously complicated Dunkin order. The guy who dropped everything to stay with you at the hospital a few months ago when things got really bad.
The guy you're secretly in love with.
Okay, maybe that was a minor and insignificant detail in the grand scheme of things. Either way, you can't be mad at Chan.
You: don't worry channie. i'll be okay. I hope your stuff goes well ok?
Channie: love u, good luck with your appointment, it's gonna be ok
Right. Your appointment.
You'd been having some increasingly bothersome and worrying symptoms for the better part of 2 years now. It started with a noticeable dull ache in your knees that wouldn't go away, reaching a peak now where there's not a single day you wake up pain free. The doctors were just as stumped as you were, and as sort of a last ditch effort, they sent you to a geneticist in the expensive part of the city. Thank goodness for adequate health insurance.
You were a bit nervous, which is why you asked Chan to come with you, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You've been to specialists before.
Still, disappointment rises in your chest as you finish pulling your hair away from your face and securing it with a scrunchie before grabbing your essentials and heading out the door. You're more disappointed about the fact that he's not coming instead of what he's not coming to. You're getting a little weary and tired of the excuses and him bailing on plans.
But then you think about the way his voice sounds when he calls you babygirl, and everything seems right again.
The trip to the geneticist office is long, and by the time you arrive, you feel the exhaustion in every joint. For such a high caliber place, it's decorated just as sterile and modern as you were expecting, with white walls and white furniture. When you go to check in, the receptionist hands you a tablet with various forms pulled up and points you to the waiting room.
You settle into one of the white waiting room chairs, balancing the iPad on your lap as you begin working through the forms. The questions start simple enough - name, date of birth, insurance information. Then they get more involved, diving into your medical history.
Have you experienced any of the following symptoms in the last six months?
The list that follows is daunting - joint pain (obviously), muscle weakness (sometimes), unexplained fatigue (who doesn't have that?), difficulty concentrating (depends on the day). You find yourself checking more boxes than you'd like.
Your mind drifts to Chan again. You wonder what was so important that he had to cancel. Usually, he at least gives you a concrete excuse, even if it's something silly like having to wash his hair or visit his parents. Today's vague "something came up" feels different. Worrying.
Before you can stop yourself, you pull out your phone.
You: this intake paperwork feels like the ending of a medication commercial
You: i’m surprised they haven't asked me if i or a loved one has been diagnosed with mesothelioma
The message stays on delivered for a while, longer than you expect. You give up on staring at your phone and turn your attention back to the paperwork.
After a ridiculous amount of questions and an even more ridiculous amount of signatures, you finish the preliminary stuff, heading back to the receptionist desk to hand her the iPad. She gives you a polite nod and smile and lets you know the nurse will be out in a second, so you can wait in the small chair by the double doors.
You're lost in thought, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when you hear the gentle sound of your name called. The sound makes you look up, tucking your phone away and grabbing your bag. A nurse stands by the double doors, clipboard in hand, wearing deep purple scrubs and a smile that somehow makes the sterile environment feel a little more human.
You push yourself up from the chair, joints starting their songs of protest after sitting still for so long. The nurse offers pleasantries that you respond to with your usual politeness. As you're walking towards the open door, you hear a beep and the whirr of an electronic lock unlocking. The closed side of the door swings open and–
There's Chan.
You both freeze mid-step, eyes wide and locked on each other like this is the first time you're seeing each other in years. It feels like it, but you did just see him last weekend at a mutual friend's birthday party. It was a fun night, but he was acting strange and dodgy then, too.
something came up.
You squint at him, not sure whether confusion or anger is winning the war in you right now. He opens his mouth once, twice– words are failing. The most he can do is let out a shaky, “Babygirl…”
You take that moment to really look at him. His hair is in its natural curly state, but significantly more messy than usual, wisps falling over and around themselves. His eyes are red and bagged heavily, and his shoulders seem like they're scrunching in on themselves. He hasn't looked like this since that night in the hospital with you.
Something is definitely wrong.
The nurse clears her throat, and you remember you're being waited on. You motion wordlessly towards the nurse and he gives you a shaky nod.
“I'll, um. I'll text you,” he mumbles weakly, holding the door open for you as you walk past. When you do, you can't help but look up at him, like way, way up. More than you usually do. You almost pause again– are your bone problems making you shrink, or is he somehow taller? Why does he look like that?
It's you who nods shakily this time, forcing yourself to tear your eyes away so you don't bump into a wall. It takes concentrated effort not to look back at him while you walk down the hallway, but somehow you manage.
The nurse brings you to an exam room and tells you to sit tight while she gets the vitals cart. You obey, still dazed and confused and maybe even a little hurt if you allow yourself to really feel it. Your phone buzzes less than a minute later, and you don't even have to guess who it is.
Channie: i'm so sorry.
Channie: i can explain. i promise.
Channie: i just.. i need some time before i can
Channie: im such a fucking idiot. i'm so sorry babygirl. please.
There are a million and one responses in your head, each with varying levels of confusion or annoyance. But, among the haze, the image of his exhaustion floats back to you, and you find yourself folding.
As usual.
You: breathe, Chan. it's ok.
You: whatever it is, we'll figure it out, yeah?
You: i do wish you told me but. it's okay. I can wait for an explanation.
Channie: you're so amazing. i don't deserve you.
Channie: i'll call you when you get out ok? i love u
The nurse comes back with the vitals cart and begins prepping materials before you can respond properly, so you send back a heart and slip your phone into your pocket. When the blood pressure cuff tightens around your arm, you wonder if the nurse will notice how fast your heart is beating – though you're not sure if it's from anxiety or the way Chan's voice cracked when he called you babygirl.
Maybe both.
To his credit, Chan truly does make it up to you, in the form of an extended weekend away at his parents’ cabin upstate. The invitation, or request rather, comes a couple days after the geneticist incident while you're in bed feeling anxious over your test results.
Channie: picking u up thursday night, we're going to my parents’ cabin till monday
Channie: had plans?
If anyone else were to text you like that, you'd balk at their audacity. But because it's Chan, there's a growing heat in your face when you simply reply:
You: no plans. promise you won't bail?
He sends you a picture of his already packed duffel bag and backpack sitting by his door, then another picture of him and his laptop that's clearly pulled up to Google Maps. His eyebrow is raised, sinfully plump lips pulled into a smirk as he points at the screen.
Channie: give me some creditt
Channie: im already packed and the route is already planned
You giggle, feeling the perpetual knot of nerves in your chest loosen. A weekend away with Chan sounds like the perfect thing. It'll be a way to get your mind off the maybes and anxieties from your appointment, and a way to spend time with your best friend.
A win-win.
You spend the next few days packing and gathering supplies for a weekend at the cabin, which isn't as simple a task as it sounds. Chan is adamant that you worry about nothing except getting your stuff together, so he won't tell you what he has planned or what to pack. After losing many back and forth arguments, you toss a little bit of everything in your small suitcase, leaving your backpack for entertainment and snack purposes.
Thursday creeps up slowly, then all at once. Unfortunately, you wake up to deep pain in almost all of your joints– even your fingers seem to be screaming with every movement. Getting ready takes longer than you want, but you push through, and it isn't long before you're sitting on your living room couch, waiting for Chan to let you know to come out. It was a wonder what large amounts of Ibuprofen could do.
You hear the familiar puttering of his engine before his text even comes through, the soft ding of your phone cutting through your apartment.
Channie: i'm here babygirl
Channie: coming up to help w ur bags
A warm flutter runs through your chest at his thoughtfulness. You're not sure you'll ever really get used to it.
You push yourself up from the couch, breath hitching when the movement causes a dull ache to radiate down the length of your legs. You pause, gripping the arm of the couch and squeezing your eyes shut for a moment.
It's fine, you reason with yourself. It's not that bad. You're fine.
You're thankful that you had the foresight to pack a suitcase instead of a duffle, at least this way you'll have something to bear your weight on while you walk.
Your jacket is slipped over one shoulder when you hear the buzz from your doorbell. Chan's smiling face greets you when you open the door, looking both insanely handsome and–
“Am I shrinking, or are you growing?”
He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest, which is somewhat concealed by the oversized sweater he's wearing. You want to scold him for such a light outer layer in the bitter late autumn, but your words get stuck in your throat as you find yourself tilting your head up further than usual to look at him.
And then you give yourself the pleasure of really looking at him.
His hair is its usual wispy, beautiful mess. He cards his fingers through it as he looks at you, smiling as though about to say something, when suddenly his smile drops, his eyebrows furrowed as he stands up straight.
“You're in pain.”
It’s not a question. He's providing the information to you as fact. You blink in surprise.
“Yes, I am, but how did you–”
"I can–” He cuts himself off, looking uncertain for a moment before shaking his head. "I just know you, babygirl. You're not putting much weight on your left leg, anyway."
Hm. He caught you there.
“How bad is it?”
You finish shrugging on your jacket. “Um, maybe six out of ten. But I took medicine, I should be– Are you sweating?”
It's a stupid question, because he is, and you don't need a verbal response to confirm it. Sweat is beating at his temples and dampening his hair. Something flickers across his face, but then his expression is back to normal again.
You watch him flip through a million different responses in his mind, but before he settles on one, he spots your bags next to the door and goes to grab them, slinging your backpack over his shoulder with profound ease. He's moving so fast and he's so jittery that you barely get a second to process everything.
“Chan,” you finally say when he whizzes past you again to put your remote back in the organizer. He pauses, back stiffening like he's a little kid again about to be scolded. He turns to you slowly. “Are you okay?”
You watch him take a deep, shuddering breath, his entire body seeming to expand and contract. The unnatural stiffness in his body seems like he's forcing himself to stay still, and you see his finger drumming patterns on his thigh.
You repeat his name, softer this time. “What's wrong?”
He shakes his head a bit too fast. “No, nothing, I–” He runs his fingers through his hair, pausing to grip the roots to ground himself to this moment. It works for a second. “I'm… okay. I can explain everything later babygirl, I just… I really just want to focus on spending time with you.”
There's a raw edge to his voice that makes your chest tighten. You study his face, taking in the exhaustion, the sheen from sweat, the way his eyes won't meet yours. Every instinct screams that something is wrong, but…
“Okay,” you relent with a sigh. It should be embarrassing how easily you fold for him. It should maybe even be studied. “But you promise that you'll explain?”
He deflates, eyes brightening with relief. “I promise. Chris-Cross my heart.” He punctuates his sentence by putting his hand over his chest.
You can't help the smile that takes over your face at that– the reference to the silly rhyme you'd made up when you were kids based on his English name. A bit of the anxiety in your chest loosens. “Now let's go before the traffic gets unbearable.”
You grab your keys and headphones, giving your apartment one last glance over before following Chan out of the door. By the time you finish locking up, he's already halfway to the elevator, his abnormally long legs quickening his pace. As you try to catch up with him, you can't help but notice his stature– how his shoulders seem broad under his sweater, how he just seems… more.
The elevator ride to the parking garage under your apartment building is quiet, but not uncomfortably. Chan is humming something under his breath, his increasingly restless fingers tapping out the rhythm on his leg. Despite all of it, you feel relaxed. No matter what's going on, this is still your Chan, your person.
He tosses your bags into his trunk with an ease that perks your entire body to attention. When you go to pull open the passenger door, he beats you to it, adding a dramatic flourish as he holds it open for you.
Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.
In the passenger's seat is a small pink box with a label from your favorite bakery, alongside a nice variety of drinks in the cupholder. He's got a pair of fluffy slippers on the mat by your feet, too, and you can see on the dashboard he's turned the seat warmers on.
“Chan,” you breathe. Your heart is doing strange things in your chest, and you're either feeling extremely touched or about to pass out. “You didn't have to–”
“I wanted to.” You turn to look at him, and he's looking away, scratching the hair at the base of his neck. “Felt like an ass, you know, being so distant and weird. Needed to make it up to you.”
It's entirely unfair that he can just… say those things to you. He's your best friend, so of course he's affectionate– that's just how he's been since you met in third grade. What started with bringing extra GoGurts and tying your shoes when you broke your wrist has just now turned into spoiling you with cabin vacations and things you mention offhandedly that you like.
No biggie.
He nudges you in the car playfully, making some lighthearted joke about him getting too soft on you. You can barely hear him over the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears, choosing instead to follow his movements in the rear view mirror. You watch as he pauses by the trunk, carding a hand through his hair and taking a big breath, before eventually making his way over to the driver's seat. He tosses his phone to you, effectively putting you on music duty, and then you're on the road in a matter of minutes.
Time with Chan is always easy. You talk about any and everything for the first hour of the drive, including his job, your lack thereof, and your appointment, and he listens to every detail carefully.
“So, they think it's a collagen issue?”
You nod, wiggling your feet in your new slippers as you shift your position. “They aren't entirely sure, but they're looking at collagen based connective tissue disorders, like Ehlers Danlos and Lupus. They think that could explain the other issues too.”
He looks contemplative as he peers around you to the mirror by your door, trying to merge into the next lane. “Are you scared?”
You shrug, body moving with the car. “Its.. complicated. On the one hand, it would be scary to receive a life changing diagnosis. On the other hand–”
“You're just happy to have answers.”
You nod again, taking a sip of the caramel latte he bought for you and wincing as you shift again. Long drives are always hard, but paired with the changes in the pressure as the two of you drive further into the mountains, your joints feel like they might disintegrate.
“Scale of one to ten?”
You blink. Chan hadn't taken his eyes off the road, so how could he have seen you shifting? You open your mouth, prepared to lie, but he glances at you with a single eyebrow raised. You sigh.
“Maybe a six,” you breathe.
“So the Ibuprofen didn't help?”
“It did, it's just wearing off.”
You put the latte back in the cup holder, using your hands to bear your weight as you try to find a comfy position to sit in.
“What do you need, babygirl?”
You fight the shiver his voice sends down your spine. “Nothing. Well– I don't know. Maybe a nap? Is that okay?”
“‘Course it is. Here.”
With sinfully dexterous fingers, he reaches across your lap to recline your seat for you. You let him, body going still as his strong forearm helps ease you back with the chair. When you're comfortable, he reaches behind him to the floor of the backseat, fishing around until he produces–
“Is that your couch blanket?”
His answering grin is soft. “The one you've been threatening to steal? Yeah. Maybe.”
He drapes it over you skillfully, with you having to do very minimal adjusting. The familiar, homey smell of his apartment– warmth and something else very distinctly Chan – floods your senses and wraps you in the warmest hug. It feels like coming home.
You adjust yourself again, sleep wanting to come now that you're cozy, but the dull ache in your legs doesn't want to let go. Without warning, Chan's free hand slips under the blanket and finds the knee of the leg that hurts with amazing accuracy. His hand feels blazing hot through the fabric of your sweats as he rubs his thumb in soothing circles.
“This okay, yeah?” he asks, his low voice a soothing sound to your ears. Words are caught in your throat, so you can only nod, but you don't miss how the pain starts to dissolve by his touch. You also try very hard not to think about how big his hand is on your knee.
“Get some rest, babygirl. I got you.”
The combination of his gentle touch, the music, and the smell of his blanket is making your eyelids heavy. As you finally drift off, a contented smile pulls at your mouth because no matter what, this is where you're meant to be.
This is home.
Chan wakes you up about half an hour before you're expected to arrive. However, paired with delays, the pitch blackness of the mountains, and the general unrestrainedness of Murphy's Law, you were only now getting to the cabin at just past 1am.
The cabin is beautiful, as always. It's nestled amidst a thick grove of evergreen trees, and its tall, warm wood exterior seems inviting even at the ungodly hour you two arrive. As he swings the car onto the gravel driveway, the headlights illuminate it, like it’s a secret just for the two of you.
“Cabin sweet cabin,” he murmurs as he kills the engine. He picks his phone up from the cup holder and gives it a few flicks, then suddenly the porch lights come on. You give a little stretch in your seat, your joints feeling pleasantly loose and mostly pain free– the nap worked wonders.
The two of you pile out of the car, the fresh mountain air filling your nostrils. It smells like pine needles and freshwater, with an undercurrent of something wild and electric, like the air before a storm.
“Is it supposed to rain?”
Chan barely hears you, his antsyness now back full force. He's got both of your backpacks and his duffle bag slung over his shoulders, and he goes to grab your suitcase, but you appear by his side and pull it away from him. He blinks down at you, seeming surprised to see you there.
You tilt your head to the side. He still looks sweaty, and from where you're standing, it still seems like he's radiating an insane amount of heat. His breaths are labored, and you find yourself reaching over to rub your thumb over his hand. However, once your hands connect, he jumps and pulls away like you've shocked him.
At your hurt face, he tries to backtrack. “Static,” he supplies weakly. You say nothing, and the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Come on, let's get you out of the cold.”
You try not to jump to conclusions. At the end of the day, if something is really bothering him, if something is really wrong, Chan will tell you. He has always been the brooding type, but there is but so long he can keep things from you.
Still, no matter how much you try to take things at his pace, you keep seeing his face at the clinic: the deep bags under his eyes, the messy hair. The last time you looked into those eyes and saw that same pain, you were in a hospital bed hooked up to more monitors than you could count.
Chan had been brooding then too, refusing to leave your side, asking the doctors all the right questions, keeping your parents up to date when they had to go back home. You remember one night in particular, when you were chalk full of pain meds and falling asleep under the whirr of an oxygen mask, he'd stood at your bedside and rubbed his thumb over your forehead to soothe you. You couldn't speak, too exhausted and in pain to move in any capacity, but you didn't need to. He spoke to you the entire time about everything and nothing, switching his murmuring to quiet comforts when you started to cry. Just before sleep took you under, you met his eyes– his exhausted, red rimmed eyes– and he gave you the softest, most tender look.
“We'll get through it, babygirl,” he had murmured. “You're gonna be okay. You'll come home.”
You did come home, of course, but that's when things became different. Chan was distant, constantly canceling plans, avoiding you.
You shake the memory from your head as you watch him fiddle with his keys in the lock. This weekend was meant to be about the two of you having fun. You could worry about everything else later.
Chan flicks on the overhead light in the living room area and the room floods with warmth. Everything looks just as familiar and homey as you recall.
Before you can take a good breath, he's got your bags and suitcase and is bounding up the stairs with them like they weigh nothing. You choose to busy yourself with getting comfortable, peeling off your coat and hanging it on the nearby hook.
You're tugging your hair back into a ponytail when he comes back down, and when you look up and spot him the scrunchie flies across the room.
He's taken off his hoodie, leaving him in a fitted white tee that does nothing to hide just how different his body looks. It's no secret that Chan works out, but he fills out this shirt like it was painted on him. You quickly pull your spare scrunchie from the other wrist to tie up your hair, trying not to dwell.
"Do you want me to put these in the kitchen?" you call out, holding up the bag of road trip leftovers.
"Yeah, just–" his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "Just throw them on the counter. I'll organize everything later."
You pad into the kitchen, bare feet silent on the wooden floors. Everything is exactly as you remember it – the mismatched mugs in the cabinet, the worn wooden spoons in the ceramic holder, the string lights Chan installed last summer that give everything a soft glow. If you close your eyes, you could almost pretend nothing has changed.
Almost.
You find, unsurprisingly, that the cabinets and fridge are stocked full. Chan's parents likely came out to pack up some groceries when he told them you'd be coming. You find yourself leaning against an open cabinet, staring into space, your mind a million miles away.
"You okay, babygirl?”
You jump slightly – you hadn't heard him come up behind you. He's standing in the doorway of the kitchen, running his hands through his hair again, that restless energy still evident in every movement.
"Yeah, just..." you gesture vaguely around you. "Memories, you know?"
His expression softens, and for a moment he looks exactly like your Chan again. "Yeah, I know."
The moment stretches between you, comfortable and familiar, until your stomach decides to break it with an embarrassingly loud growl. Chan's laugh is startled but genuine.
"I don't remember that.” He jokes. “Hungry?"
You feel your cheeks heat. "Yeah, I think so.”
He starts rolling his sleeves up. “I could probably make some eggs and toast, if–.”
“It's one in the morning,” you scold him gently. “Nobody is cooking.”
He gives you a pout, which is comical considering his current stature, but you still feel a tug in your chest. “But–”
You shake your head, turning away from him so you don't relent. “No buts. We have tons of snacks. Help me find something.”
At your request, the two of you rummage through the drawers and cupboards. Everything either requires too much effort or won't agree with your stomach at this ridiculous hour. You're ready to call it quits and sleep for dinner when a lightbulb goes off in your head.
“Oh, can I have one of your protein bars? You always buy the good kind.”
His smile is soft, dimples catching the light in a way that makes his entire face seem like a dream. “Of course. They're in my backpack, next to the couch.”
You slide your way to his bag with an excited pep in your step. Chan, being who he is, always buys the amazingly expensive protein bars that manage not to taste like chalky disappointment. They're surprisingly filling, and you know they'll settle your stomach without causing a stomach ache.
You find his bag quickly in the low light of the room, squatting down to rifle through it. With your hand in the front pocket, you dig around until your fingers find something that feels like the protein bar box. In your hungry haze, you yank it out without thinking.
It is not the protein bar box.
Instead, it's a thick packet of paper. You go to put it back when the letter head of the genetic clinic you visited catches your eye, along with the words “After-Visit Summary”.
Maybe if your heart wasn't thrumming in your ears, you would've heard his panicked footsteps coming after you. But the only thing in your ears is the erratic beating of your heart, one that only gets worse when you turn the packet over and read the small words on the margin:
You were seen today for: Hormonal Changes. The following issues were addressed: Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome (Werewolf Gene).
You hear your name through the roaring in your ears. It's a soft, tentative sound that cracks around the edges. You turn, slowly, to see Chan almost right behind you, his face drained of all color and his eyes blown wide.
“Chan,” you breathe. You turn a bit more towards him, the packet still gripped in your hand. “What–”
"I can explain," he says quickly, desperately. His hands are shaking. "I was going to tell you, I swear, I just– I needed time to–”
He trails off, looking around the room as though looking for someone to help him.
Genetic Lycanthrope Syndrome.
You came across this condition when you were researching the clinic, as they mentioned that they were the only place in the area that had the facilities to test for it. It was, as the paper put it, the werewolf gene. People with the condition experienced heightened senses of smell, increased strength, sensory sensitivities– they were werewolves, just without the whole full moon transformation thing.
To say the condition was rare was an understatement. Both parents had to be carriers for the trait, and even then it only occurred in 25% of those births.
And Chan happened to be one of them.
Everything clicks into place now. The sudden growth spurt, the feverishly hot skin, how he knows when you're in pain without you saying a word.
“This is why you were at the clinic,” you say softly. It's not a question.
He nods jerkily, still looking like he might bolt at any second. You stand up to take a step toward him and he actually backs away.
“Don't,” he breathes. “I'm… I don't want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” You almost laugh. “Chan, you're not going to hurt me. How could you think that?”
“No, you don't understand,” he cards his hands through his hair, pausing to tug on the roots. “I can't… I don't know how to control myself yet. I'm different now, I'm–”
“Still Chan.”
The sound he makes is painful. “You can't say that,” he breathes. His hands drop to his sides again. “You don't know what it's like.”
“So tell me," you urge. You move as though you're about to take another step towards him, and your heart drops at how his entire body flinches. “Chan. Chris. Christopher. Look at me please.”
The use of his full name does something to him, and you watch as he settles, eyes drifting over to you slowly. His gaze is intense, and in the dim light of the living room, you feel akin to a deer staring down a wolf, no pun intended.
It does not frighten you the way it should.
“Talk to me, please,” you beg. “You're my best friend. I'm here for you, always.”
“I can smell when you're in pain,” he grits out. It's not what you're expecting to hear. He clenches a hand into a fist, then lets it go. “You usually smell sweet, like caramel and linen. But then your scent gets an undercurrent of something harsh, like burnt sugar and metal, and I… I feel like–”
He lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as he cuts himself off. “I can't control my strength. I've broken so much shit around the apartment. Don't wanna touch you. Don't wanna break you.”
“You won't hurt me.” You take the opportunity to get closer, but he must smell the closing distance because his eyes fly open. You're in front of him before he can move. “Do you know why?”
Chan's breaths are ragged and labored. “Why?”
“Because you're still my Chan. Still the guy who's been taking care of me since elementary school. Still the person I trust most in the world."
His breath hitches. "How can you say that? How can you just... accept this?"
You can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Chan, I'm literally at the same genetic clinic getting tested for a collagen disorder. Did you think I wouldn't understand what it's like to have your body change in ways you can't control?"
That seems to catch him off guard. He turns away, a frown tugging at his lips. "That's... that's different.”
“Is it though?” You pretend to be thoughtful. “Last I checked, it's like both of our bodies are changing in ways we don't understand. Like we both have to navigate a new normal.”
"That's exactly why I–" he cuts himself off, running both hands through his hair. "I can't risk hurting you. Not when you're already..."
"Already what?" You challenge, taking one final step. You're close enough now that you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly. "Already broken?”
His face twists up like you've punched him in the stomach. “No! God, no. When you're already going through so much.”
“A lot of what I'm going through is a waiting game, Chan– waiting for test results, waiting for appointments at specialists. You don't have to keep things from me because of that.”
You poke him in his side, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, this? Finding out you're a werewolf–”
“The correct term is Lycanthropy Syndrome–”
“-- This is the kind of stuff that keeps me grounded. Having other things to think about. Having you around.”
You watch the tension slowly bleed from his shoulders, almost as though he's deflating. There's obviously more he isn't telling you– you can see it in the way his eyes still can't seem to meet yours– but you don't push it. He's already said so much.
“So,” you start. You rock back and forth on your feet. “Can I make werewolf puns now?”
He rolls his eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Are you pawsitive?”
He groans at that, a smile pulling at his lips despite himself. “You're the worst. I'm gonna leave you here and go home.”
But he's laughing anyway, his usual giggle that makes everything seem like it'll be alright. You beam at him. and your body lights aflame when he smiles back down at you softly. The two of you hold eye contact for a second, and you watch something untraceable flash in his eyes. Before you can even process it, he's looking away again and clearing his throat.
Another silence falls between you, but this one is different. Chan is fidgeting again, his fingers drumming against his thigh in that restless way you've noticed all evening. He's looking everywhere but at you, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
"What is it?" you ask softly.
He opens his mouth once. Twice. Three times– words seem to be failing him again. You raise an eyebrow and he sighs, a sheepish smile on his big stupidly handsome face.
"Can we..." he starts, then stops. Starts again. "Would it be okay if we... like we used to..."
You wait patiently as he struggles with the words. His ears are turning red again.
"Can we share my bed?" he finally gets out in a rush. "Like– like when we were kids? Just for tonight. I just... I haven't been sleeping well since everything started and I… um…”
Your brain short circuits as the request processes.
Share… a bed. With Chan. Taller, wider, more muscular Chan. Chan whose body heat seeps through every layer of clothing. Chan whose one hand can cover your knee easily.
From the way your body reacts, your knee jerk reaction is to say no. He's already going through enough, and Lord knows what types of degenerate scent you'd be giving off if you spent an entire night with him.
But when you open your mouth to decline, you notice how he's standing, with his shoulders curved inward, trying to make himself smaller. His big brown eyes are pleading, almost desperate, and you think about how scared he was earlier, how convinced he was that you'd reject him once you knew the truth.
Fuck it.
“Of course, Channie.”
The smile on his face is nervous, like he expects you to change your mind any second. “Yeah?”
You nod, ignoring the way your brain tries to supply you with images of everything you want to have happen. "Yeah. Just... let me get changed first?"
He nods quickly, that restless energy back but different now – excited rather than anxious. "Yeah! Yes. Your stuff is in your room, yeah? I'll be in mine when you're ready."
He's bounding up the stairs before you can say anything. You take the moment alone to take a deep breath. You can do this. It's just Chan. Just your best friend.
When you reach your room, you duck into the attached bathroom to change quickly, opting for the full top and bottom PJ set rather than the oversized hoodie you were originally going to wear. You stare at your reflection, willing yourself to calm down and look normal.
Sharing a bed with Chan is not a new concept. When you'd first gotten close in grade school, the two of you tended to hop from house to house, sleeping wherever without a care in the world. The habit continued as you grew up– in college during study sessions, during movie marathons on school breaks, that one time a few months ago when you'd gotten terribly drunk at your friend Jeongin's birthday party. It had never been anything more than two friends seeking each other's comfort.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again, face flushed and breathing ragged. You force yourself to calm down– if Chan could smell when you were in pain, he could probably smell the indecency coming off of you in waves.
Everything is fine.
When you reach the doorway of the master bedroom, Chan is already in bed scrolling on his phone. You watch his nostrils flare for a second, eyes fluttering shut as he puts his phone on the night stand.
The king sized bed looks both too big and too small.
When he opens his eyes, he looks surprised to see you. and you watch red start to tint his neck. “Um. Hey,” he breathes.
You hover in the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between you. "Hey."
Chan shifts, pulling back the covers on what has always been 'your' side of the bed “Um. Do you want... I mean, we usually..." He trails off, looking everywhere but directly at you.
You take the initiative and move towards the bed, sliding down under the covers until they reach just under your chin. Chan shuffles next to you, scooting this way and that, flipping like a hot dog on a stick. You both settle on your back eventually, staring up at the ceiling.
“This is weird,” he says after a few minutes of strained silence.
“Not weird,” you supply. “Just… different.”
“Different…,” he murmurs. “Different because I'm different?”
You almost laugh. “Chan, what? No–”
He's sliding out from under the covers before you can finish. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have– this was dumb to ask.” You ignore the way your heart drops. “I'll go sleep in the other room. Or on the couch. Or–”
You grab at his wrist before he can go anywhere. He doesn't jerk away this time, but his entire body goes rigid. You rub your thumb along the pulse point on his wrist.
“You don't have to leave,” you say slowly. “It’s not weird because you're different. It's weird because we're both over thinking it.”
He lets out a little breath. “We are, aren't we?”
"Yeah." You squeeze his wrist once before letting go. He settles back down into the bed, still looking a bit uncomfortable, but not ready to run anymore.
You smile at him before holding open the cocoon you made in the blanket. "Come here, you big baby."
"I resent that," he grumbles, but there's a smile tugging at his lips.
It takes some maneuvering to find a comfortable position. Chan is hesitant at first, careful not to crowd you, but eventually you manage to guide him until his head is tucked under your chin, his arm draped carefully over your middle. His body curls around yours despite the size difference, like he's trying to make himself smaller again. When he finally settles, it feels like every part of him is contoured to fit you perfectly.
You ignore the heat in your stomach.
The silence that settles around you is comfortable now, broken only by your breathing beginning to sync up. His body weight is grounding, and the heat he's radiating feels like the world's best heating pad.
You're just beginning to doze off when Chan makes a low, displeased grunt in the back of his throat. You can feel his eyebrows scrunch together where he's pressed against your collarbone.
“Your hip,” he murmurs.
“Hm?”
He shifts in your hold, maneuvering you until his other hand can slide under your body to wrap around you. “Your hip hurts. Or it's about to start.”
Sleepiness has made you a pliant, barely conscious little thing. You're about to ask how he can tell when his big, warm hand presses against your hip, heat radiating through the fabric until it settles deep into your bones. You can't help but let out a little whimper from the immediate relief it gives you.
Chan makes another sound in his throat, grip increasing on you almost infinitesimally.
“This good, babygirl?”
“Mmf.”
The warmth and relaxation is muddling your brain. “S'good, Channie.”
He makes a more pleased sound and nuzzles closer. Sleep takes you quickly after that, and all you can think about as you finally succumb is how lucky you are to have him here with you. You'd love to say as much, but you're too tired to open your mouth, so you give him the tiniest of squeezes, hoping he understands.
From the way his arm tightens around you, you think he does.
Things seem less charged in the morning.
You wake up to sunlight glittering through the curtains and the other side of the bed empty. The sheets are still warm, but given what you've come to learn about Chan and his temperature, he could've left the bed anywhere from three seconds to four hours ago.
You stretch a little bit as you try to wake up fully, heading to the other bedroom to freshen up for the day. It seems like an okay day pain-wise. You're at a steady three out of ten everywhere except your hands, but you brush it off. With the way you sleep, your hands take longer to catch up to the lower pain levels in the rest of your body. It's just a matter of time.
Still, you run them under warm water in the bathroom, hoping to loosen them up.
When you finally emerge, you follow the mouthwatering scent of cooking down the stairs and into the kitchen. After a nonexistent dinner, you're starved, and you could really go for some food right now.
You pause in the archway of the kitchen.
Food is… an understatement.
Chan stands at the stove, spatula in hand and preparing to flip what looks like an omelette. All around him on the counters are various other breakfast foods: scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, hashbrowns, fruit–
“When did you have time to make a sourdough starter?”
He startles slightly, turning to face you with a sheepish smile. “Ah… good morning, babygirl. I may have.. gone a bit overboard.”
“A bit?” You slide into a seat at the edge of the kitchen island in the one spot where there's no food. “If you were planning to invite the woodland creatures you could've given me a heads up, I'd be decent.”
The responding huff makes you smile. “I cannot communicate with animals. Weirdo.” Chan grins. He folds the omelette in half and flips it over. “I just… I got hungry.”
You sneak a piece of bacon off of a nearby plate and snort. “‘Hungry’ seems like a gross understatement. Is this a side effect?”
Chan's ears turn pink as he plates the omelette. "Yeah, actually. My metabolism is... different now. Food tastes different too– more intense." He starts moving dishes to the kitchen island, careful not to overcrowd your space. "Everything is more intense, really."
"Like what?"
He hums thoughtfully as he settles into the chair next to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. "Smells are the biggest thing. Like, I can smell everything. The coffee brewing, the bacon grease in the air, the rain that's coming later–"
"It's going to rain?"
"Yeah, probably this afternoon." He passes you a fork and a plate you never noticed him constructing. "I can smell it in the air. What’s the word? Petrichor, but... before the rain actually falls? If that makes sense.”
You hum around a fork full of eggs, cracking the fingers on your free hand. “That sounds like it can get miserable. Is everything just… enhanced all the time?”
He takes a bite out of a chunk of toast, making a so-so motion with his hand. “It's enhanced all the time, but the way it is right now, the intensity, that’s only sometimes. Only during–”
He cuts himself off, swallowing his bite of toast with more power than necessary.
“During the full moon?” You supply.
He nods quickly. “Yeah.”
There's a lull in the conversation that you try not to read into. It doesn't take much effort anyway, because you notice that eating is taking more effort than it was a few minutes ago. Your grip on the fork is weird, and you can't seem to close your fingers all the way around it.
That's fine, you think to yourself. You switch hands. Everything is fine.
You try not to let the revelation sour your mood. Chan mentioned it was going to rain, and while your doctors didn't know why you were in pain, they knew what kinds of things made it worse, and the air pressure changes from rain was one of them. This was just something you had to learn to deal with now.
Resentment for your condition rises in your chest with the little bit you've eaten, and you take a sip of apple juice to swallow it down. It's not fair. People your age were doing things like mountain climbing, running marathons, just living. And here you were, struggling to feed yourself and hold a fork.
It's fine.
A hand on your shoulder pierces through the dense clouds shrouding your mind, and you feel yourself startle a little. Chan is facing you, leaning his impossibly tall torso down to look you right in your eyes. His gaze is intense, gold flecks in his eyes swimming around as he stares.
“What hurts,” he breathes. The sound of his voice is light as a feather, floating through the air before coming to rest gently on your lips.
“My hands.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
You think about saying your number, but upon remembering how nice and easy conversation was this morning, you decide to lie. “Four.”
The look in Chan’s eyes grows more intense, and you swallow around nothing. He levels you with a very unimpressed look, eyebrows creasing and his plushy, pink lips frowning. He only says two words, but they send a ripple through your body anyway:
“Try again.”
Fuck. You're giving yourself whiplash. Jumping from frustration to stark arousal was an Olympics level move your brain wasn't prepared for. There's a different kind of haze clouding your mind now.
“It's a seven,” you breathe.
He's up on his feet before you can fully compose yourself, long legs taking him up the stairs and bringing him back down in a matter of seconds. When he sits down again, he's holding your decorative medication pouch and a mini water bottle from your backpack.
You gulp at the way the veins in his arm bulge.
“Which bottle is it?”
You come back to yourself, licking your incredibly dry lips before you respond. It takes a blink or two before you can orient yourself in the present. “Um, red bottle. The tall one.”
He places the bottle and water in front of you in a gentle way that contrasts the energy in the room. You fumble with the child proofing for a second before he plucks the bottle from you, undoing the lid with one hand.
Wow. Fuck.
"Thanks," you mumble, accepting the pills he tips into your palm. His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck as you swallow them, and you try not to shiver at the contact.
“Do you need a nap while the pills work?”
You pout, finally coming back to your good senses. “We're supposed to have a movie marathon today.”
“I didn't realize the TV had a flight to catch?”
You glare at him, albeit thankful for the teasing sarcasm to loosen the tension. “You're not funny.”
Chan's lips pull into a smirk and he gives a little shrug. “I think I am.”
You roll your eyes at him as he stands, coming over to you and easing you out of your seat. He gives a little ‘tsk’ at your faux attitude, but his hands are back on your shoulders, guiding you towards the couch. When you finally do lay down, he's already throwing his signature couch blanket over you, tucking it around you securely.
“Comfy?”
You are, but you've also realized he's tricked you into a nap, so you do the adult thing and mock him before sticking your tongue out at him.
“Wow,” he murmurs. He slides down the couch and onto the floor. “I haven't seen that routine since 4th grade.”
You watch as he adjusts his legs a few times, his head resting against the armrest right by your fingers. It’s unspoken, but you know that he'll stay until he's sure you're asleep.
"You don't have to sit on the floor," you murmur. "There's plenty of room up here."
He shakes his head. "Nah. I'm good here.”
You watch his side profile for a minute, basking in all of his Chan-ness. He settles in a bit more and lets his eyes flutter closed. When he does, he leans his head back a little more, and you watch the delicate bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows.
“Chan?” Your mouth is moving before you know it.
“Hm?”
“Were you scared? When you… got the diagnosis?”
His eyes open at that, and he turns his head so he can look at you. The intensity from earlier is gone, replaced by that familiar warmth that only he has.
There's a beat of silence where all Chan does is stare, almost as if seeing you for the first time. It passes, though, and then he goes back to his previous position, eyes closed again as he speaks. “No,” he says finally. “I wasn't scared. The only thing I thought about was you.”
“Me?”
He nods against the couch. “They kept talking about what it meant and all of that, and all I could think about was how on earth I was going to tell you.”
You reach a hand over and start rubbing at his scalp in the familiar way you've always done. “And yet,” you tease gently. “I had to accidentally find the papers.”
He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, leaning into your hand. “That wasn't the plan,” he murmurs. “Was supposed to tell you properly.”
You stay quiet, continuing to play with his hair. The quiet domesticity is comforting, and you find your eyes fluttering closed too.
You move your fingers through his hair in nonsensical patterns and shapes, occasionally letting your nails graze his scalp. His breathing evens out eventually--he's not sleeping, no, just content and peaceful. You're a different story, though, and medication induced drowsiness starts flowing its way through your body.
Your movements grow slower and uncoordinated, hand drifting lower, and lower, until eventually your fingers trail to the nape of his neck. When you drag your nails across the sensitive skin there, Chan makes a sound that shoots straight through you and straight to your core– something between a pleased hum and a growl that vibrates through his entire body.
Both of you freeze. Your heart starts doing gymnastics in your chest while the sound echoes in your ears, making your body grow hot. Beneath you, Chan is rigid, like every muscle has been pulled taut.
The room is entirely still for a second. Then, he clears his throat a little, shifting himself so you have better access. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Keep going. Feels nice.”
You force your fingers to move again, continuing their exploration and tracing the curls on Chan's head.
You repeat your mantra in your mind:
Everything is fine.
The moment passes like a summer storm– intense and fleeting– and soon Chan is relaxed again, practically melting under your touch. You're actively fighting sleep now but you're realizing it's a losing battle. Your movements become slower, less deliberate, until your hand is simply resting in his hair.
"Sleep, babygirl," he murmurs, voice thick and honeyed. "I got you.”
So you do.
When you wake up a bit later, you find yourself, sadly, alone.
In place of Chan's thick curls is the cold rectangular slab that is your cell phone. You squint at it sleepily, not remembering bringing it down with you for breakfast or having it on the couch. You flick through the unlock process, and when your phone opens, it's on the notes app.
Hi babygirl. If you're reading this, I went to the store. We don't have any vegetables. I'll try to be quick. - Channie
You wipe sleep from your eyes as you sit up, trying to orient yourself in your surroundings. You hear the steady whooshing of the rain outside and carefully flex all of your joints. You're content to find that you're at a steady three out of ten everywhere.
You settle back into the couch cushions, pulling the blanket around you tighter. It's not scary to be by yourself, especially not in the cabin, but Chan's presence is definitely missed. You decide to fill the silence with television, something low stakes and stupid that you can listen to while you scroll on your phone.
However, the microscopic roku remote has decided to go missing, and after digging through the couch cushions twice, you sit back with a huff. You suppose your phone will do for now.
You open YouTube with the intent to watch one of your favorite Let's Play videos, but as you scroll through your homepage, something catches your eye. The title makes you pause:
Q&A: Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome (aka The Werewolf Gene)
The algorithm strikes again, you suppose.
The video was posted a little over a month ago and has a substantial amount of views and comments. The creator themselves has well over 100k subscribers. It looks perfectly legit. Before you can overcomplicate it and talk yourself out of it, you press play.
“Hi everyone!” The guy on the video has a soft, smiling face, accented by round, thin-rimmed glasses. “Welcome or welcome back to my channel. If you're new here, I'm Seungmin, and I have GLS, which stands for Genetic Lycanthropy Syndrome. Or, to put it simply, I have the werewolf gene.”
You are immediately invested.
“I set up a question box on Instagram a couple days ago, and you guys really went to town.” Seungmin chuckles. “So I'll answer a few of those in this video.”
The first few questions are simple enough– what made him suspect he had it, the diagnostic process, how his family reacted. He answers every question thoughtfully and thoroughly in a way that makes you learn more than you thought you needed to.
You're writing down the fact that people with GLS tend to need more red meat than dark meat in their diet when he starts reading out the next question.
“@jutdae asks, ‘how does the enhanced sense thing not drive you crazy?’” Seungmin lets out a little laugh. “So, the sense thing is kind of tricky for non-GLS people to understand. On a regular day, it might be enhanced, but maybe only 50% better than most people. The real issue is when rut or heat cycles start.”
You drop your phone, cursing when it slips right into the couch cushions.
“During a rut–” Seungmin's muffled voice continues as you fish around for your phone. “-- it's probably around 150% better. And our body temperature will skyrocket, like a constant fever type. The extra sensory input can cause a lot of restless energy too, so we're always feeling like we want to crawl out of our skin. Thankfully ruts, or heats for AFAB people, only happen once every three months, for about a week.”
You finally find your phone, heart pounding as you fumble to hold it still. The boy on your screen adjusts his glasses before continuing, entirely unaware how he's just flipped your life on its head.
“Well, that's for people who've presented for a while. When you first present with symptoms, you can get your rut every month. And that's… an entirely different type of intense. I surely don't miss that.”
Your brain might be oozing out of your ears.
You don't need to Google what a rut cycle is. You already know. It's the one aspect of GLS everyone is familiar with.
You scan through the events of the last 36 hours with unfathomable speed. It's all there. Every single symptom mentioned in this video.
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.
✧ Pairing : Ot8!Skz x Afab!Reader [group chat]
✧ Genre : Smut, suggestive asf
✧ CW : Seungmin still has a smart mouth, Felix is horny asf... they all are really.
✧ Masterlist ✧
✧ Pairing : Ot8!Skz x Afab!Reader [group chat]
✧ Genre : Smut, suggestive asf
✧ CW : Seungmin still has a smart mouth, Felix is horny asf... they all are really.
✧ Masterlist ✧
PAIRING: brother's best friend! Heeseung x fem! reader
WC: ~7.3k (whoops my bad)
CW/TW: older brother's best friend, smut (MDNI, 18+) , 1% angst, family problems, fluff, degrading + praise (receiving), oral (both), fingering (receiving), protected (BE SAFE), choking (receiving), spit, hickeys, hee calls reader a slut/whore like twice, public sex/outdoor sex, drinking, assault (if you squint), jealous heeseung, he kind of has a corruption kink and size kink (?), inexperienced reader, lmk if I missed anything!
SUMMARY: Blaring music, colorful lights, free alcohol, horny girls, cool water: pool parties were Lee Heeseung's favorite type of party. When you heard that your older brother, Jake, was throwing one in your back yard for Heeseung's birthday, you took your chance to have Heeseung finally notice you. Luckily for you, Heeseung knew your plan; and two can play that game.
FEATURING: Taehyun of TXT, enha (minus Niki and jungwon)
Buy me a Ko-fi!
Much like every college student, Lee Heeseung loved three things: money, alcohol, and pool parties. You recalled this as Heeseung and your brother walked into the living room shouting about how “awesome” their party will be, raving about your parents finally deciding to go out for the weekend. Heeseung stopped in the doorway upon seeing your figure curled onto the couch, watching Twilight for the thousandth time.
“Hey, birthday boy,” you teased, your eyes leaving the television in front of you. Jake locked eyes with you before rolling his own.
“No, you can't go,” Jake replied, annoyance coating his tone. “This party is for cool people only," he swiped at a loose strand of his blonde hair as it fell over his face.
You sighed, putting a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “Then why are you going?” You joked back. Heeseung laughed lightly at your response.
He walked to where he could see the screen before turning to Jake. “I don't see why she can't come, it'll be here and all the guys will be here to make sure she's safe,” Heeseung reasoned. His arms rested against the top of the couch, leaning forward as he came closer to you.
Your head turned to face your brother’s best friend, eyeing how his newly silver hair complimented his tan skin. He wore a silver chain over his shirt, the metal dangling dangerously close to you.
Jake groaned, rolling his eyes again. “That's the problem, dude! Tons of guys will be drinking and looking at my baby sister like a piece of meat!” He shouted. “It's best if she just goes to her friend's house and stays far away that night.”
Jake angrily tapped his phone, sending a text to his friends.
You scoffed. “‘Baby sister’? Jake, I'm almost twenty years old.”
He ran a hand through his hair, aggravation evident on his face. “Twenty, twelve, same shit. My answer is final, you are not going to our party.”
You shrugged in response. “And if I happen to want to go for a swim in my own pool with Sunoo, then what?”
“I’ll inflate the kiddy pool for you two.”
You fiddled with the tiny black box in your hands nervously as Sunoo, your best friend, examined its contents. “Y/N, I'm not sure this is a good idea,” he sighed, placing the object back in the box.
Your shoulders fell as you put the box next to you. Sunoo came to sit next to you, running his hand over your back soothingly. “Maybe if you would tell me why this damn thing was ‘so cool’ I'd reconsider my opinion,” the blonde gestured towards you.
You held the silver sun-shaped pendant in your palm. “It's embarrassing,” you mumbled.
“Then why are you giving it to hot boy Heeseung?”
You slapped your palm on top of Sunoo’s mouth, glancing towards your door in a panic. “Don't say that shit so loud, Sunoo!” He raised his arms in surrender before you spoke again. “I just… It's something between me and him, and I'm sure he'll understand the meaning.”
“Ooh, did you two fuck on the beach or something?” Sunoo bounced up and down, hitting his knees excitedly. “Tell me EVERYTHING!”
You laughed lightly. “No, that's not it,” you traced the outline of the metal Sun. “It’s much more meaningful and realistic than that.”
When you were sixteen, your family took a trip to the beach. You had just begun to bloom into womanhood, according to your mother. Jake had decided to bring his friend from school, Heeseung.
Heeseung was possibly the most popular senior at your high school, your brother a close second to him. You had sat at the bottom of the food chain your entire freshman and sophomore year, until you’d come to school after spring break with a completely new look.
It was the last night of your trip, and you'd decided to go out to the shore one more time before going home. You made your way out in your tank top and shorts, the sandals on your feet crunchy with sand.
The sea greeted you with its soft crashes, the salty, sticky breeze hitting you slowly. You closed your eyes and relished in the tranquility.
Quietly, sniffles began to enter your ears. Your head snapped in their direction, seeing your brother's best friend still shirtless and in his swim trunks that he'd worn all day. He sat with his knees curled into his chest, his brown hair blown askew from the wind.
You walked over to him quietly, sitting next to him with your legs out and arms behind you. “Wanna talk about it?” You asked gently, your eyes never leaving the shore.
He shook his head as it sat against his knees with another sniffle. You brought your hand up to run through his hair, a common gesture you did. Stopping mid-air, you watched as his shoulders shook with the force of his breathing.
Heeseung’s body visibly relaxed at the feeling of your fingers gently carding through his hair. “Whatever it is, it'll be okay. I'm here for you, if you need someone to talk to,” you comforted him in a light voice.
He couldn't get himself to pick his head up, too afraid to have anyone see him so disheveled. “It's- It's-” he stammered, hiccuping between words.
You shushed him, whispering that it was okay and that he didn't need to force himself. He lifted his head up, watching the way you stared towards the open ocean as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
He admired the way your hair fell over your shoulders, slightly wavy from the salt water. He watched a smile grace your cheeks, freckles and a slight tint from a sunburn being gently illuminated by the moonlight bouncing from the water.
“It's my family,” he scratched out, his throat burning from his emotions. “They just, God, they're so shit. My parents fight all the fucking time, and then they expect me to clean up their messes when they throw shit and scare my little siblings. I come home half the time to one of my parents drunk as shit, high off their ass, or flipping their shit at one of the kids.”
He glanced at you, as if to ask if he could continue. You nodded slowly, your eyes giving him all of the reassurance he needed. “I don't want to go home,” he mumbled. “This week with your family has been the best week of my life. I'm not scared to walk out of my room or talk to you all, your family is so loving and easy to be with. I'm so thankful your family let me come and treated me like one of their own.”
Heeseung cracked out another choked sob. “I'm so tired of having to work my ass off to pay bills, and fix shit, and take care of my siblings in my parents’ place, and do good in school, and-”
Heeseung felt his body freeze at the feeling of your soft fingers wiping the tears from his cheeks. He leaned into your touch as you continued to hold his face, his eyes closing in comfort. “You don't have to keep this all to yourself, y'know,” you smiled down to him.
He lifted his eyes to yours, making your breath hitch. The delicate moonlight created a shadow over his face that only served to increase his attractiveness, despite his puffy eyes. His round, doe eyes had a white shine from the illuminated night above him, and you couldn't tell if the stars you were seeing lived in the sky or if they simply lived in his eyes.
“Heeseung,” you breathed out. “You'll always be part of our family.”
Heeseung wrapped his arms around your arms, his chin coming to sit on your shoulder. You let your hands hold his back soothingly, your palms running up and down as he breathed. He brought his face back, staring into your own eyes.
His breath reached your lips with each exhale. “Y/N, you're like a ray of sunshine, y'know?” He laughed, a perfect smile over his features.
“You sound cheesy,” you joked. “But if I can be a ray of sunshine for you when you need it, then I'll be your Sun.”
The two of you sat like that, the last words of your conversation hanging in the air. His face was so, so close to your own.
His eyes flicked down to your lips as he slowly leaned in. “Whenever I need it?” He asked, gauging your reaction.
“Anytime,” you breathed out, almost whispering.
His arms unraveled from your body, hands holding your chin and cheek softly. “What if I just want it?”
You closed the distance, pressing your lips against his, hoping to God that he'd reciprocate. His lips moved against your own slowly, never escalating the kiss beyond just that: a kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds, resting his forehead against your own. He laughed lightly, his shoulders bouncing with him. “Thank you, Y/N, for talking to me. I won't forget this.”
Sunoo sat with his jaw hung open as you finished recalling the story of your conversation with Heeseung. “So you two kissed?!” Sunoo all but yelled.
You jumped up and slammed your door shut, a threatening glare in your eyes. “Shut up!” You whisper-shouted. “The last thing I need is for Heeseung to hear you, or worse, Jake!”
Sunoo swooned in your bed overdramatically. “And you got him a sun pendant to remind him you're his Sunshine, oh my GOSH! So romantic!”
You put the box back onto your desk. “Not exactly,” you smiled. “Just… friendly.”
“Oh, shut up! You guys kissed all romantically, have you two been sneaking around?”
“Nothing ever happened after that, actually. We just went back to how it was before, with him being Jake's friend and me not being allowed to interact with Jake’s guy friends.”
Sunoo slammed his hands onto your mattress. “Okay, I see the problem. We have to kill Jake.”
Your eyes widened as Sunoo wordlessly slid his finger across his throat. His eyes were wide with exaggeration.
“Oh my God, Sunoo, no! We're not killing my brother!” You laughed, your large t-shirt falling over your gym shorts.
Sunoo shrugged. “No fun,” he mumbled. He suddenly snapped his fingers as he got an idea, jumping off your bed and tearing through your closet.
You ran over to him, catching clothes as he threw them behind himself. “Sunoo, what are you doing?!” You shouted, laughter tearing through your body.
He mumbled, “I know you've gotta be hiding your sexy clothes in here,” as he flipped your entire dresser drawer of swimwear upside down. He smiled devilishly, pulling out a white bikini. He held it over your body, his tongue poking from the side of his mouth as he squinted his eyes.
“Sunoo, what are you planning?”
“We're crashing that party, and you're crashing Heeseung,” he stated. He nodded once as he examined where the suit fell and exclaimed, “SEXALICIOUS!”
You giggled, the two of you falling into fashion show mode, trying on different clothes from your closet.
Heeseung stood outside your door, a blush on his cheeks. As he'd promised, he never forgot that night on the beach. In fact, he thought about it quite often. Hearing you laugh every time he came over, seeing you run around with Sunoo happily, the way you would innocently smile at him as if he wasn't thinking about how beautiful you were that night: it drove him crazy.
As time passed and you grew into the adult you are now, Heeseung began to think about how beautiful you would be in front of him, with his cock down your throat. He wanted to ruin the innocence behind your smile.
The day had finally come. It was Heeseung’s twenty-first birthday, the day that you and Sunoo had been planning for weeks. Your parents cooked a simple ramen for everyone, the cake being the main course.
Of course, you'd helped decorate the cake. Your mother was only capable of making a sheet cake, so you helped her ice it with smiley faces everywhere and “HAPPY BIRTHDAY HEESEUNG” being drawn in the center.
Heeseung watched as you placed the candles carefully, wanting all twenty-one to be even. He walked over to you as you placed the finishing candle, noticing you were alone.
Heeseung had been planning for this day. At least, he'd been planning since he overheard your plans. He was going to drive you to your absolute limit, and put your simple plan (which he knew would already be highly effective) to its fullest potential.
He smiled at the cake, glancing at you. “Thank you, Y/N. This looks delicious,” he commented.
Your eyes shot around the room. “Watch out, Heeseung. Jake might froth at the mouth if he sees any of his friends talking to me tonight.”
“Well,” he swiped his finger into the icing, gathering a dollop of white on it, “we'll just have to be sneaky, then.”
You turned to him, mouth open and ready to scold him for messing with the cake (and your head). He smirked, dragging his finger along his tongue slowly. You watched as the icing spread over it, his tongue flat against his finger. He quietly groaned at the flavor. “Fuck,” he practically moaned.
“‘Fuck’?” You breathlessly whispered.
He looked at you, licking the rest off of his lips. “Tastes so good, Y/N,” he murmured with half-lidded eyes.
Suddenly, his sweet eyes had opened back up as his smile reached his ears again. “Can't wait to eat it!” He cheerily harped before walking out of the room, leaving you in a state of confusion and with a puddle in your skirt.
“BITCH!” Sunoo shouted upon hearing of your interaction with Heeseung. He laughed loudly, his tropical shirt and black swim trunks complimenting the sunglasses he wore atop his head. “He is so flirting with you!”
You walked out of your closet, doing a dramatic twirl in your bikini. You had a pair of glasses on your head, matching Sunoo’s. He clapped and hooted while you did a few more moves, including the iconic Elle Woods “bend and snap”.
Sunoo scanned your figure, from your curled hair down to your painted toes. “Are you seriously wearing an anklet?” He asked as you stood.
You looked down at it. “Yeah, what's wrong with it? It matched the pendant I'm giving Heeseung, I thought it would be cute.”
“It is,” Sunoo nodded, “if you want to tell him you want it to dangle over his shoulder, that is.”
He looked up at you, expecting you to take it off.
When you made no move to do so, his eyes widened as he began to shout. “Oh my God! You dirty whore, look at you growing up!”
He stood next to you, eyeing the both of you in your mirror before putting an arm over your shoulder. “We could pass as a cute couple, couldn't we?” He commented.
The two of you faked it for about two more seconds before bursting into laughter, Sunoo holding onto your shoulder to keep from falling.
As you heard the door to your house opening, followed by boisterous laughter and shouting, you knew that the party was starting. You and Sunoo walked down the stairs, your gift to Heeseung in your hands.
Jake's friend, Sunghoon, whistled lowly as you walked into the room. “Damn, Jake, didn't know you had a girlfriend,” he commented.
Heeseung turned to you quickly, his eyes going wide and his cheeks turning red as he checked you out. If he had been trying to hide it, he did not do a good job of it. He shut his open mouth and blinked quickly before trying to get ahold of himself.
Jake looked at you in shock and disgust. “That's my sister, you douche!” Jake shouted.
“Is she single?” Sunghoon asked flirtatiously.
Heeseung and Jake both shot a look at the boy.
“Off limits.”
“Don't even try it.”
The two looked at each other after they spoke simultaneously, both shrugging and looking back at Sunghoon with glares.
You came up between Heeseung and Jake, eyeing Sunghoon up and down. “Actually, I am single,” you smiled. “I'll be at the party all night, if you wanted to hang,” you hoped your attempt at blatantly flirting would get to Heeseung.
From the way his jaw clenched, it did.
Your bubble was burst, however, by Jake’s hand on your wrist. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I told you, you are not invited,” Jake dragged you back to the stairs. “Whether you live here or not, you will stay in your room.”
You opened your mouth to protest, only for Heeseung to come up next to you and pluck the sunglasses off of your head. “Why do you have these anyways? You do realize it’s nighttime, right?” He asked, putting them in his own hair.
You rolled your eyes. “Can I at least give Heeseung his birthday gift?”
Jake shook his head no as Heeseung nodded at you. He smiled tenderly, his hand settling on your shoulder. “I'll find you after the party's over so you can give it to me, yeah?”
You sighed, pretending to give in. “Alright, that works. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room all night. All alone! The one right by the-”
“Alright, horndog, I'll be sure to relay the message that your brother will beat the shit out of anyone who tries to go, don't worry,” Jake began to push you up the stairs.
As Jake and Heeseung greeted more people, you watched the red solo cups fill outside your window. “Sun,” you called out, “do you think girls are gonna hit on Heeseung?”
“I think girls are going to flash him, too,” Sunoo deadpanned. You frowned at him, your makeup not being able to hide your worry. “Girls are going to throw themselves at a hot guy like him, but that guy out there was one of many who will be begging for your attention tonight.”
He walked over to you, rubbing your arms. “You are hot shit tonight, babe. If you want Heeseung to notice you, you've gotta flaunt it.”
After the two of you snuck back into the party, it took about five minutes before a guy offered to show you how to use a keg. Once you'd gotten that information, you were unstoppable.
You had about four cups of beer before deciding to take a break, the buzz making you dizzy. You let your feet dangle into the water of the pool, watching the way the water rippled under your feet.
The slight waves in your pool from people swimming reminded you of that night on the beach so many years ago. There was no way Heeseung remembered, you thought. You were probably just a kid to him, or a little sister.
You looked up and took in the scene of your backyard. You’d seen it from your window many nights, but you’d never been immersed into it. Girls ran around with pool floats in skimpy swimsuits, guys targeted one another with water guns, your pool was decorated with LED lights and stray solo cups, and your brother was easily the life of the party.
Currently, your dad’s expensive speaker setup for the pool was blaring “Beauty and a Beat” by Justin Beiber. You watched as a beach ball was tossed around the party, beer splashing onto the ground and water dripping down bodies.
You felt a leg brush against your own as someone sat next to you. A shirtless man with big eyes and an impressive physique sat next to you, his hair dripping with water. “You ever been to one of Jake’s parties?” The man asked.
You shook your head, “I’ve only ever heard of them, this is my first party.” The man watched as you took another chug of your drink.
He let his hand touch against the flush on your cheeks, smiling at you. “I can tell, you look bored as fuck. My name’s Taehyun.”
“Hi, Taehyun. I’m Y/N,” you smiled, holding your hand out for him to shake.
He looked at you with a confused smile, shaking your hand slowly. He then intertwined your fingers, his pink hair dripping water into your hand. His muscles flexed as he helped you stand with him, his pretty hand coming to steady you. “Say, do you want something a little better than beer? It tastes like shit, a pretty girl like you needs quality drinks."
You glanced at your cup, eying the amount of beer you had left. You chugged the rest, nodding as you swallowed. “Yeah, what the hell? I'm always up for a challenge.”
He cocked a brow. “Oh? I like that,” he held your hands as he led you to the drink table.
You handed him your cup as he poured a mixture of clear liquid, lime, and frozen pink lemonade into a cup. “Try this. It's good, and it's not enough to fuck you up off one cup,” he smiled.
You pushed the drink down your throat, your eyes widening as you swallowed. “Holy shit, Taehyun. This tastes like a fucking slushy.”
“I know, it's awesome,” he praised himself.
As you laughed, you felt a pair of eyes glaring at you. You hoped it wasn't Jake as you sound around.
Heeseung sat behind you, a girl sitting sideways on his lap. You watched as she ran her hand up and down his chisled abs, his hands behind his head. She whispered into his ear, a smirk crossing his lips, but you knew she didn't have his undivided attention at the moment.
His eyes were burning into you, and if looks could kill, the entire neighborhood would have gone up in flames. With a clenched jaw and raised eyebrows, he glared at you as if to say don't even try it. He stared at you so intently that you felt almost ashamed for talking to Taehyun.
You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your trance. “Taehyun, do you want to try a sip?”
He looked you up and down. “I mean, sure,” he stepped closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close enough to have you pour the drink into his mouth yourself.
Your lips curved into a smile. “Flirting, huh?” You teased him.
He smiled back. “Is it working?”
You grabbed his chin, forcing his face closer to yours. “Only if you're looking to get laid tonight,” you said, sure that Heeseung was reading your lips.
You glanced at the boy, his jaw clenched again. He returned his focus to the girl on his lap, his hand gripping at her thigh. You watched as she turned to him, a gasp escaping her lips.
Taehyun smirked as he crashed his lips into yours, a much different kiss from the one you shared with Heeseung four years ago. His hand wove its way into your hair, his other hand holding your hip. He pushed your body against his, your back arching into him as you let out a moan.
He took the opportunity to insert his tongue into your mouth, clashing against your own. He sucked your tongue harshly, his lower hand gravitating towards your ass. You brushed your leg against Taehyun’s crotch, a low groan leaving his lips as he pulled away. “Maybe we should take this where we can't be seen by everyone, yeah?”
You nodded, Taehyun already starting to lead you to the side of your house. You watched as the two of you walked into the seclusion of the shadow cast by it, your heart racing.
Maybe, having seen Heeseung with the other girl and believing he doesn't want you the way you want him, you could move on.
Taehyun placed a hand on the wall of your house, your foreheads touching. “God, you're so hot,” he sighed, capturing your lips again. It was one filled with lust, with teeth clashing and lip biting.
You grabbed his hand and lifted it to your chest as he backed away and looked at you. “Are you sure?” He asked. “I don't want it to be the beer talking.”
You nodded, throwing your head back as he kneaded your boob over your swimsuit. He squeezed your mound in time with every jab of his tongue into your mouth, occasionally pinching your nipple through the material. You had all but cum from him just kissing and touching your chest when he was suddenly ripped away from you.
“Dude, what the fuck?!” Taehyun shouted, bracing himself as he hit the ground.
You watched as Heeseung didn't spare the man a glance, his attention entirely on you. His eyes raked over your figure mercilessly, making you feel small in your own yard.
Taehyun looked between the two of you, confusion and anger evident on his face. “Tae, go back to the party. You don't want her,” Heeseung said in a low voice.
Taehyun scoffed. “And who are you to make decisions for her?” His arms came to cross in front of his chest.
“She's Jake’s little sister,” Heeseung turned his head to face the other. “He'll kill you.”
Taehyun cursed under his breath before running off, hoping your brother hadn't seen your show earlier. Your eyes followed him, wondering if he could’ve given you what you’d been hoping for.
You glared at Heeseung. “What the fuck is your problem, Hee? You can't just tell me what to do!” You pushed him back by his chest, your smaller hands barely moving him.
Heeseung’s eyes locked onto yours, his stare harder than anything you’d seen before. He stared at you like you were wrong for kissing Taehyun, wrong for kissing anyone else. His hair, which he used your sunglasses to push back after jumping into the pool, still dropped some water onto his neck and shoulders. You watched as a droplet fell down his collarbones, trailing down his chest and stomach, collecting in the waistband of his swim trunks.
You wanted to lick every bead of water off of his body.
His tongue peeked out of mouth to wet his lips, his teeth catching the bottom of the two as his eyes fell to where Taehyun had touched.
His hands balled into fists as he fought his desires. He closed his eyes, groaning in anger. “Go to your room. Jake will never talk to either of us again if we do this.”
He turned to walk away, taking two steps before you spoke up. “Do fucking what, Hee? Instead of me falling for that fucking show you put on earlier with the cake, I decided to go and find someone who was actually into me. Nowhere does that involve you!”
Heeseung turned around. “You think I’m not into you? You don’t think I’ve been fighting myself to not kiss you all this time?” He raised his voice, the tension finally getting to him.
Suddenly, it was too hot outside. In the cool night air, your body temperatures began to rise to unseen numbers.
“I don’t know, Heeseung. You sure didn’t have to do much fighting if you’ve lasted four years.”
He slammed his hand against your head onto the wall, much harder than Taehyun had. Your faces were inches away from one another, you could smell the beer on his breath. “I see your pretty fucking lips in my dreams, Y/N. I’ve had to imagine your pretty little face and how it would look if you were choking on me for ages, and tonight, I have to watch you parade around with your ass out and your tits barely covered? Do you know how badly I wanted to rip these clothes off you when you walked down those stairs?”
You held your breath, his eyes glancing to your lips. “What makes you think I won't just walk away and go find someone else?” You asked. The two of you both knew you were bluffing, an empty threat that only served to make Heeseung angrier.
“If anyone’s fucking you tonight, it’s gonna be me.”
Heeseung looked into your eyes, how they were wide with anticipation for him. He looked down to your lips, admiring how they were already pouty and puffy for him, begging for him to kiss you right. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to your own.
You threw your arms over his shoulders, his hand holding the back of your head as he pushed your mouths impossibly close. His other hand slid down the curve of your hips, holding onto your leg and pulling it up to wrap around his hips. You moaned as you felt his hard-on press into you, Heeseung taking the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. The two of you fought for dominance over the kiss, Heeseung winning and taking your lip between his teeth. He backed away, loving how you looked under him. “Go inside. I’ll excuse myself from the party and meet you in your room.”
You nodded, walking towards your front door to sneak back in. Heeseung jogged back around the house to find your brother. Jake was laughing with his friends, a girl sat on his leg as he played with her hair. “Yo, Heeseung!” He called out, obviously plastered.
Heeseung walked to him, yawning. “Dude, I hate to say this, but I’m feeling super tired. Must’ve been all the swimming and all the beer, man.” Jake looked around the party, seeing how everyone else was still partying.
Jake put his cup onto the table behind him. “Do you want me to call off the party? It is your party, after all.”
Heeseung shook his head. “Nah, keep it going. I’m just gonna head inside and go to bed, but don’t stop the party. Keep it going as long as possible, actually.” Jake cocked a brow at him in confusion. “In my honor, y’know,” he added. Jake gave him a thumbs up, standing and shouting something incoherent, to which everyone else cheered.
Heeseung ran inside, practically flying up the stairs and to your room. He swung your door open, slamming it shut and smashing his lips onto your own again. He reached his hand behind your back to push the straps of your swimsuit off your shoulders, halting all movement when you pushed him off of you.
“Is something wrong?” He asked with worry.
You shook your head, grabbing the black box from your desk and handing it to him. “I wanted to give you this first. I think you’ll like it.”
He nodded, opening the box. “Is that for this?” He asked, holding his chain out. You nodded, helping him put the pendant on.
You sighed as you looked at it. “It’s supposed to be because-”
“Because I called you my ray of sunshine, I remember. I go to sleep thinking about that kiss,” he mumbled at the end.
You pointed to your ankle. “I have the matching anklet. Figured it would look good over your shoulder.”
Heeseung looked up at you, the toothy grin on his lips contrasting the filthy words coming from them. “I know exactly what position I want you in first.”
He kissed you again, unclasping your top and pulling it off of you as he made his way down your jawline and neck. His fingertips fluttered down your arms gently, goosebumps appearing behind them. He bit along the bottom of your neck, leaving small bruises in his wake. You swallowed a moan, earning a harsh bite from him. “Let me hear your pretty voice, babe,” he whispered into your ear.
His hand slid to your boob, experimentally pinching your nipple with his thumb and index finger. You let out a quiet moan, melting into his touch.
He brought his other hand to your waist, his thumb rubbing circles onto the side of your stomach. He kissed his way down your chest, leaving hickeys all the way down to your free boob. You moaned as he licked your other nipple, the cold air hitting his saliva and making it perk.
You let out a loud moan, hands flying to the top of his head as he sucked harshly and rolled your other nipple between his fingers. He pushed you against your bed, your legs falling over the side as your back lay on the edge. He continued to roll your nipple between his fingers as he kissed down the valley of your tits, down your stomach, and to the hem of your swimsuit bottoms. "Already so wet for me, why didn't you say you needed me, baby?" He smirked against your stomach, his fingers already curling underneath the material.
“You talked so much shit earlier, and now look at you. You can't even tell me how bad you want me to eat your fucking pussy,” he mused. “Tell me, am I the first?”
You felt his hot breath fan over your clothed core, your wetness showing through the white material. “Y- You’re the first,” you breathily said. Heeseung let out a low groan, a dark smile appearing.
He ripped the clothing down your legs, throwing them to the corner of your room. He looked down at your core, your lips glistening with your wetness. “Fuck, I’ve barely even touched you,” he let the sight and smell invade his senses. “So pretty, baby, so pretty for me. Almost like you were made to be my pretty whore.”
Your hole clenched around his words, the praise going straight to your stomach. He put his finger on your clit, rubbing slow circles over it before dragging it down to your hole and back up. He pulled his finger to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. Sucking your juices into his mouth, he closed his eyes and moaned. “Taste so good, might have to just eat you out until you’re begging for my cock.”
“Hee, please,” you whined.
“Please what, babe?” He cooed, the tip of his finger pushing into where you needed him most. “You think Taehyun could’ve made you needy like this? Think he could’ve had you whining for him like this?”
“N- No, Hee, only you,” you moaned as he pushed his finger all the way in, curling it to make your back arch.
He laughed cruelly at how sensitive you were, fanning his breath over your heat. He wanted to watch the way you squirmed over a singular finger, wanted to see the way you saw stars from him doing so little to you. He wanted to stay strong, palming himself over his shorts to the sound of you.
You moaned loudly, your legs twitching. Heeseung growled, his resolve shattering into pieces as he dragged the tip of his tongue up from your hole to your clit slowly, eyes rolling back in his head at the taste.
"Fuck, Y/N, you taste so amazing. Could eat you all day."
He latched his lips onto your folds, licking and sucking your slick until his nose and chin were shiny with it. He pumped his finger fast, a relentless pace building up. You felt a knot in your stomach building, his lips coming to latch around your clit and suck. “‘m close,” you mumbled, your head thrown back.
He sloppily licked over your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the euphoria he’d been building you up to. He added a second finger, stretching you out and pushing you over the edge. You saw white and your ears rang as he swallowed as much of your juices as he could, the rest coating his chin and nose still. Once he was sure you’d come down from your high, he brought his lips to your own and kissed you, forcing you to taste yourself. It wasn’t as sweet as he made it out to be, but if he enjoyed it, you guess.
“So good for me, you’re so, so good for me baby. My pretty baby, already all fucked out for me,” he commented, holding your jerking hips down. “Get on your knees.”
You obeyed, sliding to the floor on your weak legs, your eyes staring into his. He pulled his shorts off of his body, his hard dick slapping his stomach, leaving a string of precum attaching his tip to his lower abdomen. He looked at you expectantly. “Can’t expect me to teach you everything, not when you were gonna give another guy the same like I haven’t been waiting.”
You wrapped your hand around his member, the tip continuing to leak into your hand. Heeseung wasn’t monstrously thick, but he was long. His girth was what you’d consider average, if not a little above, but his length was longer than you’d imagined he could be. You used your thumb to spread his precum down the underside of his cock, bringing your head to lick up the trail you created from base to tip. He threw his head back, a pretty moan slipping past his lips as you put your lips around the tip and sucked.
The tension in his shoulders released, his jaw going slack as you tried to fit him inside your mouth. He found it so cute how you tried your best, but so sexy that your proportions were so much smaller, that he had to fit himself in you.
You used your hands to stroke where you couldn’t reach, your head not going very far beyond his head. He moaned loudly as you used your tongue against his slit, his hand collecting your hair into a ponytail. He thrusted into your mouth, his dick going down your throat and making you gag. “Shit, baby, are you okay?” He asked quickly.
You nodded, pulling yourself off of him. “I’ve never done this before, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he stroked the side of your face. “That makes this more fun. I can help, if you want.”
“Please.”
His cock twitched in your hands as he looked down at you, your eyes teary and your chin dripping with slobber. You were fully naked on the floor in front of him, your hair messy and your chest marked. And you looked so beautiful for him.
He moaned at the begging tone of your voice, the hand in your hair holding your head in place as he thrusted forward. He was holding back from going fast, you could tell. You gripped his thighs, your nails digging into them as you moaned around his dick. He sucked in a breath, pulling out of your mouth. “Shit,” he hissed, “I almost came doing that.”
He pulled you up by your hair, the pain making you drip down the inside of your thighs. You moaned loudly as he jerked your head around, littering your chest with more hickeys. “Trying so hard to be gentle with you, I promise. You’re just so perfect, want everyone to know you’re mine.”
“Hee, be rough. Wanna feel you,” you moaned into his kiss.
His eyes squeezed shut, a low groan emerging from the back of his throat. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” He threw you onto your bed, climbing on between your legs and pinning your hands above your head with one hand. He kissed you roughly, his teeth grazing whatever skin they could.
His finger tapped the side of your lips. “Open,” he commanded. You opened your mouth, watching the glob of saliva fall from his lips. “Swallow.” You let the warm liquid travel down your throat as he said it. “Good girl,” he cooed in your ear sweetly, his stomach filling with warmth as he watched you. “Want everyone out there to hear how good you are for me. So bratty and talkative outside, and now you want my cock so bad you’ll do anything, isn’t that right?”
You nodded. “Want you s’ bad, Hee,” you whined as he rubbed his thumb against your clit. “Wanna feel you in me.”
You reached under your pillow, pulling a condom out and handing it to him. He ripped the package open with his teeth, sliding the rubber on easily. “Had it ready for me, you knew I’d be in you tonight, didn’t you? My pretty little slut,” he teased as he pressed the tip of his dick against your hole.
He grabbed your legs, bringing them over his shoulders. True to your word, your anklet dangled next to his face as his matching necklace hung over your face. He pushed your legs closer to you, pressing you in on yourself as he slowly started to push in. “Stop teasing,” you stammered. “P- Push it in all the way.”
He threw his head forward, watching his cock disappear into you and bulge in your stomach. “S’ tight, s’ happy I got to fuck this pretty pussy. Can’t believe you almost let someone else see this when you know it’s all mine,” he spoke filthily over you.
He slowly began to thrust in and out, building up to a fast pace that had your bed creaking. His jaw hung open, shameless moans spilling from his mouth. His breath would catch in his throat, short gasps telling you he found this as pleasurable as you did. His hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing until you felt lightheaded. He brought you up by your neck to kiss you.
This kiss was much softer and slower than the others. He took his time savoring your lips and their pillowy feel, he committed the feeling of your tongue wrapping around his to memory. He let your head fall back down as he brought his head into your neck. You felt the familiar tightening in your stomach that you had before, his dick filling you up entirely. He moaned into your ear, words of praise falling from his delicate lips with each thrust. “‘S good, ‘s perfect, all mine,” he said. "Ngh, fuck, feels 's tight around me."
Your nails scratched down his back as he ruthlessly pounded into you, a loud moan escaping him as he felt the pain. You moaned his name louder the harder he pounded into you, only fueling his drive. He picked his head up, his eyes bearing into your own. “Tell me whose cock is making you feel this good, hm? Who’s making this tight little pussy cum so hard, hm? Is it anyone out there, or is it me?”
“You, ‘s all you, Heeseung. Don’t want anyone but you, Hee,” you moaned. You felt your orgasm coming quick the more he teased you. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”
Heeseung sucked hard against your neck. “Fuckin’ love when you call me that,” he groaned in your ear. “You’re my baby, all mine, I’m all yours,” he cooed. “Only this pretty pussy makes me feel this good, nobody else.”
You pulled Heeseung back down to you, “Shut up and kiss me, ‘m so close.”
“Fuck, me too,” he said, molding his lips to your own. His mouth caught your whines and moans as you came undone onto him, your cum coating his abdomen and thighs. Your hole spasmed around his cock as he fucked you through your orgasm, making him release into the condom.
He panted into your ear, his forehead against your own. The two of you sat in that position for a few minutes, catching your breaths and kissing one another.
He slowly pulled out of you, tying the condom and tossing it into the trash can. He came back to lay on top of you, holding your waist as he did so. He pulled your blanket over you both, bringing you up to your pillows. “Jake’s gonna wonder where you are, Hee,” you ran your fingers through his hair.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he laughed, his hand intertwining with your free one. “Just had sex with the girl I’ve been in love with for four years, he can suck it up.”
You looked down at him. “You’re in love with me?”
He looked back up at you and nodded. “You couldn’t tell?”
“Heeseung, I was going to give up on you after tonight if nothing happened.”
“I was supposed to move on from you too, but I realized I didn’t give a fuck about Jake’s overprotectiveness.”
You laughed. “I don’t think he’ll be too mad. He does trust you with his life, after all,” you smiled while rubbing your thumb over his hand. He brought his head to lay on the pillow next to you, bringing your body closer to his. “So, what does this mean for us?”
Heeseung ran his hand down your side soothingly. “Well, Sunshine, even though I did it insanely out of order,” he laughed, “I’d like to take you out on actual dates and get your parents’ approval and all. Y’know, court you and shit. Treat you like someone I want to spend my life with.”
You smiled. “I’d like that, Hee.”
The two of you fell asleep like that. Needless to say, Jake was not pleased when he went to look for Heeseung in the morning. Your parents immediately gave him the seal of approval to date you, but Jake took much longer to come around. It wasn’t until Heeseung told him he wouldn’t ask you to be his girlfriend until he got Jake’s approval that Jake realized how stupid his friend was.
“You mean to tell me, you’ve been in love with my little sister since that vacation, but you’re waiting on something as stupid as my approval to ask her out?” Jake had asked one morning while the three of you ate breakfast together.
Heeseung nodded, pouring another bowl of cereal for himself. “Yep, pretty much,” he smiled.
“Dude, it’s been, like, a fucking month!” Jake exclaimed. “Why would you do that?”
“He wanted to wait for his best friend to be happy for him and the little sister,” you grumbled, morning crankiness being your worst enemy. Jake looked between the both of you, his eyes wide.
Heeseung’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually did, his spoon aimlessly stirring his meal. “I want my best friend to not hate me for life if I date his little sister,” Heeseung corrected you.
Jake slammed his fist onto the counter, making you both jump. “Dude, I might beat your ass. Really,” he glared at Heeseung. “I can get over you two dating, but I won’t be able to get over you hurting her.”
“I would never-”
“That includes being an idiot and making her wait,” Jake interrupted Heeseung. “Ask the girl out-”
“Hello, ‘girl’ is right here,” you waved.
Jake held a hand in front of your face. “Ask the girl out, and make her happy.”
Heeseung pushed Jake’s hand out of your face, leaning over the counter. “Hey, girl,” he smiled. Jake rolled his eyes and walked out of the room, leaving his cereal on the counter. Heeseung grabbed your hand with his. “How happy would it make you if I took you out tonight?”
“Well, in my mind we’ve been dating for four years, so I’d be pretty happy,” you smiled as you put a spoonful of cereal in your mouth.
“Well, girl, I’m excited to celebrate our imaginary four year anniversary when you become my girlfriend tonight."
NOTES: ohhh my gosshhhh this took so long to write 😭 never really written this much before, I'm scared it's repetitive or boring. I just listened to Beauty and a Beat and my mind was like "omg heeseung at a pool party yass"
Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated, and my asks/requests are always open!
genre: campus!au, smut (minors dni) // warning: older reader, they call reader "Noona", profanity, mentions of studying (lol), Heeseung makes an appearance, the rest of hyung-line are mentioned, making out, a lot of making out, just making out, fingering, protected sex (because Jay is responsible) // wc: ~9.5k
summary: you teach for a living, and you had been picking up tutoring since the extra money wasn't that bad. most of your meetings consist of essay-writing, mock tests, and speaking exercises; so when Jay became your student, you weren't expecting the lessons to include rewards.
author’s note: what?? two fics in the span of three days? with this I announce my retirement...
just kidding I STILL HAVE the secretary!Jay series to finish so I won't be retiring soon. this one is based on the rimless glasses series which is like, a random note I made for my wips, and believe it or not, while I made Bite Me sit and marinate on the shelf for so long, I finished this fic below within seven hours. yes, sometimes I am very motivated.
ANYWAY since I kept getting ideas for this one, I decided to sit down and write everything in one go, because if I pause to pick it up later I end up feeling not that confident with my work.
with that being said, I totally loved this one, so I hope you guys will enjoy it AS MUCH AS I DID writing it.
special mention to @excusememissiloveyou who was there the whole time virtually giving me mental support and good reactions
You took the last sip of your latte as you tried to hold in your laughter. You then carefully swallowed your drink before chuckling and putting your cup back on the table, and then swatting the guy in front of you for cracking a joke and deliberately trying to make you laugh and choke at the same time.
“No, but seriously, thank you,” Heeseung said, tapping his fingers on the table. “I reached my target score.”
“What was it again?” You asked, at the same time unlocking your phone to check the time.
“7.5,” he answered.
You frowned. “That’s literally the same score you had before you took lessons with me, is it not?”
Heeseung nodded. “But without your help, I probably would have scored lower. Thanks for all the practice. And your time.”
You smiled and waved your hand, pretending to be humble. “Well, you’re welcome. I’m just doing what I get paid for.”
This time Heeseung was the one who chuckled, and before he could say another word you had to excuse yourself because it was time for your afternoon class.
“I’ll make the transfer tonight,” Heeseung said as he stood up, collecting the used napkins on the table. “Oh, by the way, Noona, I gave your number to my friend. He said he needs a tutor too. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Sure, you can broadcast my number to everyone who needs a tutor, to be honest. I’d love the extra money.”
Heeseung snickered and waited for you to start walking. He sped up and held the door open for you as you both exited the café.
“What’s his name? Or her, sorry, I just assumed.” You fixed your bag’s strap on your shoulder before taking out your phone again.
“Jay. He’s a med student too. We’re in the same class.” Heeseung started typing on his phone. “I’ve just let him know that you know he’s going to text you.”
“Awesome,” you said with a smile. “I’ll see you around, Heeseung. Good luck with the semester abroad.”
---
The waitress eyed the empty plates you had set aside before you started scrolling on your phone, and when you made eye contact with her you nodded, and she immediately took the plates away. You then placed an order for a cold drink since you were sure your new student was going to be running late.
“Punctuality,” you sighed to yourself, “should literally be counted in every single score…”
You heard the bell chiming as someone entered the restaurant, and your eyes immediately fell on him. The guy had his hair slicked back with a couple of strands hanging on his forehead, he was wearing a white button-down with a suede jacket on top, and the straight-cut pants he was wearing made you want to ask him where it was from.
“Y/N Noona,” he greeted you with confidence before you could even stand up, “Sorry, I’m late.”
“Hi, Jay,” you watched as he took his backpack off and set it on the chair beside him. He then sat down and looked at you with a huge smile.
The fuck? What is he so attractive for? You thought, smiling back.
“I didn’t know this place existed on campus,” he began, initiating small talk. His eyes were scanning the place, and as he looked around in wonder you thought for a second that he looked like a majestic black cat. And you love cats.
“Yeah,” you said before the silence became too loud. “It’s my favorite place to grab lunch or to hold private sessions like this. So, what do you need an IELTS score for?”
“Same as Heeseung,” Jay answered you only after he looked around for a waiter. He quickly placed his order and refocused his attention back on you. “Did you order yet?” He asked, sounding concerned as he looked around and saw nothing in front of you.
Your drink order arrived, and you thanked the waitress in a whisper and a smile, and you made an effort to explain yourself before Jay started to speculate.
“I already ate, and this is my dessert,” you said, turning the cup around and making sure it was the right order. “You can go ahead and eat while I answer any questions you might have about our lessons.”
“Right,” Jay shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “So, I want to get a higher score than Heeseung, but I’ve never taken the test before, so how many meetings do you think we should have so I can achieve that?”
Confident, curious, and ambitious, you thought. You could definitely work with him.
“Alright,” you began, clearing the space in front of you and taking out your notebook and a pen.
You spent the next two hours talking to Jay, mostly stuff regarding lesson plans, but after that, you asked him about his studies, and he also asked you about your experiences and your current work. He mentioned the names of the students you had previously tutored, Jake and Sunghoon, and only then did you learn that the four of them must have their own clique.
“Where do you usually have your lessons with them?” Jay asked, wiping his mouth with a clean napkin after he finally finished his meal.
“Since they’re only available in between my classes, I usually ask them to go to cafes around the campus,” you replied. “I literally just go where I am asked, though. You guys are the students, so.”
“Can I pick the place for our next meeting?” Jay asked, grabbing his phone. “I’ll match your schedule first.”
You opened your calendar on your bullet journal and started jotting down Jay’s availability while he typed in your schedule on his phone.
“Right, so on Tuesday, since you only have a morning class, let’s have lunch at this place, hold on,” Jay said, eyes glued to his phone as he pulled up a website of the place he was referring to. “Here.”
You craned your neck to look at Jay’s phone, and when you read the address, you tilted your head. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like it’s walking distance from campus.”
“Oh, I’ll pick you up.” Jay blinked at you innocently. “I’ll drive you back to campus too. Or your home?”
“Campus is fine, I carpool with my brother,” you quickly replied. “Thank you.”
Jay shrugged and checked the time on his watch. “We’re done here, right?”
You nodded. “Unless you have more questions?”
He smiled and shook his head, and you hated the way you thought he was just so damn handsome. He then stood up and made his way to the booth, and you saw him take out his wallet while gesturing to your table. When he walked back to his seat, you leaned in and whispered.
“Did you just pay for my meal?” You asked, trying to be discreet.
“Why are you whispering? Of course, I did,” Jay replied, also whispering to match your energy.
You chuckled and mouthed a ‘thank you’ before you stood up, and you were slightly surprised at how fast he walked ahead of you just to hold the door open.
“I’ll see you Tuesday?” Jay asked, stretching out his hand.
You realized he was going for a handshake, so you took his hand. His fingers grabbed your hand firmly and you had to hold in a wince.
“Tuesday,” you replied, keeping your cool. “Bye, Jay.”
---
After a couple of meetings with Jay, you realized that the guy had grown on you and that he might be your favorite student ever if you were even allowed to have one. Skill-wise, he needed a lot of help, but he was a quick learner, and he took all your advice seriously, putting it into action almost immediately and showing up with instant results.
“Can I ask you what your thought process is like when you write an argumentative essay like this?” You said previously on your second meeting with him, at a café that he picked out.
“I look at the topic and begin writing, and I just… write as I go,” he answered truthfully.
You sighed and he took a quick glance at your face. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.”
You began explaining how outlining an essay was essential to make sure you can get your points across, and as you were speaking you kept looking at your notes, his hands, the window, and everything else except his face. But you can feel his eyes glued to yours. He attended every single meeting with the type of energy that you had never found before in any of your other students, and somehow, he just exudes positivity and passion.
During the meeting after that, he handed you over his homework, along with an extra essay that was written according to your input. He could not hide his stupid grin every time you complimented a sentence structure, and for the first time, you finally made him speechless.
“Thank you,” you said after ending your feedback.
Jay tilted his head and frowned. “What for?”
“For taking my input seriously,” you continued.
Jay became even more confused. “Isn’t that what students do?”
You scoffed and shook your head. “A lot of my students don’t.”
“Well, they’re just dumb, then.”
Your mouth hung open in shock at Jay’s sudden insult, and he found your face hilarious that he just had to cackle, his laugh echoing throughout the place. You covered your mouth and giggled silently, helplessly smacking his arm so he would quiet down.
On your fourth meeting, you requested to have the lesson at the campus café since you had to go home as soon as your session with him ended. This time, however, he was running late, and you had to spend a couple of minutes alone chugging down your latte to stay awake.
“Noona, I’m so sorry,” Jay said as soon as pulled the chair beside you. He sat down and started complaining. “My professor just announced this urgent assignment that we had to do, and…”
The annoyance that came with almost being stood up evaporated completely when you heard Jay yapping about what happened in his class. Maybe you were just too tired to be angry, or maybe you were just happy to see him.
“Shall we just practice Speaking then for now?” You asked after he finished his explanation.
Jay nodded quickly. “Anything you want. Do you want me to order another drink for you?”
“It’s fine, calm down,” you said, chuckling lightly. “Alright, let me look for a topic.”
You quickly browsed your phone and began asking him questions. You made a gesture and pointed to his phone, signaling him to record himself speaking, so he did so without breaking eye contact with you. For the next part, you picked a topic that required him to talk about a close friend, and as he began to elaborate on his answer, it was your turn to look at him intently.
“What I like about her is,” Jay spoke in the middle of his answer. He then paused as if he was searching for the right word to use, but you were feeling sleepy and goofy, so you interrupted him.
“Her smile?” You asked in a teasing tone before you started laughing.
Jay became flustered and quickly waved both his hands to deny your guess. “No, not that!”
He then joined you laughing, and you had to apologize for stretching the time limit he had. You then asked him to continue and wrap up, and after that you immediately gave feedback. However, when you were speaking you got tongue-tied a lot, and you kept saying the wrong words or taking too long to find one.
“Noona, if you’re really tired, we can end the class early, I don’t mind,” Jay said calmly, looking at you with concern but also smiling like he somehow found you adorable.
“No!” You said with an unreasonable tone of refusal. Jay flinched in his seat from how loud you spoke. “No, you already came late, so I’m not cutting this meeting even shorter.”
“Alright,” Jay chuckled to himself. He looked to the ground and saw that you had your shoes off.
Eventually, you gave him constructive feedback and even managed to pull up the previous essay he had written and gave him pointers on the spot. When it was time to wrap up, Jay cleared his throat before proposing an idea.
“Noona,” he began, “can we have the next meeting at my place?”
“Sure,” you replied without hesitation. “What’s the name of the café this time?”
Jay smiled and shook his head. “I meant my place, as in, my house.”
“Oh?” You paused and let your hand hover over your book, trying to formulate a response. “Uhm, I have never—”
“If you feel uncomfortable, it’s fine. We can go to another place. You can choose!” Jay quickly revised his statement, worried that he made the wrong decision of even voicing his idea.
“Well, where do you live?” You asked, genuinely curious.
“Not walking distance from campus,” Jay said with a smile. “But again, I’ll drive you there and back. I live alone, it’s my parents' house, but they’re currently living in another city to take care of their business, so they left the house to me. And we won’t be alone, I’ve got some workers who are doing renovations, so…”
You realized how flustered he became, and by now you already know that Jay tends to say a lot of words when he was nervous, so to save him from further embarrassment, you nodded. His eyes lit up when he finally got an answer from you.
“I’ll text you when you can pick me up,” you said. “Don’t be late.”
Jay licked his lips before grinning widely. “I won’t.”
---
You were lounging on a huge sofa, a couple of pillows under your head and between your legs, and you winced as you heard the sound of ongoing construction outside the house. You glanced over to Jay, who had his eyebrows knitted and his rimless bluelight filter glasses perched on his nose, studiously reading the questions on his laptop screen. The noise-canceling headphones you brought proved to be useful, as he seemed to stay focused really well, and you wondered why he did not own a pair.
After introducing the idea of taking mock tests online and reviewing them right away, you ended up staying for longer hours whenever your meetings were held at Jay’s place, and when you first came there, one of the workers mistook you for Jay’s girlfriend. You then began to wonder if he had brought home other girls as well.
“Noona,” Jay called for you, breaking your chain of thoughts. “There’s no way I can answer this one correctly.”
Jay pulled his headphones down and gestured for you to sit next to him, so you did, and he pushed his laptop to your side so you can see its screen better. He was complaining about the true-false-not given questions, and he was getting frustrated because he could not tell the difference between false and not-given.
As you began to explain, Jay pulled the laptop closer to his side again, and you wanted him to read but also listen at the same time, so instead of pulling it closer to you, you moved closer to him. You ended up sitting closer to the coffee table and closer to the screen, with Jay sitting right behind you.
“So, if you see this passage here, the third paragraph,” you said, pointing at the screen. You did not hear a reply. “Jay?”
“Sorry,” Jay quickly replied, shaking his head. “Sorry, I zoned out. You smell so good.”
You were not going to let Jay see you blush, so you merely chuckled and cleared your throat. “Okay, moving on.”
You continued explaining, and Jay kept responding to you with one-word answers or mere hums, and you thought as long as he was paying attention, you did not need to check on him.
Little did you know that as you were speaking, his eyes were scanning your whole body. He leaned in ever so slightly to take in your scent better, and he noticed how sheer the button-down you were wearing was. He could barely see the outline of your light blue bra strap, and as you adjusted your position, he realized he was leaning in too close, so he quickly backed away before he got caught.
“Do you get it now?” You asked, looking back at him.
Jay was leaning against the sofa, a fair distance from you, but his eyes were focused on your lips, and that was a hard thing not to notice. To be frank, you were fighting yourself and trying to regulate your heartbeat whenever it beat faster when he came a little too close to you, and now you were beginning to think that the feeling might be mutual.
“Jay?” You asked. You then waved your hand in front of his face. “You seem out of it—”
You could not finish your sentence as you were in shock from the way his hand grabbed your wrist. You froze instantly, and your heart was beating even faster than when he was up close.
“Sorry,” Jay said, clearing his throat. He lowered your hand and let go of your wrist. “Sorry about that.”
“We can end the session now if you don’t feel well—”
“Noona,” he interrupted, “don’t end it now.”
“Okay,” you replied as you shifted in your seat and turned to face him. “How can I help you understand this better?”
Jay licked his lips and looked at the screen before looking at you, and within a short moment, he was flipping coins in his head, trying to imagine the different possible outcomes that would happen if he suggested what he was thinking the whole time.
“If I get the answer right,” he began, “would you show me your boobs?”
The question came out of nowhere and your immediate response was to laugh out loud, but once you looked at his face you realized he was dead serious, and since he asked politely you decided to entertain the idea.
“Alright, why not? Nothing to lose here,” you replied, confident that he would get the answer wrong. It was one of the types of questions that you hated the most because of how tricky it was, so you were convinced that even he would not get it right.
You were glad that you were wrong, for the first time in your life.
“I got it right, didn’t I?” Jay asked minutes later as you leaned closer to look at the screen, scanning the answer key and looking at Jay’s answer.
“Goddamnit,” you muttered, mindlessly clicking the mouse all over the screen.
You heard Jay whisper a ‘yes’ triumphantly and you sighed to yourself before turning around to face him. You began pulling your button-down up from the tuck in your pants, and Jay’s eyes immediately widened.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He shouted, reaching his hands out to stop you. “What are you doing?”
“Flashing you?” You asked back, fingers frozen at the edges of your shirt.
Jay chuckled and fell back leaning his head on the sofa, taking his glasses off and covering his eyes with his forearm. “Noona, I was just joking.”
You felt disappointed, for some reason, and a little bit humiliated. Was he really just using you to feel motivated? And did that actually work? Were you secretly hoping for him to get the answer right?
“Really?” You asked again for confirmation. Jay nodded.
You paused for a second and then smiled. Jay thought you were going to say, ‘Good one’, but then you began scooting closer to him, and he immediately tensed up.
“So, when I sat down in front of you, and you got distracted, that was part of the act?” You asked, almost batting your eyelashes at him.
You could basically hear him gulp. “Yes,” he said, eyes on yours.
“You said I smelled good, was that just a joke too?”
“No,” Jay answered, chuckling this time. “You really do smell good.”
You reached a spot close enough to hear his thoughts, your breasts just inches apart from his chest.
“I really hope you’re not lying,” you whispered, your lips almost grazing his.
Jay let out a soft grunt before he pulled you by your wrist, and you yelped as he somehow managed to maneuver you to sit on his lap. You then kissed him first, pushing him back and letting his head rest on the seat cushion. Both his hands began riding up your thigh as you mercilessly dominated the kiss, quickly tangling your fingers in his gorgeous hair.
His hands moved to your ass to give it a squeeze and you moaned into his mouth, your body shaking and quickly succumbing to his touch. You began grinding on him, barely feeling his bulge, but as he began to dominate the kiss you heard feet shuffling right out the terrace.
“Jay?”
You jumped out of his lap at the sound and immediately made your way to the open kitchen, pretending to busy yourself. Jay cleared his throat and wiped away his saliva, or maybe yours, from his mouth. He stood up and walked over to one of the construction workers who called him, and you tried to observe them quietly as he spoke to him. He held himself with so much composure, almost like he did not even get caught making out with his tutor.
The worker then nodded, and Jay waved slightly at him, and you assumed that the man just gave Jay an update before excusing themselves for the day. You took a deep breath and held the empty glass you took in one hand while massaging your temple. You saw Jay making his way towards you with an apologetic smile on his face.
“Sorry again,” Jay said, standing on the opposite side of the counter. “I actually… don’t have anything else to say.”
You chuckled and looked down to avoid eye contact because you were sure that one more look from him would make you combust.
“Are you okay?” Jay asked, voice full of concern.
“I am, why?” You replied, confused.
Jay shook his head, unsure. “I just did not want to come off as a… I just hope you know that I’m not taking advantage of you, and I really don’t want you to feel—”
You began laughing softly and Jay had to stop speaking.
“Noona?”
“It’s fine,” you said as you began walking to him. You fixed a strand of his hair that was out of place from how much you were ruffling his hair earlier. “I’m okay.”
Jay kept his eyes on you, and you detected a different emotion. Before, you saw that it was lust, but now his eyes seemed hopeful.
“If you’re really okay with it,” Jay spoke, placing a hand behind his neck, “do you think it would be cool if we make it, like, a regular thing?”
“Elaborate, please.”
Jay chuckled softly. “I meant like, I think I could get motivated a lot if there was a reward waiting if I get a question right. Or if I reach a certain score in a mock test, don’t you think?”
You liked the idea very much that there was literally no reason to refuse. “I actually agree.”
“You do?” Jay started smiling widely. “Okay, cool, so the next meeting—”
“You’ll have to pick me up again after my class,” you interrupted, “and we’ll probably need some snacks here.”
Jay nodded firmly as if he had just negotiated a great deal. “Wait, Noona, you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”
You shook your head. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Of course not,” Jay scoffed. “I just didn’t want to get in between of anything.”
You pouted and nodded, understanding. “Well, you’d probably be getting in between something.”
Jay tilted his head in confusion, and you brought your hand to your thigh, patting it. Jay closed his eyes and sighed. You giggled at his reaction.
“This session is over. You need to drive me back,” you demanded, placing the glass you were holding the whole time back on the counter.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Jay muttered before winking at you and turning around to go grab his car keys. You rolled your eyes before following him.
---
To say that you could not wait for your next session with Jay would be an understatement. You were literally counting the days, down to the minute, and you were checking your phone a ridiculous number of times just so you could respond to his chats in an instant. When he picked you up and you saw him getting out of the car to open the door for you, your heart was beating like a drum.
It was understandable, and pretty logical, actually. You had not been intimate with anyone in a long time, and Jay was, quite frankly, fucking hot. It did not help that he was intelligent as well, which was definitely your type. Your heart was racing, and your mind was imagining a thousand different scenarios that you did not even realize that you had arrived at Jay’s place.
You quickly noticed the absence of noise when you stepped out of the car. Jay walked up to the door and looked back at you, noticing how you were also silent.
“It’s a day off for the workers, today,” Jay explained, “it’s just you and me.”
“Thank God,” you muttered.
Jay chuckled. “What?”
“Did I just say that out loud?” You asked back in shock.
Jay laughed, genuinely finding you amusing. “You said it under your breath, but I heard it.”
“How embarrassing,” you said to yourself as you entered the house after him.
“On the contrary,” Jay responded, “I find it adorable.”
For this session, you decided to stay as farther away from Jay as possible, to let him focus and also to clear your mind. He was doing a mock test on his laptop after he received major feedback on his homework essay, and you took the time to wander around his kitchen and check his supplies.
“I can hear you opening the cabinets,” Jay spoke in a louder tone, all the way from the living room.
“Don’t mind me,” you shouted back. “Just focus if you want to get a good score.”
“What was the reward again?” Jay asked, smiling to himself as he scanned the question on his screen.
“A make out session if you reach 7,” you reminded him despite knowing full well that he just wanted you to recite it back to him. “And if you reach 8, I’ll give you a blowjob.”
“Fuck,” Jay muttered to himself.
You were unsure if it was because the thought made him unable to focus, or if he was actually struggling to answer the questions. After a few more minutes, he finally finished his Reading mock test, and you walked over to check his score.
“Noona, I present to you,” Jay began speaking, proudly, “a 7.5.”
Your eyebrows knitted as you observed the screen and scanned the page, checking Jay’s answers and matching them with the answer key. Meanwhile, Jay was leaning back and stretching his arms up, cracking his neck and basically doing preparations as if he was about to run a marathon.
“Good job,” you said, pushing the laptop towards the center of the table. You then turned around only to find him sitting comfortably on the sofa, arms to his side and his lap looking so inviting.
“Can I get my reward now?” He asked, eyes glowing and expecting.
“I’ll count it as a 7, since we never agreed on anything if you get a .5 score,” you said, taking the scrunchie from your wrist and tying your hair up in a messy bun.
“I’ll take anything,” Jay whispered, his arms welcoming you as you carefully straddled him.
You paused to place your hands on the sides of his face, and you bit your lower lip slightly before you leaned into him. His lips greeted yours warmly, and you could not help but sigh into his mouth once you felt his heat envelop you. Jay roamed his hands around your waist, up to your back, and lingering on your shoulders for a moment, pushing you even closer to him.
“Fuck,” he muttered into your lips. “You taste so good, Noona.”
You smiled and kissed him even harder, hoping it would translate into gratitude. You felt his fingers going under your shirt, grazing your skin and you shivered at his touch. He continued kissing you, licking your lips, tugging on your tongue, teeth slightly clashing with yours when the two of you got way too passionate. His fingers tugged your bra and he pulled away only to ask you a question.
“Can I?” He spoke, voice raspy from the lack of air. You wanted it just as much as him, so you nodded quietly.
He unhooked your bra with one hand and immediately moved his hand to the front, squeezing your tits as he continued to devour your lips. You began moaning helplessly, and you could feel him growing hard against your core.
“Jay,” you whined, “your reward is just a make out session.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know, but doesn’t this feel so good?”
You felt him pinch your hard nipple slightly and you flinched before giggling, hiding your blushing face in the crook of his neck. You realized that he had a birthmark there, so you began kissing it, then licking it, then sucking on it, and only then did Jay let out a moan that sounded new to you.
“Noona,” he said, breathless. “We need to establish clearer rules and rewards.”
You kissed him all the way up to his jawline before meeting his lips again. “What do you mean?” You spoke against his lips.
“How about,” Jay said, pausing to groan since he felt his hard-on getting too restricted against his jeans. “For 7.5, I get to finger you?”
You pulled away from him to look him in the eyes and chuckled. “That sounds like more of a reward for me than it is for you.”
“But I really want it,” Jay confessed. “Please let me finger you.”
“Now?” You asked, placing your hands on his shoulders.
Jay nodded. “Aren’t you wet yet?”
He took the liberty to slide his hand under your pants, which happened to be elastic, thank God, and placed two fingers right along your slit. You elicited a whimper, and Jay could swear that you even shuddered at the sudden contact.
“You are,” Jay announced boldly. “Would you let me?”
His palm was right on your core anyway, and you thought that it would be stupid of you to refuse since he was already making you feel so good. Besides, his argument made sense.
“Okay,” you answered breathlessly, and within a second Jay was pulling your pants down to the floor.
“Seamless,” he commented as he eyed your panties. “Why am I not surprised?”
You shook your head and chuckled. “Why? Do you prefer a lacey thong?”
Jay stroked the inside of your thighs gently as he guided you by your waist to sit back down on the sofa, letting him hover his body over you.
“I would actually prefer nothing,” Jay whispered before closing the gap between your lips.
You felt his tongue enter your mouth and his fingers slipping inside of you almost at the same time, and the immense pleasure made you arch your back. His two fingers curled up inside you, making a ‘come hither’ motion that somehow felt gentle and harsh at the same time. He was moving his fingers at a slow pace, but the pressure he put on made you see stars.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, reaching for Jay’s arms to hold on to. “Jay…”
He loved the way you moaned his name, so he curled his fingers one more time and you whimpered, feeling your legs beginning to shake.
“Fuck,” you muttered again, tilting your head to the side, and letting Jay leave love bites along your neck. “Fuck, Jay, I’m gonna cum.”
“Please do,” he whispered into your ear, maintaining his pace the moment you told him so.
When you finally reached your high, your legs were shaking, and your body was spasming, and Jay had to wipe the sweat that formed on your forehead, tucking your hair behind your ear at the same time. His hand was drenched, and you could feel your cum trickling down onto the sofa.
“Oh my God, sorry,” you said in an instant.
Jay shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said calmly, waiting for you to catch your breath before he deemed it was time to pull his fingers out of you. When he did, you watched as he stared at them, two fingers glistening with your essence. He brought his hand up to his mouth and took a sniff before tasting it. The sight made you roll your eyes back.
“It’s unfair,” Jay began, “the way you taste as good as you smell.”
“God,” you said to yourself, and Jay laughed lowly, proud of how he was able to render you speechless. “What about you now?”
Jay tilted his head and then looked down at the obvious tent in his pants. “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it later.”
“In that case,” you said, pushing his chest slightly so he could move away from you. You tugged down your panties that had stayed on the whole time, and when you took them off your ankles you handed them to Jay.
“For later.”
You smiled as he took your panties in his hand, and you cackled the moment he took a sniff dramatically.
“Thanks, Noona,” Jay said, leaning in to leave a quick peck on your cheek. “Time to drive you back now.”
---
The next couple of meetings were spent in the same manner, more or less. Jay would try his best to get a score as high as he could, but he would never go over 7.5, so all you did was make out with him in his living room, in his bedroom, or even in his car on the ride back to campus. He took it like a champ, though, and he never insisted on taking things further than what you had previously agreed on.
You had one meeting left with him before his scheduled test, and you were dreading the day. Usually, you would be looking forward to meeting him, but all things come to an end, even private lessons, so you halfheartedly dolled yourself up in front of the mirror in your faculty’s restrooms, still determined to look your best for your favorite student.
The car ride to his house was spent in comfortable silence, and you did not mind the way his hand reached for your thigh, resting it there as he rubbed his thumb along your skin. You were wearing a short skirt for a change, and you loved the way it had caught his attention in an instant. Once you arrived, Jay took you by your hand and led you straight to his bedroom for privacy, since the workers were currently at his house.
“Noona,” he called for you before starting the mock test on his computer. You were halfway making yourself comfortable on his bed. “Can you sit with me while I do this?”
“Where?” You walked towards him.
He spun his chair towards you and patted his lap. “Here.”
You chuckled. “Why?”
“It’s our last meeting and I want to be close to you.”
You were underestimating the effects of his words and you felt like your stomach did a flip. You never shied away from his advances, though, so doing it now would be weird. And you did not want it to backfire and end up demotivating him.
“Okay,” you said, turning around before you carefully sat on his lap. You had to adjust your position several times to make sure he was comfortable, and he wrapped an arm around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder as he began the test.
“You can answer in your mind if you want,” Jay said, tilting his chin towards the screen.
You answered by reaching your hand back to stroke his hair, and he hummed in delight as he began answering the test. Eventually, you leaned your back towards his chest and sat comfortably, almost falling asleep from his warmth. You eyed the screen and noticed that he was about to answer a question wrong, so you placed your hand over his and moved the mouse to the right option.
“Isn’t this cheating?” He asked, genuinely unsure.
“I’m giving you a pass, Jay,” you answered calmly, patting his cheek.
After a while, he finished his mock test, and you saw the results come up as soon as he clicked next.
“You did it,” you said, staring at the screen. “That’s an 8.”
You noticed that Jay was silent for too long, and then you realized you had sat on his lap for too long, so you quickly stood up and stretched your legs, smoothing your skirt down.
“Are you ready for your reward?” You asked, eyes full of anticipation.
Jay licked his lips and shook his head. You immediately frowned.
“I feel like if you hadn’t corrected that one question, I would still get a 7.5,” Jay confessed. “It’s okay, I’ll skip the reward.”
“What?” You said, almost spitting your words out. You did not know why his refusal got you so worked up.
“Noona,” he began, reaching for your hands as he stood up from his seat. “I appreciate what you’ve been doing for me, but I also don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
You continued to frown, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I’ve loved the sessions we had, and I’m really thankful for all the rewards, but I need you to know that my goal remains the same, and it’s to get the highest score possible. The test is in a week, and I need to remain focused.”
He really did it, you thought. He used you to his advantage until he didn’t need you anymore.
But you knew that, deep inside. You knew that this way of giving him motivation would be dangerous, more for you than for him. You knew that Jay is a professional and that he takes his studies seriously, so you knew that catching feelings would be out of the picture for him.
Sadly, you forgot to set the boundaries for yourself.
You really thought that you could keep it casual, and you really thought that you were not going to start having feelings for him since it had been ages anyway since you had loved someone, so why does his professionalism hurt you? When in fact, you should be thankful that he respected you?
Your mind was running a mile a minute thinking of possible scenarios, and his face was becoming concerned. Eventually, you managed to fake a smile and you nodded before you said your response.
“As expected,” you began, “from the top student in class.”
Jay blinked, not expecting you to remember the one fun fact that Heeseung had told you about him.
“Your essays have improved so much since the first meeting. Your speaking is fine, just remember not to use fillers too much. You have no problem with the listening section, and for reading, I suggest you keep practicing during the few days before the test.”
Now, Jay was the one with a frown on his face. He was wondering why you were acting so formally again.
“I’ll text you good luck before the test, and when the results are out, tell me your score,” you continued.
“If I get over 7.5—”
“I’ll treat you to lunch.”
Jay scrunched his nose. “Pardon?”
“I’ll treat you to a nice lunch, okay? My pick this time,” you said with a smile so convincing that it was hard for him not to smile back.
“Okay,” Jay smiled back at you, trying to hide the tone of disappointment in his voice.
---
Days had passed by since Jay took his test, and even since the results of it came out. You held back from texting him first since he never responded to your good luck text on the day of his test. You then swallowed the bitter fact that, maybe, or most likely, Jay really was using you and your dumb self had consented to it.
But it could not be, you convinced yourself. He was a gentleman. Would he really do that?
You gave up trying to find answers that might make you feel better, so you decided to busy yourself with other freelance work that came your way. You felt bad turning down the other students that Heeseung had referred you to, and you had to come up with lame excuses like you had no time or you had way too much on your plate.
The real reason was that everything about the test prep now reminds you of Jay, and you would not want to take out your anger and disappointment on your new student. You thought it was best to stop tutoring for a while until you had completely moved on.
One of the latest gigs that got you a little too excited was speaking for a panel discussion in a workshop that was related to your teaching experience on campus. Previously, you attended these events as a participant, sitting in the audience and actively taking notes and recording the speakers, but now you get to see it from the other side of the stage, and you could not help but feel proud of yourself.
You dressed your best to impress, for once not dressing for yourself but for the audience, and when you sat in between the other speakers on stage you became so engrossed that you almost did not realize the familiar figure sitting on the front row but at the farthest chair from the stage.
Jay noticed you looking at him, so he threw you a soft smile and a tiny wave with his hand. You smiled and quickly turned towards the host who had called out your name to address a question. You answered the question and looked at the other speakers on your side, and you were glad that they were nodding along to your response, signaling that you had indeed answered the question correctly.
Surprisingly, it was not hard to stay focused on the rest of the discussion. Jay sat pretty far from your sight, so all you had to do was look anywhere except in his direction. You did look at him one more time, though, and you caught him looking at the huge screen that was focusing on your face as you were speaking. You almost sighed in relief a little too loudly when the session ended, and you gathered your belongings as well as your thoughts as the other people swarmed towards the outside of the hall.
You could feel someone approaching you from behind, and when you turned around Jay was looking at you with a soft gaze in his eyes.
“Noona,” he said.
“Hey, Jay,” you greeted him back.
“Listen, can I speak to you somewhere else private?” He asked before looking around and spotting several people still lingering inside the hall.
“This seems private enough,” you said as you looked around too. “I barely know anyone here.”
Jay became visibly uncomfortable, and you instantly felt bad.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I can drive you home and we can talk on the way, or—”
“Or, you can come up with me to my room,” you suggested.
Jay’s mouth was slightly open as he tried to process your words.
“I am staying here for the weekend. You don’t have to drive me anywhere,” you said with a smile, turning around to grab your bag. Your heart was beating a little too fast to your liking.
Jay tailed you and kept silent as you both waited for the elevator to open. Once it did, you entered and he followed behind you, waiting until the doors closed before he finally began to speak.
“I got an 8.5,” Jay said, looking down at the floor.
Your eyes widened. “Jay, that’s amazing!”
“I’m sorry,” he then said.
You were confused. “What?”
The elevator dinged and two people came inside. You decided to wait until you reached your floor to continue the conversation.
“I’ll explain once we’re inside, I promise,” Jay said as he matched your pace, walking beside you until you reach your door.
His face instantly switched from worried to wonder when he realized that you were walking all the way to the end of the hall.
“The event gave you a suite?” Jay asked, pure curiosity getting the best of him.
You could not help but chuckle. “No, I upgraded myself. Come in.”
As soon as you closed the door, you felt Jay pull your hand before he quickly trapped you between his body and the wall. You did not even have the time to be surprised because the next thing you knew his lips were latched onto yours, and your body betrayed you by reciprocating him and pulling him closer to you.
Jay quickly pulled away when he felt your fingers hooked on his belt. You licked your lips and let your eyes search for his.
“I’m sorry, I owe you an explanation,” Jay said, rubbing his hand on your waist. “I shouldn’t have lunged at you like this.”
You cleared your throat and fixed your hair, gently pushing him away from you before you made your way to the loveseat in the center of the room.
“Have a seat,” you replied, sitting on the sofa yourself and bringing your legs up to your chest.
Jay sat down and took his bag off, letting it fall to the floor as he let out a huge sigh.
“I don’t know where to start,” he confessed.
“Take your time,” you responded, stretching your arm and leaning your head on it. “Maybe start with why you didn’t reply to my texts?”
“I lost my phone,” Jay began. “Literally the night before the test. I had no time to get a new one, and I didn’t want to get distracted, so I just went on and took the test. Right after, though, my professor… that jackass…”
Your eyes widened at Jay’s frustrated insult, and you had to hold back a smile.
“It was just class after class, task after task, I really did not have the time or mental capacity to get back to you, and I don’t want you to think that I consider you as less of a priority, because I don’t, and I really tried to ask Heeseung for your number again, but it’s… you know what? These are excuses. I don’t want to give you excuses.”
You frowned but at the same time, an amused smile was slowly creeping up your face.
“I should have contacted you the minute I could, but I didn’t, and I let other stuff take up my time. That’s my mistake. I’m sorry.”
“Alright, apology accepted,” you said, tapping your fingers on the sofa.
Jay looked at you in confusion. “Really? That easy?”
You clicked your tongue and tilted your head. “That still does not explain why you kissed me a second ago, though.”
“Right,” Jay continued. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. “Right.”
You chuckled lightly and adjusted your position. “Why are you so nervous?”
“Because you’re so fucking gorgeous, and I have feelings for you but I’m not sure you have the same.”
You held a hand over your mouth in shock. “Jay,” you mumbled.
“You understood me wrongly,” he continued. “The day of our last meeting when I said I needed to remain focused. I was trying to confess to you.”
Your eyes were looking into his and you nodded once, telling him to continue.
“I really did not want you to think that I was taking advantage of you. I just grew to like you a lot, and you can’t even imagine how fucking relieved I was when you agreed to my proposal of rewards. Every single time I spent with you only deepened my feelings even more, and I…”
Jay paused to look at you, and you straightened your position.
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Rambling when I’m nervous?” Jay said, almost stuttering towards the end of his sentence.
You smiled to yourself before you pushed your body up. You made your way to his side and sat close beside him, touching your thigh with his.
“Well, let me tell you that I’m fucking relieved that you’re here to straighten things out,” you stated, resting a hand on his thigh. “Because guess what?”
You ended your question by inching your face closer to his.
“What?” He muttered under his breath.
“I have feelings for you, too.”
Jay sighed out of relief and smiled before he leaned in to kiss you, and as his hands found their place on your waist, you moved to straddle him. You were both in a familiar position, taking you back to the hours you would spend at his house, making out with him as a reward.
“Noona,” he spoke against your lips in between kisses. “When I said if I get more than 7.5, I was going to say I wanted to eat you out.”
You broke down laughing against his lips and you had to move your face to his neck so he wouldn’t choke on your breaths.
“You just had to interrupt me and say that you were going to treat me to lunch,” Jay continued before bringing your face back up and devouring your lips again. “You kind of owe me.”
You hummed against his lips and guided his hands to go underneath your shirt. He unhooked your bra with ease before moving his hands to cup both your breasts.
“God,” you muttered, grinding your hips harder against his crotch.
“Noona,” Jay breathed, moving his hand to unbutton your shirt. “Can’t you moan my name instead?”
“Oh, Jay,” you whispered, chuckling when you see him smile as your hands cupped his face. “You sweet little thing.”
Jay had managed to take both your bra and your shirt off in an instant, and you brought his head closer to your breasts so he could fondle them with his mouth. You moaned louder as he nibbled on your nipple, grinding faster against his hips and placing your hands firmly on his head.
“Why don’t I treat you to lunch now?” You proposed, tugging his hair and making him look up at you.
Jay nodded and you moved away from his lap, standing up and bringing him to his feet too. You started unbuttoning his shirt as you walked backwards, leading him towards the bed. He placed his hands firmly on your waist, letting you do your thing. Once the back of your legs hit the bed, you sat down and took off your panties and trousers in one go. Jay immediately kneeled in front of you.
“I still have your panties, Noona,” he said as you rested your legs comfortably on his shoulder.
“What do you do with it?” You asked, challenging him.
“I touch myself with it and imagine doing this to you.”
His lips brushed against your folds without warning, and you immediately fell back to the bed, lying down. He kissed your clit before running his tongue along your slit, and the warmth and wetness of his mouth drove you crazy. You began pulling on his hair, determined to get him even closer, and he reacted by hooking his arm around your thighs, humming as he lapped up your arousal.
“Jay,” you whimpered. “You’re doing so good.”
He began making loud wet noises deliberately, knowing how it would make you moan louder, and when you were squirming under his touch he inserted a finger, all the while toying with your clit using his tongue.
“Fuck!” You hissed, arching your back and lifting your ass from the bed. “Don’t stop, Jay, please.”
You pressed the ball of your foot against Jay’s back as he continued to eat you out, taking you to your first high of the night and cumming against his mouth. You were breathing loudly, panting so much like the air was sucked out of you. Jay squeezed your thigh before unlatching his lips, then he gently caressed your folds with his fingers, collecting the remains of your cum before licking them dry.
“Come here,” you begged, your hands reaching out for nothing until he moved and placed himself between your legs.
Jay leaned down and began kissing your jaw, and you took the liberty of unbuckling his belt and tugging his pants down as he devoured your neck. You felt the bulge underneath his boxers and almost froze at the contact.
“What’s wrong?” Jay asked, noticing how you stopped moving for a split second.
“You’re…” You tried your best to look down at his crotch. “You’re fucking huge.”
Jay was the one with a breathy chuckle now, amused at your reaction.
“That’s because it’s hard, and that’s because of you, Noona.”
“Fuck me, then,” you replied, bringing one hand to squeeze his biceps. “Literally, please.”
“Wait, let me just…”
Jay moved away from you to reach inside the pockets of his pants before kicking it off then he pulled his boxers off completely, and only then you realized he was holding a condom.
“That condom was in your pocket this whole time?” You asked in disbelief. “Were you expecting this to happen?”
“Noona,” Jay looked at you with a smirk. “You know how driven I am.”
“Oh my God,” you retorted, chuckling and covering your eyes with your arm. “Can’t believe I fell for it.”
Jay unwrapped the condom and slid it down his length with ease.
“Staying safe, are we?” You asked with a smile as you welcomed him back into your embrace.
“Well, I’m a med student, so…”
“Okay, enough, let’s just fuck.”
Jay kissed your face a couple more times until it got annoying because he was clearly stalling. You grabbed his face and he chuckled, biting his lower lip.
“You’re really pretty,” he confessed all of a sudden.
“And you’re hot as fuck, so can you just fuck me please?”
Jay nodded and kissed you with a smile, aligning his tip with your slit. “Take a deep breath,” he whispered.
You did as he said, and you were glad you did. Jay filled you up and once again you had underestimated your own predictions. Back when you were still just making out and straddling him, you only had a faint idea of his size, and he was wearing loose pants all the time, so it was not like you were able to tell easily. Your breath became shaky as you felt him bottom out, and he brought his hand up to caress your face.
“Tell me if it’s okay to move,” he whispered ever so gently before kissing your nose.
You opened your eyes and found him staring at you. You were breathing from your mouth, so he tilted his head to kiss your cheek softly. After that, you reached your hands under his arms, latched them on his shoulders, and then you nodded.
He pulled out of you and thrusted back in gently, and the force already had you gasping for air. Once he found a steady rhythm, you began matching his pace, thrusting your hips upwards and meeting him halfway. It was impossible to hold back your moans, and if you weren’t moaning you were whimpering, or breathing his name with every stroke he made.
“I’m close, Noona,” he spoke against your lips.
You nodded and ran your fingers through his hair. “Me too.”
Jay began increasing his pace, thrusting into you with a little more force. He looked down and placed a hand under your thigh, keeping your leg secure beside him. He then looked up at you to check if you were still okay. You licked your lips and pulled him into a kiss. His thrusts soon began to grow sloppy, and after he finally released his seed, your walls clenched around his shaft, letting him know that you had reached your high too.
You slowly try to catch your breath, and Jay kissed you once more before pulling out of you, careful not to make a mess. He took the condom off and tied it before quickly chucking it in the bin, and he made himself comfortable lying beside you. Your hand was looking a little lonely, so he took it and intertwined his fingers with yours.
The two of you sat in silence as both your chests heaved up and down. You turned your head to look at Jay and he was closing his eyes as if he was savoring the moment. You scooted closer to him, taking your hand away but letting him wrap you in his arms.
“So, what are we?” You asked in the most straightforward manner.
Jay’s heavy breaths turned into a chuckle, and soon after you were both just laughing like idiots madly in love.
plot: jay doesn't take too kindly when you go out with your friends and ignore his existence.
wc: 1146
warnings under the cut.
warnings: jay is a little petty when he's jealous, oral (m. receiving), car sex, use of the word slut, not as many warnings as usual.
IT WAS RARE WHEN ALL YOUR FRIENDS GOT TO HANG OUT.
So when Jake made a group chat containing your whole friendship group offering for you all to go to the amusement part that weekend, you jumped at the chance and accepted the offer for both yourself and Jay without consulting him. You deemed it ‘just fine’ as surely if he had plans with you, he could easily swap them to another day whereas your friends were always so busy, it was rare for all of you to be able to hang out.
Jay sulked on the drive to the theme park, muttering that whenever he asked you to go just the pair of you, you fought him the whole way there and were miserable the whole time whereas you jumped at the chance when someone else offered it.
When Jay parked the car, you were in a rush to get out and ran to the entrance where some of your friends had already grouped up. You were dismissive when Jay told you he was going to go inside to use the bathroom, just waving your hand in response before you looped your arm around one of your friends, leading her to the teacups to try first.
Jay scowled at your cold response, but went about his business and even got himself a chore and hot chocolate to try and warm himself up on the cold autumn day. He watched you rushed around the rides with your friends, not sparing you a second of conversation.
Jay sat on a bench with Jake, sighing softly as he watched you rush right by him, not a second glance at him. You were too carefree and enjoying yourself. He liked seeing you smile, but a part of him wanted to be the reason of the smile. He didn’t like that other people were getting that kind of reaction out of you. It should only be him who makes you so happy you feel like you’re becoming dizzy.
Jay tried to push the growing feelings of jealous, but by the end of the day, he felt as if his skin had turned green when you saw you hugging Sunghoon a little too tight for a little too long. His eyes narrowed, but he refrained from saying a word as he gave his friends the usual handshake-bro-hug combo, then he walked to the car ahead of you.
You had noticed how off pace Jay had been all day, and knew you were likely the cause. You didn’t mean to ignore him, you were just so lost in a haze of fun that you forgot he was even there until he grabbed your hand and told you that you needed to eat or you would likely pass out.
Jay sat in the car with arms crossed and face stern. He looked pissed, to put it nicely. “Shall we go out for food?” You asked cheerily as you climbed into the car, but the question didn’t seem to ease his mood one bit as he just shook his head.
“We have food at home,” He stated, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight—his knuckles turning white from the pressure.
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, Jay’s mood intimidating you. When the car stopped outside your house in your usual parking spot, you turned to Jay and grabbed his cheeks in your hands before he could get out of the car. You pouted, tilting your head for the extra cute effect.
“Jay, what’s wrong?” You asked, Jay rolling his eyes as his hands went to yours. You almost thought he was going to push your hands from his face, but instead he held them in place.
“You know exactly what’s wrong, baby girl,” The nickname held some kind of venom behind it. “You gave everyone else but me attention, and we both know how I hate it when my girl drools herself over everyone else like a little slut.”
You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “Slut? I was just hanging out with my friends. I’m all yours, you know that.”
“Prove it,” He replied a little too fast.
You looked around, finding the street empty. It was risky, but you didn’t care. You needed him, you couldn’t wait the 50 or so steps to the bedroom. You had a perfectly fine seat to get your needs out right here.
You pushed your seat back, then reached around Jay to do the same. You looked around once again, just to make sure the street was for sure quiet, before you grabbed the button of his pants and undone it, then you unzipped and pushed them down just enough you could wrap your hand around his dick over his boxers.
For someone who was angry at you, his body sure reacted fast to your touches. You smirked and leant down, pushing his boxers barely down enough to let his cock spring free.
You brought your open and prepared mouth down to his crotch, your mouth taking him in hungrily as your lips wrapped softly around him. You bobbed your head, Jay letting out a hiss as he wrapped his hands around the head rest behind him with his head pushed back and eyes closed.
You looked up at him, watching as you kept bobbing your head. You moaned around him at the face he was making. Damn, your boyfriend was so fucking hot.
You brought one of your hands to pump the rest of him that couldn’t fit into your mouth, and as you sucked a little harder, Jay loud out a string of moans and barely thrust his hips up. He tried his best to resits the action, knowing there was barely any space in the car for him to do what he usually would.
Jay’s moans turned into gaspy breaths. His eyes closed a little tighter and he bit his bottom lip. He muttered out softly, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby. Can you take me in your mouth?”
You nod around him momentarily, then pull back to pump his dick with your hand while your mouth sucked at the tip. You kept your actions, listening to his moans which soon turned into a single grunt of your name before you felt hot, stickiness spill into your mouth.
You pulled back when he has finished cumming, staring right into his eyes as you swallowed. You cringed at the action and then muttered, “I’m never doing that again.”
Jay laughed, rolling his eyes. “You could have said no and I could have just come in a tissue or something.”
“Yeah, but I was being a bit of a bitch to you today unintentionally, so see it as a one-time I’m sorry gift,” You smiled, leaning to peck jay on the lips as your hands rushed to pull his boxes and pants back into order.
Boyfriend!Stray Kids calls s/o clingy when they ask for cuddles
Warnings : angsty, swearing, the boys are mean
A/N : Thank you for the request 🫶 I do love me some angst so there will most likely be more in the future! (I do also like happy endings so let me know if you want a part 2 where they make up)
@hoursonend
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