Currently taking submissions (requests:) Yes!
please read what I will and won’t write first before requesting!!You can find the guidelines a bit further down this post
You can call me Ghost! This blog is a (mostly) kpop writing account. I write for: The Boyz, Stray Kids, Txt, Wayv, Nct and all its sub units lol, WEi Seventeen, Xdinary Heros, MIRAE, and more! idk we'll see how it goes.
~Performances [all master lists]~
~Entertainment to look forward to~
.a church boy smutty fic with tbz Jacob
.fic based on 'don't call me angel' by Ariana Grande. Ya know spies and all that
. Chapter 2 of puppy meets cat (vernon smut fic)
.dancing in the kitchen jacob tbz fic
~Newest to the stage~
“how TxT would crush on u(hyung line)”
"BakeryOwnerKai smutty hcs" (kai txt x reader fluff and smut)
“puppy meets cat” (Vernon svt x reader strangers to lovers, meet cute, fluff ) chapter one”
"bakeryownerkai smutty hcs (kai txt reader fluff and smut) pt2
~In the spotlight [my most popular fics!]~
morning baby (keeho x reader suggestive)
xh realizing they love you romantically for the first time (fluff, hurt comfort I guess)
”I think you’re like, super duper cool— a morning with Kai” (heuningkai x reader smut)
“dreams sofas and whines” (Kevin moon x reader smut)
"Can I put a bow on it?" (leeknow x reader smut)
"Forever" (seungmin x reader smut)
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please be respectful and leave some love like reblogs, and comments on the fics and stuff you like :) I don't write for any girl groups YET and I'lll add some other fandoms I write for soon!
dni if you’re racist, Islamophobic, homophobic, sexist, transphobic, or anything harmful like that!! This blog only has room for people who aren’t harmful to others in any way and rude behavior will not be tolerated!!
This is a sfw and nsfw blog so I’ll be putting warnings on any fics plus using the community label thingy so nobody gets any surprises So Please be mindful of that and don’t read what you don’t want to see since i also have sfw writings on my blog im perfectly okay with minor and ageless blogs interacting with those types of fics that’s are sfw and following me. But I WILL block you if you don’t have an age indicator in your bio saying you’re not a minor if you interact on a nsfw fic!!
Things I’m not gonna write: non consensual, scat, age play, dub con, pregnancy, murder, smut about an underage member, and for now no character death lol
random facts about meh: I love the movie It: chapter one lol (at this point it's a comfort movie) and many other pieces of horror media! Like the one and only Magnus Archives and borasca! And true crime like the rotten mango podcast! also am an introvert. I love music in general. Please bare with grammar mistakes and things like that! I'm trying my best
i'm tagging @cupidjyu cause they inspired me to do one of these!! Pls go check out their amazing work!
ALSO: Do Not copy and paste my work, plagiarize it, translate it, or anything like that!!!
I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you. Oh, take me back to the night we met. ~ "the night we met" by lord huron
in which kissing your best friend was never supposed to change anything. unfortunately, it changes everything.
˚♡˚‧⁺༄ cw: explicit sexual content, alcohol, marijuana, friends-with-benefits, jealousy, emotional conflict, fear of commitment, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.
⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩𝜗𝜚 notes: i haven't written anything in a super long time so i hope you guys like it!! pls be kind to me haha...no actually cuz i will cry and then never write again
Jisung’s lips are a little chapped but the taste of him-–like cherry cola and the joint you both shared not even ten minutes ago—is too intoxicating to stop.
Your mom’s were best friends, you grew up in the same house practically, spent holidays together. He was less a boy and more a permanent fixture in your home. You had done most of the looking out for him when you were younger, fending off anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way. And when he went off to college, you following him, two years later, it was his turn to look after you. He introduced you to his friends, a group of boys from the frat he joined, skipped class to hang around your dorm when you weren’t feeling well. He was your best friend. He was your Han Jisung.
Your Han Jisung, who is currently trying to convince his friends that he has never kissed you and has never thought to.
It annoys you a little. You’ve run through your fair share of men, and some women, since you’ve started college last year. You know you're attractive, that certainly isn’t the problem. So why was Jisung so adamant in proving to his friends that he’s never thought of you in that way? You were starting to feel a bit wounded.
“I’m calling bullshit,” Felix says, leaning against the beer pong table. Smoke drifts upward from the shared joint hanging between his fingers, a fuzzy halo above his blonde head. “Never? Not even once? Come on.”
You don’t even know how this conversation started. One minute you're all lounging around at this house party on a random Friday night, and the next the discussion had shifted to this.
“No,” Jisung’s thigh bounces up and down, which isn’t unusual. He always gets jittery when he smokes. “No. I haven’t, she’s like a–”
“For the love of a fat ass, don’t say she’s like a sister to you,” Hyunjin says, wrinkling his nose.
“Why not?”
Hyunjin gestures wildly at the position you two are sitting in right now. You’re practically in his lap. Your legs are tangled with his on the beat-up couch, and your head is resting on his shoulder.
“That’s how we always sit,” Jisung says, eyebrows pinched in confusion.
“Okay, well, my sister doesn’t have a lap full of me right now, so there’s that,” Felix says, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
Jisung just grumbles something and snatches the joint from Felix. He leans his head back into the couch, breathing it in deeply, passing it to you without even lifting his head from the pillows. You catch it with your teeth, brows furrowing in disappointment when you're hit with nothing. It’s dead. You pluck it from your lips and lean forward to crush it in the ashtray on the coffee table. When you settle back against the cushions, you shift, just slightly.
Your knee brushes against the crotch of his jeans. The resulting twitch from him is immediate, a little jump of muscle that tells you everything you need to know. He has thought about it. He’s lying through his teeth and it’s hurting your fucking ego.
Hyunjin stretches out his leg to nudge your leg with his foot. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You ever thought about it?”
You and Hyunjin have a weird sort of relationship. You hooked up once at a party, back when you were a freshman. Jisung had found out and gotten upset, telling you that his friends were all assholes and man-whores and were therefore off-limits. You pointed out that Jisung had slept with some of your friends and you hadn’t said anything but he wouldn’t be swayed, refusing to talk to you until you promised to never do it again. You decided then that Hyunjin, though he was beautiful and a pretty decent fuck, was not worth it. The two of you never spoke of it again, but a certain level of playful flirtation has remained.
“Sure,” you say breezily, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion.
Jisung sits up so fast you nearly topple over. “You have?” The look on his face is nothing short of comical.
“Yeah. Have you not?”
“No,” he says, and the lie is so obvious it hangs heavy in the air, “We’re best friends.”
“So?” Hyunjin’s leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, dark eyes dancing with mischief. “Best friends can have fun.”
You’re starting to think he might be right. And you’re starting to think you’d like to have some fun with Jisung, especially if it meant wiping that stupid look off his face. It was a dangerous thought, one that you’d entertained briefly before, always shoving it down because it felt wrong, like crossing some sort of sacred line.
But right now, watching him squirm, it feels more like a starting line.
You shift again, slower this time, and rest your hand on his thigh. His leg stops bouncing. He freezes, all motion ceasing except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He’s looking straight ahead, at the wall, but you can feel the heat of his gaze on your profile.
“What’s so wrong with me that you don’t want to kiss me?” You pout, looking at him through your lashes.
He looks at you then, really looks at you, and his eyes are wide and dark and full of something you can’t quite name. “Nothing,” he breathes. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
You shrug one shoulder, making a show of sighing and rolling your eyes towards the ceiling. “Clearly there’s something wrong with you, then. I know for a fact almost all of your friends have thought about kissing me.” You’re bluffing, mostly. You only know for a fact about Hyunjin. And maybe Seungmin. But that was more of a vibe.
Thankfully, Felix gets the hint. He leans forward on the couch, balancing his elbows on his knees. “I have.”
Jisung turns sharply towards him, parting his lips but before he can speak, Hyunjin chimes in, raising his hand. “I did.” Then, when Jisung throws him a look so dirty, he recoils. “Once. And I never did it again.”
“I wouldn’t be so against it,” Changbin chimes in from where he's playing beer pong. He giggles and turns back to the game ignoring the death glare from Jisung.
You flash him a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then you turn back to Jisung. You can feel the beat of his heart through the denim of his jeans, a frantic little drum solo against your palm. “See? I’m very kissable.”
He doesn't move, doesn't back away. He just swallows, the sound loud in the suddenly quiet corner of the party. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips and back again.
You sigh loudly, untangling your legs from his and getting up from the couch. "Whatever," You step past him. "I'm gonna go get more–"
A hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you back so suddenly that you can’t help but yelp, landing in a heap onto Jisung’s lap. Before you can react—or even adjust yourself properly—his lips find yours.
It’s not a soft, tentative kiss. It's a crash. It’s messy and a little desperate, the way a teenager kisses for the first time. There’s an edge of frustration to it, of months, maybe years, of unspoken tension finally boiling over. His tongue slides against yours, and you can taste the cheap beer and the lingering smoke. His hand moves from your wrist to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to prove a point. Someone wolf-whistles, Felix maybe, but it fades into a distant hum, and all that’s left is the frantic beat of his heart against your palm and the dizzying taste of Han Jisung.
When he finally pulls away, you’re both breathless. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the brown of his irises. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a smug little smirk playing on your lips.
"Shit," Jisung breaths. "You're good at that."
"You were there too, you know," You tease bumping your forehead into his. Maybe you should feel a little weird about kissing this boy you've known since you were children when you've never crossed this line before. But, strangely, or maybe not so strangely, there's nothing weird about it. It feels as natural as breathing, kissing Jisung.
Instead of replying, he's tilting his head up to catch your lips again, palms sliding down from your neck over the expanse of your back and smoothing over your ass, pulling you into him. He deepens the kiss with a soft groan that vibrates in your chest. It's a better kiss this time, slower, more certain. He explores your mouth with a newfound confidence. This is fun. So much fun. You're not sure why you never tried this before.
His thumb finds that little strip of skin between your top and your jeans, stroking it gently. And a shiver goes through you that has nothing to do with the buzz of the party. It’s a jolt, a current that runs straight down to your core, and your hips roll against his of their own accord. A low moan escapes your lips and into his mouth.
“Booooo,” Hyunjin says from somewhere behind you. “Get a fucking room.”
Neither of you are fazed in the slightest. You feel a great chasm opening between the two of you. It’s only been about thirty seconds of kissing Jisung and you already know you’ll never be the same without it. You mourn all the years you’ve gone without his lips on yours and you mourn for all the years that will come after this phase of kissing Jisung, because it will someday end. All your life you’ve never known anyone to keep a relationship.
You pull back from him and he pouts, a pretty little thing that you want to bite. You hold back for now.
“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” He asks, dazed. He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a finger to his lips.
“Because you were too busy denying how much you wanted to,” you say, grinning. The power you feel is intoxicating, headier than the cheap beer, sweeter than the cherry cola on his tongue.
He just grumbles something unintelligible, nipping at the pad of your finger before leaning back into the couch, pulling you with him. His grip on your waist is firm in a way that sends another thrill through you. He’s not letting you go.
You end up making out for the rest of the party, tucked into your little corner of the couch. The weed and the alcohol fade into a distant hum, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him. When the party eventually thins out and he walks you home, he kisses you some more at the door and you have to physically pull yourself away from him.
“Okay, okay,” you laugh as he tries to follow you inside. “Go home, Ji.”
“When can I see you again?” he asks, a desperate edge to his voice. His hair is a mess from where your hands have been tangled in it, and his lips are swollen and red.
“You see me practically every day.” You shrug, trying to play it cool, even as your heart hammers against your ribs. “And we have that paper to finish for psych.”
“Forget the paper,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to kiss you again.” He takes a step closer, his hands finding your hips. “I don't think I can stop.”
He’s looking at you with a raw, open honesty that makes your breath catch in your throat. This is not the Jisung you know. Your Jisung is goofy and sarcastic, prone to hiding behind jokes and deflecting with humor. This Jisung is… intense.
“Tomorrow,” you say, your voice a little too soft. “You can see me tomorrow.”
He seems to accept this, nodding slowly. He leans in and gives you one last, lingering kiss, a soft, gentle press of lips that feels more intimate than all the frantic kissing from before. “Okay,” he whispers against your mouth. “Tomorrow.”
He takes a few steps down the path, then he stops and turns back. The porch light casts him in a soft, golden glow, but you can see the uncertainty in the set of his shoulders. He’s a silhouette against the dark night, and for a second, he looks like the little boy you used to build pillow forts with.
“Hey,” he calls out, shoving his hands in his pockets. “This… this doesn’t change anything, right?”
You pause with your hand on the doorknob. Change anything? The idea is almost laughable. You and Jisung have been a constant in each other's lives since before you could even remember. What could a few kisses possibly change?
“Of course not,” you say, a genuine, easy smile spreading across your face. “We’re just having fun. Right?”
“Right,” he nods. “Fun. Right.”
He turns and jogs away, a spring in his step that wasn't there before. You watch him go, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through your chest. It’s just fun. You’ve always been good at having fun.
And fun it is. Your relationship hasn't changed much, at least not on the surface. You still hang out nearly every day, still bicker over what to eat for dinner, still fall asleep watching movies in his bed. The only difference is that now, you kiss. You kiss in the morning, before you’ve even brushed your teeth, a sleepy, soft press of lips. You kiss in the afternoon, between classes, a quick, hard peck against the brick wall of the humanities building. You kiss at night, tangled in his sheets, long, deep, and searching, until you’re both breathless and aching for more.
The line between friendship and… whatever this is… has become a blurry, beautiful mess.
You’re in his room, a month into this new arrangement. You’re supposed to be studying for a midterm, but your textbook lies forgotten on the floor, its pages crumpled. Jisung is on top of you, his weight a pleasant, grounding pressure. He's kissing a trail down your neck, his lips hot and insistent against your skin.
“You taste so good,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. His hand slips under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on the soft skin of your stomach.
You arch into him, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Your fingers tighten in his hair. This is the part that’s always been a little blurry. You've never crossed this line, never went beyond just making out and heavy petting. It feels like the next logical step in this "fun" you're having, but there’s a tiny, hesitant part of you that’s still a little afraid of what that step might mean.
“Jisung,” you breathe, your voice a little shaky.
He pulls back, his face hovering just above yours. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “Nothing’s wrong.” You reach up and cup his face, your thumb stroking his cheek. “I just… I'm on my period."
It's a lie. You don't know why you're lying. Maybe you're scared. Maybe you know that having sex with your best friend is a line you can't uncross. But he doesn't need to know that.
He blinks, processing this, then a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face. "So?"
"So?" you echo, a little thrown. "So, it's gross. Don't tell me you've done it before."
"I mean, yeah," he shrugs, "a couple of times. It's not a big deal." He leans down and kisses you, a quick, soft peck on the lips. "I don't care. Did you know it helps a lot with cramps?"
You roll your eyes, but you can't help but laugh. "Did you read that on a feminist blog or something?"
He scratches his eyebrow. "Actually, I was researching what helped with period cramps after you mentioned having really bad ones a few years ago." he says, his ears turning a shade of pink. He smiles sheepishly. "I ended up settling for some Advil."
The admission is so unexpected, so utterly Jisung, that it cuts through the haze of arousal. You let out a small, breathy laugh. "You're an idiot," you say, but there's no malice in it. You reach up and smooth the furrow in his brow. "A sweet, researched-my-cramps idiot."
He grins, relieved. "So... no on the period sex?"
You shake your head, a genuine smile on your face. "No. Nice try though."
"Damn," he says, though he doesn't sound too disappointed. He shifts, rolling off you to lie beside you. "Can I at least still touch you?"
You pretend to think about it, tapping a finger against your chin. "Hmm, I don't know. I'm a very fragile flower right now."
He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Right. A fragile flower who was just trying to rip my shirt off five seconds ago."
"Was not."
"Were too."
"Was not."
"Were too."
"If I wanted your shirt off, I would have it off by now," You point out. And you would have. You’re an expert at undressing men quickly.
"I'm not that easy," Jisung protests, propping his head on his elbow to look at you comfortably. "I don't take my shirt off for just anybody."
You roll onto your side to face him, propping your own head up. The sunlight catches in his hair, turning it into a fluffy, brown halo. "Yeah, well, I'm not just anybody. And I've seen you shirtless a bijillion times anyway."
"Yeah but not during sexy sexy time." He wiggles his eyebrows at you.
"Take off your shirt, Jisung." You say, sitting up now, poking his chest with your finger. He yelps, smacking your hand away.
"I just said I'm not that easy!" He whines.
You just stare at him, raising a single eyebrow.
He holds out for approximately three seconds before he sighs dramatically and sits up, crossing his arms and grabbing the hem of his shirt. He pulls it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the floor. "There. Are you happy?"
You gap at him. "You got a tattoo? Holy shit, it's big."
He grins, unable to help it. "That's not the only thing that's bi--"
You cut him off with a look. He clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. I had it done almost two months ago now."
You trace the elegant cursive script with your eyes. It starts just under his left armpit, a single, beautifully rendered word. Blessed. The letters flow down his side, over the sensitive skin of his ribs, disappearing tantalizingly beneath the waistband of his jeans. You have an overwhelming urge to see the rest of it.
"Blessed?" You trace the letters with your fingertip, from the top down as far as you can go. The skin under your touch is warm. He shivers. "Why 'Blessed'?"
He shrugs, looking away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I don't know. Just felt right."
A memory suddenly rises to your mind. ""Blessed is he who has learned the causes of things""
He grins sheepishly. "Am I really that predictable?" He asks.
"Yes, you pretentious shit, quoting Virgil." You say but there is no heat in it. "You are such a dork."
He laughs, a soft, breathy sound that rumbles through his chest. You shift, laying your head on his stomach so you can get a better view of the tattoo, your fingers continuing their slow, meandering path over the ink. His skin is soft here. You can feel the muscles of his abdomen tighten slightly under your touch.
"It's about…," he beings thoughtfully, his voice vibrating through your ear. His fingers start to play with your hair, gently combing through the strands. "It's about... understanding, you know? Not just letting shit happen to you, but actually trying to figure out the why. The cause and effect."
You hum in response, your finger tracing the curve of the 's' in 'Blessed'. You can feel the slight raised texture of the healed ink against your skin.
"When I was getting it done," he continues, his voice a low, intimate murmur, "it hurt like a bitch. But it was this weird, focused pain. I could feel the needle, and I knew exactly where it was coming from and why it hurt. And for some reason, that made it... easier. Made me feel in control." He pauses. "Most of life isn't like that. Things just happen. People get sick, relationships end, you fail a test... you don't always get to know the cause."
Your finger stills. You can feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. He's not talking about Virgil anymore. He's talking about everything. About the anxiety that sometimes keeps him up all night, about the sheer, terrifying randomness of the world.
"I guess I just wanted a reminder," he says, and you can tell he's not really here with you, but somewhere deep inside of his head. "That even if I can't control the causes, I can at least try to learn them. To understand them. And maybe... maybe that's a kind of blessing in itself."
You press your lips against the skin of his ribs, right over the last visible letter of the word. It's a soft, gentle kiss, nothing like the frantic, demanding kisses from before.
He lets out a shaky breath, his hand stilling in your hair. You feel his fingers tighten just a little bit, a reflexive grasp. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the hum of the mini-fridge in the corner and the frantic, unsteady beating of your own heart.
You assume he must be getting sex from elsewhere, because it's been two months since you first kissed him, and you still haven't gone all the way. The make-out sessions have escalated, sure. Hands wander further, clothes come off more readily. There's a fine sheen of sweat on your skin almost every night after he leaves your dorm room. But you always pull back, and he always, always, lets you.
You're starting to feel like a fraud. You preach 'fun' and 'no feelings,' but you're the one who's scared. Scared that crossing that final line will shatter everything you've built with him.
The thought of him with someone else gnaws at you. You try to brush it off. He's a college guy. Of course he's hooking up with other people. You do too, or you would be, if you could muster up the energy to go on a date instead of spending all your free time with Jisung.
You don't like feeling this way. It's an icky, possessive feeling that has no place in a 'fun' arrangement.
The thought bubbles up out of your mouth one evening while you're sprawled on your floor, 'studying' for finals. "Are you sleeping with anyone else?"
Jisung, who is highlighting a paragraph in a textbook with an almost violent concentration, freezes. The bright yellow highlighter hovers over the page. He doesn't look up.
"No," he says, a beat too late. "Are you?"
The question hangs in the air between you, charged with an unspoken electricity. You're not. You haven't even thought about it. The idea of going on a date with some random guy from your stats class feels exhausting, and deeply unappealing.
"No," you admit, picking at a loose thread on the rug. "I just... I figured you would be. We're not... exclusive."
"So?" He finally looks up, and his eyes are dark, serious. "I don't want to."
"Why not?" You press, needing to know. "I'm not putting out. A guy has needs."
A muscle in his jaw jumps. "I'm getting my needs met," he says, his voice low and a little rough. He puts down the highlighter and closes the book with a soft thud.
You sit up, genuinely intrigued. "With who?"
"With no one."
"That makes no sense, Ji, how--"
He just stares at you, a long, intense look that makes your stomach do a little flip. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.
"Oh," you breathe, the realization hitting you like a physical blow. He's getting off on you. With the thought of you. The thought is so hot, so surprisingly intimate, that it makes you dizzy.
"Yeah, 'oh'," he mimics, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. He leans back on his hands, stretching his long legs out. "Is that a problem?"
"No," you say, a little too quickly. "No, it's not a problem."
"Good."
He goes back to his book, but the spell is broken. You can't focus. The image of him, alone in his room, thinking of you, is burned into the back of your eyelids.
"How come?"
He glances at you. "How come I jacked off to the thought of you riding my face in the library last week?" he asks, deadpan.
You choke on your own spit. "Jisung!"
"What? You asked," he shrugs, completely unfazed.
"That's not what I was asking, I–in the library?"
"Study room C," he clarifies, as if that's the detail you were stuck on. "The chairs are surprisingly sturdy–"
"Anyway," You interrupt. "I meant, how come you haven't been fucking anyone else?"
He sucks on his teeth. "Cuz I don't want to. Besides, it's not like there's any options anyway."
You snort. "That's a bold faced lie, Han Jisung, I know for a fact that that red head from lit has been trying to get in your pants for at least a month."
Jisung blinks. “I thought she was just interested in lizards.”
“No one is actually interested in lizards,” You point out.
“I am.”
“You’re a one in a million, Ji. Maybe even a billion. Are you really just going to keep her waiting?”
He shrugs. “I was never going to sleep with her.”
Now it’s your turn to blink in surprise. “Whoa. Okay, what up?”
“What?”
“Don’t what me, you’re the one with some sort of deadly illness. A girl’s throwing herself at you and you don’t want to have sex with her?”
“Is that so bad?”
“No…it’s just weird. And a little out of character for you.”
“Is it?” He finally looks up, looking deep into your eyes. “Would you really be okay with me sleeping with her?”
“She’s not really my type, to be honest, so you can have–”
“No,” He cuts off, sounding frustrated now. It surprises you. “I’m not asking specifically about her. Are you really okay with me sleeping with anyone?”
That takes you off guard. “Yes? Why would I not be?”
He looks at you for a long moment, before turning back, huffing a little irritated laugh. “Right. Never mind, forget it.”
He turns back to his book, highlighting aggressively and leaving you completely and utterly confused. You don't press it. The air is too thick with things you don't want to name.
The party is in full swing, a chaotic explosion of relief and cheap alcohol. The air in the frat house is thick with the smell of spilled beer and sweat, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the soles of your feet. Finals are over. Summer is a breath away. You should be celebrating.
Instead, you're leaning against a sticky wall in the kitchen, watching Jisung from across the room. He's holding court, of course, a circle of admirers hanging on his every word. Among them is the redhead from your lit class, the lizard enthusiast. She's laughing at something he said, her hand resting on his arm.
A hot, ugly feeling coils in your stomach. Possessiveness. Jealousy. You hate it. You hate it more as you watch her latch onto Jisung’s wrist and pull him away. He goes willingly.
You push off the wall and grab a solo cup of what smells like regret and fruit punch, downing half of it in one go. The alcohol burns a path down your throat.
You spot Hyunjin by the beer pong table, a triumphant grin on his face as he sinks the last cup. He catches your eye and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. You give him a tight-lipped smile and make your way over.
“Having fun?” he asks, handing you a fresh beer.
“Peachy,” you say, taking a long sip.
His gaze drifts over to where disappeared with the redhead. “Trouble in paradise?”
“There is no paradise,” you snap, a little too harshly. “There’s just… a sandbox. And someone’s trying to play in my sandbox.”
Hyunjin laughs, a low, knowing sound. “You’re so full of shit. You like him.”
“Of course I like him, he’s my best friend.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, leaning closer. “You’ve been different with him these last few months. Softer, but also… jumpier. Like a stray cat that’s finally decided to let someone pet it but is still ready to bolt at any second.” You open your mouth to deny it, but the words die on your tongue. Because he’s right. You are a stray cat, and you’re terrified.
Before you can formulate a response, a new voice joins the conversation. “Who’s a stray cat?”
It’s Felix, all sunshine and smiles, his arm slung around Changbin’s shoulders. He looks between you and Hyunjin, his curiosity piqued.
“Her,” Hyunjin says, jerking a thumb in your direction. “She’s finally realizing she’s in love with Jisung.”
The words land like a bomb. The kitchen seems to go silent, the thumping bass of the music fading into a dull roar. Your heart hammers against your ribs. In love. The phrase is so absolute, so terrifyingly final. It’s not ‘fun.’ It’s not ‘messing around.’ It’s love.
You’re about to laugh it off, to make some cutting remark that will shut Hyunjin down, but you don’t get the chance. Because you see it. Over Hyunjin’s shoulder, you see Jisung. He’s no longer with the redhead. He’s standing at the edge of the living room, and he’s looking right at you. And you know, with a sickening certainty, that he heard.
You shove past Hyunjin, ignoring his calls of your name. You need to get out of here. You need air. You push through the throng of bodies, the sticky floor gripping your shoes, the heat of the room pressing in on you. You burst through the front door into the cool night air, stumbling down the porch steps.
The front door opens and closes behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
“What was Hyunjin talking about?” His voice is tight, strained.
“Nothing,” you say, turning to face him. “He was just being an idiot.” You wrap your arms around yourself, a sudden chill making you shiver.
“He said you were in love with me,” he presses, taking a step closer. “Is that true?” His eyes are searching yours, desperate for an answer. And you can’t lie. Not to him. Not when he’s looking at you like that.
“No,” you say, the word coming out small and brittle. Because it’s not love. It can’t be. Love is messy and painful and ends with people crying on the bathroom floor. This is just… this is just a complication.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “Not about this.”
“I’m not lying!” you insist, your own voice rising with frustration. “Why do you even care? I saw you disappear with lizard girl."
He flinches as if you've slapped him. "Lizard girl? Her name is Sophie. And I didn't 'disappear' with her, I walked her to the door because she was too drunk to find it."
"Oh, I'm sure that's all it was," you scoff, the jealousy burning hot and irrational in your chest. "Poor, helpless Sophie."
"What the hell is your problem?" he says tightly, his usually calm demeanor shattering completely. "You say you don’t mind me sleeping with other people, but the second I so much as talk to another girl, you act like I've cheated on you!"
"Because you're supposed to be my friend!" you say harshly, your voice echoing in the quiet street. "You're not supposed to want them! You're supposed to want m—"
You cut yourself off, but it's too late. The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. You're supposed to want me.
Jisung stares at you, his expression a confusing mix of shock, hurt, and something that looks dangerously like hope. "Want you?" he repeats, his voice dangerously low. "Is that what this is about? Your ego? You need me to want you and only you, but you won't give me anything real in return?"
"That's not what I said!"
"It's what you meant!" he shoots back, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "God, you are so selfish. You want all of my attention, all of my...want. But you won't even admit what this is. You won't give me a label. What am I supposed to do, just wait around forever until you deign to let me in?"
His words are like shards of glass, each one finding a vulnerable spot. He's right. You have been selfish. You've been taking all the comfort and affection he offers without giving anything of substance back.
"Maybe you should just go fuck Sophie then," you spit out, the words laced with a venom you didn't know you possessed. "Maybe she's not as selfish as I am."
"Maybe I will," he retorts, his jaw set. "At least with her, I know where I stand."
The silence that follows is deafening. It’s heavier and colder than the night air. You can feel the chasm between you widening, a crack in the foundation of your entire friendship that you’re not sure can ever be repaired.
He looks at you one last time, and all the anger in his eyes has been replaced by a deep, profound sadness. "You know," he says, his voice quiet and hollow. "For someone who claims to be so good at reading people, you're really fucking clueless."
And with that, he turns and walks away. He doesn't look back. He just disappears into the night, leaving you standing alone on the sidewalk, the thumping bass from the party a distant, mocking heartbeat. The warmth from the alcohol has evaporated, leaving you cold and hollow. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, but it doesn't help. You're not sure anything will ever help again.
The next few days are a special kind of hell. Silence. That's the worst part. The constant, buzzing silence where Jisung's laughter used to be. Your phone feels heavy and useless. You stare at your text thread with him, the last message being a stupid meme he sent you two days before the party. You can't bring yourself to type anything. What would you even say? Sorry I called you selfish and told you to go fuck someone else? It sounds hollow, even in your head.
You avoid the dorm lounge, the library, the coffee shop. Anywhere you might run into him or one of the guys. You exist in a bubble of your own making, attending your final classes and then retreating to the suffocating safety of your room. The unpacked boxes in the corner of your room seem to mock you, a reminder that summer is here and you have no idea what that means anymore. Summer has always meant Jisung. It has meant lazy days by the pool and late-night drives and the two of you against the world. Now, it just means a gaping, empty void.
A week later, the sky decides to open up and weep all over the city. You’re on your way to the storage unit to finally drop off the last of your boxes when your car, an ancient and temperamental sedan Jisung affectionately named ‘The Beast,’ sputters, coughs, and dies.
Of course it does.
You’re in the middle of nowhere, on a stretch of road lined with industrial parks and warehouses. The rain is coming down in sheets, so heavy you can barely see the hood of your car. The wipers are squeaking a pathetic, rhythmic protest. You try turning the key. Nothing. Just a series of sad, clicking sounds.
Panic, cold and sharp, starts to prickle at the edges of your calm. You pull out your phone, your fingers slippery with rain. You call Hyunjin. It goes straight to voicemail. You try Felix. He picks up on the fifth ring.
“Hello?” His voice is tinny and distant.
“Lix! Thank god, my car died and I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere and it’s pouring—”
“Oh, shit, that sucks,” he says, and you can hear the muffled sounds of a crowd. “I’m at this really lame family thing, I can’t really get away. Have you tried Changbin?”
“He doesn’t have a car,” you say, your frustration mounting.
“Jisung then,” Felix says, like it’s the simplest, most obvious solution in the world.
Your stomach clenches. “I’m not calling Jisung.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end. “Oh. Right. The fight.” He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry. I really can’t leave. Maybe try a tow truck?”
“Great idea, Felix,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm you immediately regret. “Sorry. Thanks anyway.”
You hang up and let your head fall against the steering wheel. The metal is cold against your forehead. You call a roadside assistance number. The automated voice tells you the estimated wait time is two hours. Two hours. In this. You stare out at the grey, water-logged world, a proper, miserable self-pity party for one.
You feel small and helpless. Hated. You’ve made a complete mess of everything. All because you were scared of a word. Love. What a stupid, four-letter word to ruin a decade-long friendship.
You don't know how long you sit there, wallowing in a slurry of anger, guilt, and misery. Time loses its meaning, marked only by the drumming of the rain on the roof and the occasional flash of headlights from a passing car that leaves you feeling even more isolated. You’re so wrapped up in your own head, replaying the fight on a loop, that you don't even notice the pair of headlights that pull up behind you, their beams cutting through the downpour.
You jump violently when a loud rap sounds on your driver's side window. Your heart leaps into your throat. You turn, ready to scream at a serial killer or a creepy trucker, and freeze.
It’s Jisung.
He’s standing in the pouring rain, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a thin hoodie that’s soaked through, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He’s not smiling. He’s just looking at you, his expression unreadable through the glass and the streaks of rain.
For a second, you just stare at each other. He looks exhausted, there are dark circles under his eyes that match the ones you've seen in your own reflection all week. He gives a small, almost imperceptible nod towards the lock.
You fumble with the button, your fingers clumsy and cold. The door clicks open. He pulls it, the rush of cold, wet air immediately filling the car. He doesn't get in, just stands there, half-in, half-out, creating a small, temporary shelter from the storm.
“Felix called me,” he says by way of explanation. His voice is flat, devoid of any emotion. “Said you were being an idiot.”
You don't know what to say. Thank you feels too small. Go away feels too cruel. So you just sit there, clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline, unable to meet his gaze.
“The Beast’s dead?” he asks, nodding towards the sputtering engine.
You manage a weak nod.
“Figured.” He sighs, and it’s a weary, bone-deep sound. He shivers, a full-body tremor that he tries to suppress. “Pop the hood.”
You do as he says, fumbling for the latch. He leans out, expertly propping the hood open. He vanishes for a moment into the downpour, and you watch him through the windshield as he peers at the engine, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looks so out of place here, a boy of books and music and carefully chosen words, poking at the greasy guts of a dead machine. A wave of affection so strong it hurts.
He fiddles for a few minutes, yanking on a cable here, checking a connection there. He comes back to the window, shaking his head, water flying from his hair like a wet dog.
“Battery’s fried,” he says, his teeth chattering slightly. “And I think the alternator’s gone too. There’s nothing I can do out here.”
You just nod again, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the drumming rain.
“Come on,” he says, breaking it. “Get your stuff. I’ll take you back.”
You should refuse. You should tell him you’ve already called a tow, that you’ll be fine, that you don’t need him. But the lie dies on your lips. Because you do. You need him.
You grab your backpack and the box from the passenger seat, your movements stiff and awkward. He opens the back door of his car for you, placing your things carefully on the seat before closing it again. You slide into the passenger side, the warmth of the car’s heater a shocking, welcome sensation. The interior smells like him—faintly of laundry detergent and that specific, clean scent you’ve never been able to place.
He gets in, not a word spoken between you. The engine hums to life, a smooth, steady purr that is the complete opposite of your dead car. He pulls back onto the road, the wipers working overtime to clear the glass. The drive is suffocatingly quiet. You keep your eyes fixed on the passenger-side window, watching the blurry city lights streak by. Every muscle in your body is tense. You can feel the heat radiating from him, just a few inches away. The space between you feels both too vast and dangerously small.
You finally pull up outside your dorm building. The rain has eased to a miserable drizzle. He puts the car in park but leaves the engine running. The silence is back, heavier than ever. This is it. The moment where you have to say something.
“I can pay you for the gas,” you blurt out, hating how formal and stupid it sounds.
He doesn’t even look at you. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Jisung, I—”
“What are your plans for the summer?” he asks, cutting you off. His tone is casual, but you can hear the tension coiled beneath it.
The question catches you off guard. “Um, I don’t know. Work at the cafe, I guess. Take a couple of summer classes.” The words feel hollow, a list of empty activities to fill the gaping hole where he used to be.
He nods slowly, finally turning to look at you. The streetlights cast shadows across his face, making his expression impossible to read. “I’m going back home for a while. Help my parents with some stuff.”
Home. He’s going home. To another city. A three-hour drive away. It’s what he does every summer, but this year it feels like a final judgment. A sentence.
“Oh,” is all you can manage. “Okay.”
“Yeah,” he says, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel. “So.”
“So.”
You should go. You should thank him, get your stuff, and just go. But you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot, trapped by the weight of all the things you haven’t said. You look at him, really look at him. At the slope of his nose, the worried line of his lips, the way he’s rubbing at a spot on the steering well with his thumb—a nervous habit you’ve seen a thousand times. Your best friend. The boy you’ve known since you were both gangly, brace-faced seventh graders. The boy whose shoulder you cried on when your first dog died, the boy who helped you sneak out for your first high school party, the boy who knows all your secrets. Except the most important one. The one you were too scared to even admit to yourself.
"Ji," Water drips from your hair onto your lap. Without looking, you reach your hand across the vast space of the center console, palm up, fingers spread. "Will you hold my hand?"
He flinches, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. His eyes flick from your outstretched hand to your face and back again, a war of emotions playing out in their depths. Anger, hurt, exhaustion, longing. He hesitates for a beat that feels like an eternity.
Then, slowly, he lifts his hand from the steering wheel and places it in yours. His palm is warm and a little damp. He doesn't lace his fingers through yours, just lets them rest there, a tentative, fragile connection. The contact sends a jolt through you, a current of warmth that chases away the chill that’s been living in your bones for a week.
You stare at your joined hands. His hand is bigger than yours, the fingers long and calloused in places from playing guitar. There's a small scar on his knuckle from when he tripped and fell trying to climb a tree to rescue your frisbee in tenth grade. You trace it with your thumb.
You take a shaky breath, the words bubbling up from a place you didn't know existed. "Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit."
He sucks in a sharp breath. You feel it more than hear it. He knows. Of course, he knows. It's Virgil. He looks at you then, really looks at you, and the anger in his eyes has finally dissipated, replaced by a profound, aching sadness.
"Maybe it will be a pleasure one day to remember even this," he translates. "Who's a pretentious little shit now?
A weak, watery laugh escapes your lips, half-sob. "Still you."
He huffs a small, humorless laugh. You take the opening with both hands. "Please don't go home."
"I have to."
"Why?"
"Because I can't do this," he says, his voice cracking. "I can't be around you and pretend it doesn't hurt."
"What hurts?"
His gaze is piercing, direct. "You know what hurts." His fingers tighten around yours, a desperate, pleading gesture. "You stand there and you tell me it's all just fun, but you jealous of a girl I was just walking to the door. You quote our poet to try and fix things after you shatter me. You're so goddamn confusing."
"I'm not confused." You snap. "I know what will happen if we do this, Jisung, I'm surprised that you don't."
"What happens? We get a happy ending? God for-fucking-bid."
"This is not a fairytale, Ji." You press. "I haven't ever seen a monogamous relationship last longer than three months. My parents have been cheating on each other for 20 years, yours are divorced, none of our friends have ever had a stable partnership."
"So what? Our failure is pre-determined because everyone else sucks?" He scoffs. "You use your parents as an excuse to not let anyone in. To not try for anything real."
"I am not using them as an excuse!" You pull your hand away from his, crossing your arms over your chest. "Why are you pushing for this so hard? Do you want to get your heart broken? Do you want to lose your best friend? Because that's what's going to happen. We're going to be miserable and then we're never going to be able to look at each other again."
"So what's the alternative?" He yells, his frustration boiling over. "We go back to being 'just friends'? We pretend this never happened? We ignore the fact that I am completely, head over heels in love with you? That I have been for ten years?"
The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. Ten years. Not months. Not since you started kissing. But ten years. Since you were awkward, brace-faced teenagers.
"I can't do that," he says, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. "I can't go back to pretending. So either we try, or we don't. And if we don't... then I do have to go home. Because I can't be your friend anymore."
The finality of it hits you like a physical blow. He's not threatening you. He's stating a fact. This is the ultimatum you never saw coming. It's not about sex or labels or even love, not really. It's about survival. He can't survive being near you like this. And you're not sure you can either.
"That's bullshit, Jisung, you can't make me choose, it's not fair." You say, your eyes are welling up with tears. This is the opposite of fun. This is messy and painful and it hurts.
"It's not fair to me to be in love with someone who will never love me back but won’t let me go."
You look at him, at the raw pain etched on his face. You think about all the times he's been there for you. All the times he's picked you up when you've fallen. All the times he's held your hand and told you it would be okay. You think about the tattoo on his ribs, Blessed. A blessing to understand the causes of things.
"I do love you." You say, the words feeling foreign and strange on your tongue.
He just stares at you, his expression unreadable. "No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"You don't even know what that word means."
"If you know that, then why do you want me to say it so bad?" You say, your voice raising again. "Why are you so determined to ruin this?"
"Ruin this?" He asks, incredulous. "This is already ruined! We've been ruining it for months! We've been tiptoeing around this thing, this massive, huge thing, and we've been slowly poisoning our friendship in the process. I'm not ruining it, I'm just the only one willing to admit that it's already on fucking fire!"
You can't take it anymore. The car feels too small, the air too thick. You fumble for the door handle, shoving it open and stumbling out into the drizzling rain. The water is cold on your skin, but it’s a welcome shock to your system.
You hear the click of his door opening and closing, and then his footsteps are splashing behind you. "Where are you going?" He calls out.
"Away from you!" You yell, not turning around.
You don't get far. He catches your arm, spinning you around to face him. You're both soaked now, your hair plastered to your faces, your clothes clinging to your skin. The rain is coming down harder again, but neither of you seems to notice.
"That's the problem!" He shouts, his face inches from yours. "You can't get away from me! And I can't get away from you! We're stuck!"
You're crying now, hot tears mingling with the cold rain on your cheeks. "Then what are we supposed to do?"
And then he's kissing you.
It's not like the other kisses. It's not fun or playful or tentative. It's desperate and angry and full of all the words you haven't been able to say. His lips are cold from the rain, but they're insistent, demanding. You kiss him back with just as much force, your hands tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer. You're not thinking about the future or the past or the consequences. You're just thinking about him. About the feel of his body against yours, the taste of rain on his lips, the way he's holding you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
Somehow, you make it back to your room. The keycard fumbles in your shaking hands, but you finally get the door open. You stumble inside, a trail of water and mud in your wake. The door slams shut behind you, cutting off the storm. You're a mess, dripping all over the floor, your clothes sopping.
He pushes you against the door, his body pinning yours, his lips finding yours again in the dim light of your room. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your wet shirt, his touch electric on your skin. You're both shaking, but it's not from the cold anymore.
"Jisung," you gasp against his mouth.
"Shut up," he murmurs, kissing you again. "Just shut up."
You don't argue. You let him silence you with his mouth, let the frantic energy of the argument transmute into a frantic, desperate need. This isn't about fun anymore. This is about claiming, about marking, about trying to bridge the chasm that has opened up between you with teeth and tongue and nails.
He rips your shirt over your head, the wet fabric catching briefly before it's discarded on the floor. His hands are on your skin, warm and firm, a stark contrast to the chill still clinging to you. He trails kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping against your pulse point, and you arch into him, a gasp tearing from your throat. Your hands fumble with the hem of his own soaked hoodie, pushing it up over his stomach, your fingers tracing the familiar, now-slick lines of his tattoo.
Blessed. The word screams in your mind. What a cruel, cosmic joke. This feels like a curse.
He shudders under your touch, lifting his arms so you can pull the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath off in one go. They land with a wet slap on the floor. He's beautiful. You've seen him shirtless a hundred times, at the pool, in your dorm, but it's never been like this. His chest is heaving, his skin glistening with rain and exertion. In the low light, the muscles in his arms and shoulders are starkly defined, a testament to the tension that's been riding him for weeks.
You want to devour him. You want to crawl inside his skin and stay there. The thought is terrifying.
He walks you backward, your bodies still pressed together, until your knees hit the edge of your bed. You fall back onto the mattress, pulling him down with you. He lands on top of you, his weight a welcome, grounding pressure. He pauses, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His hair is dripping onto your face, but you don't care. You just look at him, at the raw, open expression on his face. All the anger is gone, replaced by a desperate, aching need that mirrors your own.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a low, rough rasp. "I need you to be sure."
You reach up, threading your fingers through the wet hair at the nape of his neck, and pull him down for another kiss. He lets you kiss him for a moment, a deep, slow kiss that feels like a surrender. Then he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
"Words," he whispers.
The fear comes back, a cold snake coiling in your gut. Words are what got you into this mess. Words are what will define whatever happens next. But looking into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and the hope warring there, you know you can't deny him.
"Please," you breathe, the word barely a puff of air between you. "Please fuck me, Jisung"
It's not a declaration of love. It's not a promise of forever. It's raw, it's present, and it's the truest thing you can say in this moment.
A groan rips from his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. He kisses you again, hard and deep, and this time there's no holding back. His hands make quick work of the button on your jeans, and you lift your hips to help him pull them off. The rest of your clothes follow in a frantic, desperate tangle of limbs, until you're both naked, skin to skin, the heat of your bodies chasing away the last of the chill.
He touches you with a reverence you didn't expect. His hands map every inch of your skin, his lips following in their wake. He pays attention to the places that make you gasp, the places that make you shiver. He's not in a hurry anymore. He's savoring. He's learning.
He kisses his way down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire. He lingers at the hollow of your throat, the dip of your navel, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You're trembling, a fine, constant shudder running through you. You're so lost in the sensation that you almost cry out when he finally, finally puts his mouth on you.
His tongue is soft and wet and impossibly skilled. He licks and sucks and teases, building a tension in you that's almost unbearable. You bury your fingers in his hair, holding him to you, your hips arching off the bed. He's relentless, pushing you higher and higher, until you're a writhing, whimpering mess.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "My god, look at you."
You can't form words, can only make a desperate, pleading sound. He chuckles, a low, vibrating sound that sends a new wave of pleasure through you. He slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and that's it. The tension in you snaps, and you come with a cry, your body convulsing with the force of it.
He doesn't stop. He works you through your orgasm, his tongue and fingers never ceasing their movements, drawing out the pleasure until it's almost painful. Just when you think you can't take anymore, the building starts again, slower this time, deeper. It’s a different kind of tension, coiling low in your belly.
You feel a brief, sharp sting as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. You gasp, not from pain, but from the primal, possessive thrill of it. He soothes the bite mark with his tongue, a soothing, apologetic gesture, before returning to his ministrations. He's everywhere now, his broad shoulders holding your thighs open, one hand splayed across your stomach to hold you down, the other pumping into you with a steady, insistent rhythm. He's completely focused, his entire being concentrated on this one task, on giving you this one thing. The sounds he makes are obscene, wet, hungry sounds that make your cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and intense arousal.
You're lost in a haze of sensation, your mind gone blank, your body no longer your own. You're just a collection of nerve endings, all firing at once, all screaming for him. It starts in your toes, a tingling warmth that spreads up your legs, through your torso, until it engulfs you completely. You're no longer in your room, in your bed. You're adrift in a sea of pleasure, and he is your only anchor. The world dissolves into a blinding, white-hot light, and you're dimly aware of your own voice crying out his name, a broken, desperate prayer.
When you finally come back to yourself, he's kissing his way back up your body, his movements slow, deliberate. He licks the sweat from your skin, tasting the salt of your exertion. He hovers over you, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and intense. He's breathing hard, his chest heaving. You can feel the hard, hot length of him pressed against your thigh.
"You with me?" he asks, his voice a raw, husky whisper.
You can only manage a weak nod, your body still humming with the aftershocks.
He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your sweat-slicked forehead. "You look so good when you come."
The words, so blunt, so Jisung, send a fresh jolt of heat through you. He kisses you then, a slow, deep kiss that tastes of you and of him and of the desperate, unspoken things between you. You can feel the desperation in him, the barely contained need. He wants you. He's wanted you for ten years. The thought is staggering.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jisung," you breathe, a plea and a permission all in one.
"Do you know how crazy you make me?" he murmurs against your lips. "How hard it's been to keep my hands to myself?"
"Then don't," you say, your voice surprisingly steady. "Don't keep your hands to yourself."
He laughs breathlessly. "I haven't been. Did you miss the part where I've been eating you out for the last half hour?"
You wriggle your hips, brushing against his and he bucks, a choked gasp escaping him. "Must've missed the part where you actually fucked me."
"Impatient," He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you. He pauses, looking down at you, his expression a mixture of awe and terror. "Last chance to change your mind," he says, though you both know it's a lie. There's no going back now.
"Shut up, Jisung," you whisper, echoing his own words from earlier. And you pull him down for another kiss.
He enters you in one slow, steady thrust. You're so wet, so ready for him, that he slides in easily, but the stretch is still overwhelming. He fills you completely, a deep, satisfying ache that makes you feel whole in a way you haven't in a long, long time.
"Ohh, fuck," he moans, burying his face in your neck. "You feel… fuck."
You can't speak, can only hold on to him, your nails digging into the sweat-slick planes of his back. He starts to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that's designed to unravel you. Each thrust is a question, a plea, a declaration.
You meet him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving in a perfect, primal rhythm. The room is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking—the slap of skin against skin, the wet sounds of your bodies joining, the broken moans and whispered words that are barely coherent but mean everything.
He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and he hits a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You cry out, your back arching off the bed. He takes it as encouragement, setting a harder, faster pace. One of his hands slides down your body, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, insistent circles. The dual sensation is almost too much, a sensory overload that threatens to send you over the edge.
You'd wondered, idly, in the back of your mind, what this would be like. You knew he was experienced, had heard the whispers and seen the aftermath. A part of you, the petty, jealous part, had steeled itself for mediocrity. But this... this is something else entirely. He's attuned to your every response, every gasp and shudder, adjusting his movements to push you higher, to pull you apart. This isn't the clumsy fumbling of a college hookup. This is a masterclass, a symphony of sensation, and you're the unwilling, adoring audience. You understand now, with a clarity that's both thrilling and terrifying, why they always looked at him afterward like they'd just seen God. You're starting to feel it yourself.
He seems to know you're close, and he slows down, a torturous, deliberate withdrawal that leaves you empty and aching. He pulls out almost completely, leaving only the head of his cock inside you, then pushes back in, inch by agonizing inch. He does it again, and again, a slow, maddening tease that makes you want to scream. His thumb is still on your clit, a slow, maddening circle that keeps you balanced on the knife's edge of orgasm, never quite letting you fall.
"Look at me," he says, shuddering. "Look at me and I'll give you anything you want.”
You force your eyes open, meeting his intense, burning gaze. He's watching you, his expression a mixture of awe, possession, and a desperate, raw need that steals your breath. He's not just looking at your body, he's looking into your soul.
"Tell me what you need," he whispers. He slows to a stop, still inside you, his entire body a tense wire, waiting. He's giving you the reins.
You want to tell him to move, to fuck you hard and fast until you can't remember your own name. But the words get stuck in your throat. What you need is too big, too terrifying to say out loud. So you show him instead. You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and you surge up to kiss him, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss.
He understands. He always understands.
He starts to move again, a slow, deep grind that sends shockwaves through you. He's hitting that spot again and again, a relentless, steady pressure that's building the tension in you to an unbearable peak. His thumb on your clit speeds up, circling faster, harder. You can feel your body tightening, coiling like a spring.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. "Let go for me. Come on."
The praise, the raw permission in his voice, is what finally breaks you. The spring snaps. Your orgasm crashes over you, a violent, all-consuming wave that rips a scream from your lungs. Your vision whites out, your body convulsing around him, clenching and releasing in a rhythm that's beyond your control. You're distantly aware of him groaning your name, a long, broken sound.
He rides you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm as he follows you over the edge. But at the last second, he pulls out. You have a brief, confused moment of emptiness before you see him kneeling between your legs, one hand braced on the mattress beside your head, the other working his cock in quick, tight strokes.
You watch, mesmerized, as he comes with a choked gasp, spilling over your stomach and chest. The sight is primal, shockingly intimate, and it sends a final, lingering tremor through you. He collapses beside you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat and rain and him
You feel him shift, and then a warm, damp cloth is gently wiping the mess from your skin. Your t-shirt, you realize dimly, that you’ve been wearing not too long ago. You're too exhausted to even be embarrassed, you just hum your appreciation. He tosses the shirt aside, then pulls you into his arms, tucking you against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady, reassuring thump against your ear.
He kisses your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. He kisses your cheeks, tasting the salt of your tears. He kisses your lips, a soft, lingering kiss that's full of a terrifying, fragile hope.
"I love you," he whispers into the darkness of your room. The words are quiet, but they land in the silence with the force of a shout. "I have always loved you."
Sleep is pulling at you, a warm, heavy blanket. You can feel the edges of your consciousness starting to blur. His arms are around you and you can feel his lips on the tip of your nose, your lips, your jaw. He's warm. He smells like rain. He's not going to leave. It's all you've wanted for a week. It's all you've ever wanted, really.
"You won't leave, will you?" The words leave your lips in a mumble, your lashes fluttering. "You won't go back home?" You're too tired to be anything but honest.
There's a pause. "If you ask me to stay," he says, "I won't leave."
You open your eyes, heavy as they are, to look at him. You want to say it. The words are right there, a phantom weight on your tongue. Stay. Please stay. I'll love you. I'll love you the way you want me to. But your body betrays you. Your eyes drift shut, your breathing evens out. Sleep claims you, pulling you down into its warm, silent depths before you can give him the answer he's waiting for.
Jisung has watched you sleep for the last ten minutes. He has memorized the gentle slope of your nose, the way your eyelashes fan out against your cheeks, the soft, even puff of your breath against his chest. He has counted the faint freckles scattered across your shoulders. He has memorized all of it, and it feels like a goodbye.
He shouldn't have said it. Not like that. Not in the aftermath, when you were soft and pliant and half-asleep. He had promised himself he wouldn't. He had sworn he'd wait, that he'd be patient, that he wouldn't pressure you. But then you were underneath him, your eyes wide and trusting, your body opening for him, and the words had just… ripped out of him. An uncontrollable truth.
If you ask me to stay, I won't leave.
He waits.
He waits for you to stir, for your eyes to flutter open, for the words to come. Stay. He can almost hear it, your sleep-roughened voice. The thought is a physical ache in his chest. He imagines the relief, the pure, unadulterated joy that would flood him, the feeling of finally, finally coming home.
But you don't stir.
The minutes tick by, each one a small death. He can hear the sound of the rain outside your window, a soft, steady rhythm against the glass. He can hear the hum of the mini-fridge in the corner of your room. He can hear the frantic, desperate beating of his own heart. He thinks about the way your body shook around him, the way you whispered his name. He thinks about the taste of your skin, the feel of your hands in his hair. He thinks about all of it, and he knows he can't stay.
And that's an answer, too.
He has loved you like a dog his entire life, all he's ever wanted was to sit by your side, to eat your scraps, to just be near you. But being your dog, your constant companion is no longer enough. He can't sit at your feet and hope for a pat on the head while you look at someone else. Not anymore.
It was selfish of him to do this. To fuck you, to push you, to demand more than you were willing to give. He can see that now, in the quiet, grey light of the morning. He has just made everything a thousand times worse. He has taken your carefully constructed world, your "fun," and he has detonated it.
He can't stay and pretend that everything is okay. He can't stay and be your friend. He can't stay and watch you fall in love with someone else. He can't do any of it. He is a coward, he knows, but it's the truth. He has to leave.
Careful, so careful, he slides his arm out from under your head. You stir, a soft sigh, and your brow furrows, but you don't wake. He eases himself off the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, trying not to disturb the mattress, trying not to break the fragile spell of your sleep. His clothes are a damp, muddy pile on the floor. He gathers them up, pulling on his jeans with a wince. The denim is cold and stiff against his skin. He doesn't bother with the shirt, just balls it up in his hand.
He stands by the bed for a long moment, just looking at you. You look so peaceful, so unguarded. It's the most vulnerable he's ever seen you. He wants to crawl back into bed with you, to pull you into his arms and never let go. He wants to wake you up and demand that you choose him, that you choose this.
Instead, he leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead. He turns and walks out of your room, closing the door behind him.
Summary: No more. You couldn’t sit and watch this abuse any longer. Fuck the internship. Fuck the potential job. Chan’s life should be more than the institution’s walls. He should be able to feel the grass under his feet and fresh air through his fur. It was a perfect plan except for one tiny detail: the full moon is here.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI with adult content. Monsterfucking, forced submission, nonconsensual sex/breeding, oral(f. receiving), knotting, size kink, a concerning amount of drool and cum. Captivity for research at the start. He’s nonverbal but of sound mind.
Word Count: 14,800 and some change
Author’s Note: Check the warnings! 2026 is the year of selfish writing(Thank you bestie, you know who you are.). Just go with the werewolf lore I made, okay? Monsterfuckers, enjoy. We're unedited because I'm sick and don't have spoons.
Umbra Xenobiology Solutions. A mouthful of a name plastered across a massive building on the edge of a sleepy college town. With its tall barbed-wire fences and small windows, the property gives off a prison-like atmosphere. Beneath the logo, a slogan glows in clean white letters: Research First. It was the first sentence on the website, in their brochures, and even in the billboard ads. A phrase polished, yet so secretive.
For all their sleek professionalism, no one outside the walls actually knew what was being researched. The company released no public papers, no press statements, not even a single tour. Yet locals agreed on one thing: Umbra secured your future if they hired you.
You were no different from the thousands who applied the moment internships opened. You had the credentials. From glowing recommendation letters from professors who adored you, hundreds of volunteer hours logged and verified, fluency in sign language, and a double major. Psychology and speech pathology. A strange combination to some, but Umbra seemed to love it.
Two weeks after submitting your application, you learned why.
A lead executive assigned you to Project Fenrir, located on the fifth floor of the facility. The name alone conjured images of wolves; maybe it would be some behavioral study involving canines. You didn’t specialize in animal psychology, though you figured you could still be useful. Collect data and observe behavioral patterns. Nothing too complicated.
Then, after hours of legal paperwork to swear confidentiality, they handed you a stack of files.
Right there, printed in bold black ink on the top, was a species you had never seen in any textbook: Homo sapiens lycanthropus.
A lycanthrope, or more commonly known as a werewolf.
A creature you had only ever encountered in folklore listed in a clinical font as if it were just another primate subspecies. Umbra had discovered them. Several, judging by the spreadsheet on page ten that listed more than a handful of subject numbers. All tucked away behind reinforced doors and layers of non-disclosure agreements.
Now you would work with one.
Today is more of the same. Half a leftover breakfast sandwich and straight black gas station coffee that had sat too long in the pot filled your stomach. You donned a soft, cozy sweater to keep you warm in the lab, paired with nice black dress slacks to keep it as professional as a college graduate can. The sound of your heels is the only noise in the long hallway after the first security clearance. Once past the second door, you’ll reach the offices. You barely spend time in your assigned cubicle. Usually emails in the morning, typing up all your session notes after lunch, and answering another round of emails that dropped in after observation hours.
However, Doctor Richardson is a new addition to your routine today.
He stands at your desk, in conversation with another associate. You don’t even know their name. Everyone here keeps to themselves, heads down, focused on work, trying to mind their own to stay off the board of director’s radar. The money Umbra paid for your silence could fulfill even the wildest of dreams, and only a fool would risk their job security.
If a company can buy your devotion, what can they do when you are a threat?
Probably a question you should have focused on instead of being lost in the daze of numbers on your first paycheck.
You clear your throat as you close the remaining distance to your desk. “Good morning, doctor. Are you here for me?”
“Ah! Exactly the person I was waiting for.” He answers with a smile. “I was going to join you on your climb upstairs.” He supplies, tucking his hands into his long white lab coat. “If that’s not too much trouble?”
“No,” you answer, shaking your head lightly. “Let me put down my jacket, and we can go. I don’t want to keep you.”
“It’s appreciated.”
Even if Doctor Richardson is your supervisor, you don’t see him in person often. You met him once on your first day, then a handful of times throughout the months. Most of your interactions are his brief replies to your long emails. Though his showing up today causes your heart rate to spike. You approached the board of directors with a request, and perhaps they have reached a decision. Surely if it was a no, it would have been an email response.
Quickly, you move around him. Jacket placed on the back of your chair, lunchbox placed momentarily on your desk as you reach for a slotted tote bag next to your computer. Inside are your notepads, pens, a folder of worksheets, and two children’s books. All materials issued by the facility are required to remain on the property. Even a single pen leaving with you will result in termination.
It takes a second to double-check all the supplies are still inside your bag. The lunchbox you brought slides in perfectly at the top. You offer a weak smile, slinging the straps of the bag onto your shoulder. “After you, doctor."
Doctor Richardson spins on his heel, leading the way to the ominous elevator sitting at the end of the maze of cubicles. You follow eagerly as if his own shadow and as silent as one, watching him tap his name badge against the reader. The two rows of buttons for each floor light up thanks to his expanded access. He presses on floor five, where your subject resides. It’s different when you use your badge; only one floor will be accessible. From eavesdropping, you learned that each floor is a designated project for the company. It helps with organization and keeps people’s clearance simple.
The soft ding from the elevator announces your arrival on the floor. Doors open, and the environment differs from downstairs. Gone are the carpeted floors, the stationed cubicles, the vending machines, and the break room that make the workplace appear like any other office setting. Up here is more clinical. White hallways with harsh fluorescent lighting. Tiled floors that shine with pristine care. Which is expected for a facility that has experiments.
Instead of a laboratory, there are rooms. No, isolation cells. There are eight on this floor. Every cell has large, wide one-way windows, revealing every single one houses a werewolf under Project Fenrir. You guys stop in front of the cell you spend most of your time in.
Doctor Richardson finally expands on why he visited you in person today. “I just wanted to say the board thinks you’re doing wonderful with subject 325. As a result, we’ve permitted your request.”
Time stops for you. As his words take hold, your breath catches in your throat. The request was approved by the committee. It actually got approved. You asked for extended teaching sessions with the subject, stating the more comfortable he was, the more progress you could make with his lessons.
Subject 325 responds well to you. The exact words Doctor Richardson used on multiple occasions. As much as that is true, the werewolf only prefers you because you don’t poke and prod him for bloodwork. Unlike the scientists, you don’t push him to his limit with strength and endurance tests. You don’t call him by his computer-generated subject number.
No, you call him by his name, the one you worked with him to learn.
“Now,” Richardson retrieved a small electronic card from his pocket. A special access name badge with a built-in keycard just for you. One to use whenever you want instead of being forced to request entry from security. He offers it to you, continuing to speak in a firm tone. “With this responsibility, you may extend your time with him only if he continues to improve. If he declines, we will revoke the card. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” You say, nodding while taking the card. “Thank you and the board for the consideration. I won’t disappoint you.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You have real potential here. Keep up that great work, and perhaps one day you can join those on the committee.”
Your gaze isn’t even on your supervisor anymore. It’s locked onto the windows of Chan’s so-called room. There is no way he can see you two, nor hear you, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be able to smell you with the level eight bulletproof glass separating you. He’s a specimen, kept from the elements and most contaminants.
Regardless of what you know is impossible, Chan perks up from where he sits, gaze boring into the window where you stand. Despite the strong fluorescent lights, his eyes were wide, pupils expanded so much that only a small part of the brown was noticeable. He rises to his feet a second later, face full of confusion, glancing between the digital clock on the wall and back to the window. It’s too early for you to be here. You come around his scheduled lunchtime at noon. Currently, it’s only a little after nine.
The werewolf hesitantly takes steps toward the window. It’s not the same movement as if he were sneaking up on prey; it’s more cautious. Maybe concerned that he won't find what he's looking for on the other side of the glass.
A speaker above you crackles with the sound of whining. Chan is growing distressed. The rise and fall of his chest is shallower than before as his breathing becomes quicker, not quite hyperventilating but close. Although the key card consists mostly of thin hard plastic, it feels heavy in your hand. You could go in there right now to confirm Chan’s suspicions. However, you remain rooted to your spot, observing the new behavior.
Chan begins to pace. Bare feet padding to the door and back to the window. It’s frantic, reminiscent of how your dog circles back and forth from the front window to the door, excited that you’re finally home after a long day.
It’s confirmed.
He knows it’s you.
Somehow he knows and is growing impatient.
“Sir,” you say with a polite smile on your face. “I apologize for cutting this conversation short, but I’d like to get there and get started.”
“Oh, of course," he answers, giving one last glance at Chan. A hint of disgust crosses his features before he reins his true feelings back in. You don’t call him out; instead, let him say his parting words. “Keep in mind what we’ve discussed. If you have any concerns, please reach out to us.”
And then what?
Your so-called ‘concerns’ go ignored again? You fought multiple times with the head of security over the forced sedation. Chan only reacts violently to the medication because he’s terrified. Then he wakes up with lost time and less trust. None of this helps his temperament.
The real question is, how can you look at Chan and be proud of the work you do? Just because you don’t hurt him doesn’t mean you help him. You are an accomplice to everything that happens. Arguably, the worst person out of everyone because of your kindness.
This is not a life here for Chan or any of the creatures stuck here. He’s a bug under a microscope of people who couldn’t care about his happiness.
If anything, you can at least try to make Chan’s day better.
With a swipe of the new card, the chamber door opens. Chan backs away out of precaution, in case it’s not you. It wouldn’t be the first time security has come in to collect him with tasers out, looking for any excuse for conflict.
His lips curl up into a wide smile, a dimple popping up on one side of his cheek. The tense shoulders relax now that he knows it’s safe. Still, he doesn’t move until you step inside and the heavy metal door shuts and locks back into place.
Chan is upon you a second later, arms wrapped tight around your body, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His cold nose presses against your skin as he inhales the scent there. A range of vanilla from the shampoo you use, the jasmine in the body wash, and white lily from a perfume paired with your own natural scent. Despite his human form, he holds onto a lot of canine traits. Scent is a primary one based on the research you read. It helps them hunt, sense danger, and find their way back to each other.
For him, your combination melds together, reminding him of his freedom, of his home away from this awful place. Reminds him of simpler times of waking up to a sun cresting over the mountains as he lies in the grass. So you allow him to remain in your hold, seeking solace in the comfort your scent brings him.
You force yourself to think of anything else, not wanting to cry about his captivity once more. Those moments are for when you can’t sleep at night as your moral compass haunts you. Not here when the werewolf in front of you needs a distraction.
Rather than sitting in negative thoughts, you focus on Chan. He settled on a clump of white fur stuck in the fibers of your otherwise red sweater. A soft giggle slips through your lips. “Do you smell Henry? I swear I can’t get all the dog hair off.”
Chan pulls away without a response, moving to the table in the middle of the room. Two chairs sit on either side. It’s where most of the lessons take place. The blank paper and crayons are scattered on top. It appears he finally caved and started drawing since you left yesterday.
You come closer, thanking him for the way he pulls out your chair like a gentleman, sitting you down for dinner. He moves around the table, plopping down in his own chair. With a blue crayon in hand, he writes in legible and precise handwriting that he’s practiced for hours with you on the top of a blank sheet: Why are you here so early?
“I got some good news for us.” You reply while placing your tote bag at your feet. “I talked to some of the higher-ups, and they’re allowing me more time with you. You’ll be seeing me more.”
Chan smirks before jotting down another sentence: I’ll have to check my schedule.
“Don’t be a brat!” You say with playful anger. It’s nice seeing more of Chan’s personality shine through after all this time. Hopefully, this means he’ll be more receptive to your learning plan. “But this means I need you to try harder, okay?”
His smile falters. A loud sigh fills the room as he dramatically throws his head back. It’s understandable; he’s tired of the routine. Language lessons, speech therapy, and sign language practice. Day in and day out. He’s come so far, but not to Umbra’s standards yet.
“Chan, I mean it.” You say, leaning forward to place your hand over his. “That's why they’re allowing it.” Your voice gets softer, pulling his attention back to you. “Plus, don’t you want to talk to me?”
He finds his crayon to scribble across the paper once more: I talk to you.
“With your mouth, Chan. I know you have a beautiful voice. I want to hear it.”
A few specialists above you have examined Chan. His vocal cords are intact and developed. He can scream, hum, and groan just fine. There is no reason he shouldn’t be able to speak. At first, you assumed he didn’t want to. Umbra took him from his home, and now he is a prisoner. No one in his circumstances would want to chat. Selective mutism was another possibility. Being in a foreign place, he doesn’t feel safe. The anxiety or fear could be triggering him, resulting in him being unable to speak even if he’s comfortable with you. If that’s the case, then he may never find his voice.
Part of you holds out hope it'll happen.
For now, you will continue the lessons. The sign language is slow going, but Chan picks up unfamiliar words. He knows the main language the company uses and can transcribe it thanks to you. You have normal conversations every day with him as if he were a regular man at his age.
He's not a fool, though.
When interviewed or interrogated by board members, he will respond with simple answers. There is no elaborating. There is no communication about himself or others of his kind. Chan is protecting his species. He is well aware of what these humans want, and the last thing he’s going to do is endanger anyone else to these monsters. This protection extends to you as well. You are part of this company. Chan may have more trust in you than the rest of the humans, but he is aware of who you answer to. He shuts down the more you press to find out, building up those walls to keep himself secure.
Though in times like today, you get brief glimpses when you peek through the cracks. Your eyes scan over the images Chan drew. There are eight wolves in total. Each with different fur colors and markings. Chan has mixed shades of crayons to differentiate them all.
You pull the page closer to you. “I’ve never seen so many wolves together.”
The page you hold has a thin, nimble, yellow wolf. He’s followed by an orange one that’s a tad larger. Then two brown wolves appear to be playing together. The only difference is that one has red spots along its fur.
You move to the other page. Another yellow wolf that Chan clarifies is actually white. It’s playing with two grayish wolves, and finally, at the bottom is a large black wolf watching over the entire group. Chan extends his hand, pointing at the lone wolf and then to himself.
“Oh?” You smile at him, understanding what he’s trying to communicate. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Chan’s plush lips curl up in a smile as he nods. The mood in the room shifts a few seconds later; broad shoulders sink as his smile falls. Chan stares at the drawn wolves with a sense of longing. He lets out a shaky breath, focusing fully on himself to collect his bearings.
Part of you wants to change the subject. Get his mind off his loneliness. De-escalate his emotions to an easier topic. However, the looming presence of the company is so loud in the silent room. You have to push for the answers they want. If you don’t, Chan is going to lose the one thing he can take for granted will be for him in this hellscape.
You lean over the drawing, fingers brushing along one of the smaller brown wolves. “Who is this? Are they part of your family?”
He ponders his answer, head tilting to the side. You watch silently as he draws lines to connect each of the wolves together but places a little ‘x’ on each of the lines. The very first symbol he learned is for no. The wolves are connected, just not as a family.
You attempt to supply an answer. “Are they your pack? Is that it?”
Chan’s eyes light up at the word. He makes a fist with his hand, moving it up and down a couple of times: yes.
The lump in your throat is hard to swallow. Your body is fighting to keep the words from leaving your lips. “Did you let yourself get caught so your pack would be safe?”
Chan’s expression shifts, lips turning down into a grimace, and nods. He’s so selfless, the more you think about it. The werewolf formed a pack and became a leader, losing everything to protect his own with no idea about their well-being. He sacrificed himself, and now he’s a lab rat being tested on.
“I’m sorry, Chan.” You reply, fighting to keep your voice stable. “I know it’s hard being here.”
Chan reaches for the crayons once more. His frame hunches over his drawing. You sink back in your chair, observing the character he adds to his image. This time it’s a human, one with a red shirt and black pants, the very same colors you currently are wearing, placed right next to his wolf. He circles them with a green circle and then draws an arrow from his feet towards the edge of the sheet. Once Chan finishes, he sits back, eyes on you.
“You want me to take you somewhere?” You ask curiously. Chan’s arm raises, and he points towards the door. In response, you attempt again to say what he wants so that you understand. “You want me to take you out of the room?”
Chan lets out a moan and gestures toward the door once more, with more aggression. Then it all clicks together. Freedom. Pain blossoms in your heart like a bruise. He wants his freedom. Your voice comes out softer. The cameras recording are going to pick it up regardless, but still you try. “You want me to take you away from here?”
The werewolf nods. He places his dominant hand against the center of his chest and rubs in a circular motion to sign a word: Please.
“Chan, I can’t. They’ll hurt you and then hurt me if I try.” You sigh as you respond. As though a strongman showing off his muscles, Chan lifts his arms in a flex. He follows it up with chomping his teeth. It’s not enough. You give a headshake. “Honey, you're weaker in this form. The security has padding and weapons.”
The sound of a shutter door opening and closing provides a perfect segue for the conversation to shift. “Here, let’s change the subject and have lunch. You’re hungry, right? I’ll grab your food.”
Chan exhales in a huff, offended that you would offer to get the tray. He stands while placing a firm hand on your shoulder to push you back down into your chair. The look of disbelief remains on his face as he crosses the room to where a deposit box sits for his cell.
You roll your eyes when he's not looking. He often refuses to let you help him. For his species, many of them are hyper-independent. Typically, the pack will hunt separately, but the alpha will drag food back for those who are ill or too old to fend for themselves. Even if he doesn’t hunt anymore, the collection of the tray is still his responsibility.
He joins you once more, eager to see what the staff has given him. When in human form, werewolves can adopt an omnivore diet. However, in order to keep their strength, higher protein levels must be maintained. If the company does nothing else right, Umbra recognizes and accepts that.
Chan is giddy when seeing the slab of cooked meat when lifting the metal cloche, keeping the food warm. He’s less interested in the steamed carrots and boxed juice. Still, you encourage him. “There’s a new juice to try. It's a mixed berry.”
Immediately, he places the juice next to you, a scowl etched on his face. You giggle in response before placing it back on his tray. “Hey now, it doesn’t necessarily mean there are blueberries in there.”
His upper lip curls up in a snarl. There is no aggression against it, only playful banter. It keeps your heart warm as you retrieve your own lunch. On occasion, Chan will be curious about the food you bring. He mostly critiques that you don’t have enough meat and says there should be far fewer plants. Despite hating most of your diet, he gets excited on days you bring in something new he hasn’t heard of. His personal favorites so far are fresh strawberries and the chocolate pudding cups you occasionally bring.
“Today is a special day for us. It's been a year since I’ve met you, so I brought you something.” You say with a soft smile. Chan’s head lifts when you open the plastic container. There’s an unfamiliar smell for him. His nose crinkles curiously as he sniffs the air. “We call it pineapple. I don’t know if you’ll like it. The fruit grows with a tough skin, and this yellow part is acidic. It’s how the fruit protects itself.”
Cautiously, Chan reaches for a piece to plop in his mouth when the container is offered. He chews for a second before his eyes go wide and his face lights up. Both hands rise up immediately, fingers opening and closing repeatedly to demand more of the pineapple.
You giggle, handing the fruit over to him. “I knew you’d like it. Have all of it.”
Chan accepts the fruit with a content hum to himself. The smile stays glued onto your face to where your cheeks hurt. He’s come so far with his temperament. When you first worked with Chan, he refused to acknowledge your presence. You were beneath him, not worth his time. He wouldn’t even glance over when you sat at the table in the center of the room. Every day you state why you were there in a calm voice and wait for the allotted session time to end. Nearly two agonizingly long weeks of the same thing passed until Chan realized you weren’t going anywhere.
The first time he sat across from you, his demeanor was the opposite of today. His eye contact burned through you with the heat of the sun to intimidate you. The broad frame sat like a rock with how tense he was. He waited, almost ready to pounce, listening to you explain why you were here. Even after that, he still wouldn’t move or react, assuming some sort of trick was being played. Everyone else here hurt him, so he assumed it was only a matter of time until you would.
The door to the isolation room opening pulls you from your memories. Chan is already on his feet before anyone steps in. He places himself between the door and your sitting frame, creating a wall of protection. The behavior is instinctual. He's ensuring that the food you hunted, or in this case brought, isn't taken away from you. A low growl from him fills the room as four security guards walk in.
The electrical hum of tasers being turned on causes you to shoot out of your seat, knocking the chair over. Your voice rises with the anger coursing through you at the immediate hostility. “We’re having lunch!”
“It’ll have to wait," one man answers. “325 is needed upstairs.”
When you attempt to pass Chan to defend him, he simply pushes you back with brief acknowledgment. Dread quickly fills you when the group of men comes closer. This isn’t going to end well. Your voice becomes desperate when you speak. “He fights because you use aggression! He’ll behave if you ask him!”
“We’ll take it up with Richardson.”
It’s hard to tell who strikes first. The room erupts in a fit of screaming. Chan manages to tackle one guard despite two tasers connecting with his skin. Another hooks his arm around Chan’s neck to cut off his air supply, forcing him to let go so he can claw at the padded forearm.
“Chan, don’t fight!” You cry out, tears running down your cheeks, hearing his choking gasps. “Don’t hurt him! Please!”
It takes all four men to subdue Chan. At some point in the scuffle, one of the security guards pulled out an emergency tranquilizer. He sticks Chan right in the meaty part of his biceps. The werewolf immediately settles in their hold, growing weak. His eyes roll back into his head, his body becoming limp and easier for the men to manhandle.
The group exits with the werewolf in tow, leaving the cell quiet minus your panicked breathing. Today is a breaking point. Umbra isn’t doing anything for the sake of science here. Chan doesn’t deserve this. You need to get him out of here. Even if it’s the last thing you do.
The plan for Chan's escape took months to come to fruition. Initially, the idea of breaking him out seemed impossible. Doors with double key card access, security cameras and alarms, and an imposing 8-foot perimeter fence topped with extensive barbed wire.
What if you could walk him out?
The longer you observed how the company operated, the more you noticed little cracks in the framework. Associates finished mundane tasks haphazardly. Because of time restraints and security's laziness, some records are forged. Everyone was comfortable in their position. As long as the board of operatives received the requested results, no one batted an eye.
No one would watch a new intern who already proved their compliance.
Especially on a government holiday that most of the staff took off, minus a handful of security. Two in particular that you spent the last week flirting with guard the entrance you wanted to use. You also learned that security has clearance to open all cells to help staff. There would be no need to use your keycard left at your desk. These two guards would also be the only ones at this end of the building. It would be a shame if you slipped sedatives into the break room coffee and offered them both a cup while batting your eyelashes.
Not even two minutes after consuming the tainted coffee, both men dropped like sacks of potatoes, feet crumbling underneath them. You didn’t hesitate, reaching for both key cards clipped to their belts. The plan was proceeding as intended. You left the break room straight to the elevator up. All the motions were a blur until the doors chimed on your arrival on the fifth floor.
Even if it was the same floor you knew, it was darker this time around. Not all the artificial lights were in use, and the lack of workers left the silence deafening. Your feet barely connected with the floor, the balls of your feet only touching long enough to propel you down the hallway quickly. As you arrive at Chan’s chamber, that's when the rush of the entire plan finally courses through your body. Shaky fingers of yours fumble to grip the key card correctly. The red error light only stirs agitation in you. You don’t have room for mistakes. It's impossible to know how long the security guards will remain unconscious. The longer this process takes, the higher the chance of others catching wind.
You take a deep breath before sliding the keycard once more. This time, you successfully opened the door. An automated message plays, the very one heard a million times, telling everyone to stand clear. You don’t wait long, forcing yourself to prop against the doorjamb where the sensor will recognize a human is blocking it and refuse to close.
Chan is in a corner of his room, finishing a set of pushups. He rises to his feet, face contorting into a look of surprise at seeing you. He’s shirtless, with the pajama pants issued to him hanging low on his hips. His skin was flushed red from his ears to his hips. Sweat dripped from his messy curls on his head. Veins in his arms are more pronounced thanks to his ongoing workout that you interrupted.
He’s a carved god.
He’s beautiful.
Your breath hitches the longer you take him in. Some sort of feeling twists in the pit of your gut. A foreign feeling that may not be nerves; rather, it’s some attraction you still battle with to keep your relationship professional. You mentally fight to shut down any distracting feelings. That’s not why you are here. You need to pull it together and get him out of here.
You force yourself to speak. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The werewolf’s feet remain glued to the floor. He lets out a chirp while scanning the wall clock before returning his gaze to you. With a raised eyebrow, he seemed to ask why you were here. It’s late, he’s already had dinner, and no tests run into the evening.
“Chan,” you say firmly. “We don’t have time. Come with me.”
His head shakes, feet shuffling backwards, further into his room, until the backs of his calves knock into the base of his bed. A small noise of distress leaves him. He knows to be suspicious. This could be a trap, another test to check how obedient he is.
“Please, Chan. You wanted out, right?”
He clenches both hands into fists, extending his index fingers. One digit strikes the other, signing a word: Can’t.
“Yes, you can," you plead, trying to keep your frustration in check. He’s scared. Of course, he’s scared. You told him what would happen if he tried to leave. Still, you insist. “We must leave now. We won't get another chance."
He never sees you acting aggressively or in distress. When he struggles with every aspect of his daily lessons, you have never yelled at him or shown your annoyance. Here you are now, acting in a way that is unfamiliar to him. Another high-pitched, panic-tinged whine emerges from the back of his throat. It’s a wretched noise you wish never to hear again.
He wants to trust his favorite human.
God, he wants to.
Yet, he doesn’t move.
An automated voice comes from above you. “Please keep all cell doors clear.”
You can’t hold the door open for much longer. The defense system is seconds away from kicking in. Not only will cell doors shut, but all hallways will lock regardless of security clearance. Then you two will be trapped, and the security guards in the next tower will receive an alert.
“Chan, come on.” You say while maintaining eye contact with him. There’s no telling what the company will do, and you don’t want to find out. The words you speak are more honest than they’ve ever been. “If we don’t go now, they’ll kill both of us.”
The threat to your safety gets him moving. He quickly shuffles his bare feet on the tile. You extend your hand with a smile. “Yes! Good boy. A few more steps.”
His large palm is warm in yours. Your grip tightens as you turn on your heel to drag him along to the elevator. Even though you may use this hallway almost daily, the same few steps seem three times as long tonight. Chan continues to follow closely behind you, whining every few breaths. You want to comfort him, offer words of reassurance, or do anything to keep him quiet as you focus on getting him outside.
On the ground floor, you are not greeted by either security guard. It’s a clear shot out of the building now. You tap both keycards on the sensor; a green light flashes, and the sound of the door unlocking rewards you. Chan finally realizes his freedom is achievable. The large, clear doors reveal the setting sun lowering behind the woods surrounding the building. He picks up speed, dragging you along to the last door. His whines shift into small, nervous hums as he waits for you with the cards. His eyes are wide, desperate that this isn’t some sick joke. The rise and fall of his chest quickens as you tap the last sensor.
One door automatically opens. You drop the keycards at your feet and lead the werewolf through the threshold. The outside world is beautifully quiet. No cars on the interstate running parallel to the building. No birds chirping or annoying chittering insects. If anyone stepped out, all they would hear would be the two heartbeats pounding rabidly from the adrenaline of possibly being caught and the thrill of a successful escape.
Now you have to create distance.
Even if Chan could run free, far from this place, he stays in pace with you despite being barefoot. In no time are you two panting from exertion, and still you run deeper and deeper into the woods, determined to leave the facility until it’s nothing more than a tucked-away memory.
Temporary safety is a crumbling cabin four miles south of the lab. The heat of the sun has long set below the horizon, plummeting temperatures low enough to make the tips of your ears hurt. Moonlight shines brightly through the breaks in the leaves, illuminating parts of the forest floor.
The second part to secure Chan’s release happens now. You would wait here, collect your breath for a few minutes, and then head to the back where you stored a vehicle. Then you would be on the road, creating a larger gap and hopefully a trail the company will struggle to track.
You scoped this location out weeks ago thanks to an aerial view you searched on an online map database. Storing the car was even easier. Whoever owned the property clearly considered the small buildings condemned and let time hopefully bring them to the ground instead of wasting resources. It was perfect.
The inside of the cabin is dark. A few pieces of furniture long forgotten litter around the one-room cabin. You left a small battery-operated lantern when you brought the car. However, the light it throws falls short of any actual distance. It doesn’t matter; you don’t need it for long. Just until the cramp in your side goes away.
Chan hasn’t made much noise since entering the forest. He kept his head low, not even signing a response when you asked about his feet hiking in the woods. He used to tell passionate stories of running with his pack back home. No one was faster than him. His body could handle any terrain. Despite knowing all of that, you asked to be polite. A test to see where he is emotionally about being free. You expected excitement or a sense of drive to leave you behind to start a long journey home, even if he didn’t know where to start. There’s neither, just blind following as if he were a lost puppy.
“We won’t be here long, okay?” You say more to yourself.
Chan still doesn’t acknowledge you. He leans against one wall, eyes still trained on the ground. It could be in shock the more you think about it. A fight-or-flight response that is tied to his survival mode. It’ll have to run its course through his body. Once on the road, he can get some sleep, and that’ll help him relax.
You kick off your shoes with a huff. Unlike Chan, the soles of your feet ache. All that time planning Chan’s freedom, and you forgot the one key detail of putting on a pair of athletic shoes that could withstand the hike. Tomorrow there will be several large blisters. Future you can worry about it later.
A painful cry comes from behind you. You spin on your heel to see Chan slightly bent over, both arms wrapped around his middle. His jaw is clenched with a pained groan filling the room. Whatever is troubling him is getting worse.
“Channie,” you ask, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”
A snarl slips past his lips as he finally meets your eyes. The angry gaze halts you just shy of touching him. His pupils shrink and expand repeatedly as if unable to adjust to the low light from the lantern. He’s begun to pant as fresh perspiration covers his forehead.
“What is it? How can I help?”
Chan shakes his head, violently conveying a no. He doesn’t want help? You can’t help? Is it an effect of a test today out of anyone’s control? Maybe he needs to rest, sit, and let whatever is happening pass.
His skin burns under your palm when you try to offer reassurance. Words don’t leave your lips, trapped in your throat at the sudden shove from Chan. The force he used is stronger than you expected, resulting in you landing on your ass across the room. He now has full-body trembles as his brown eyes frantically scan the room. You don’t need your years of studying to recognize his behavior. He’s looking for an out, a way to get space away from you. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
Then, like a lightbulb turning on above your head, it all connects.
He’s shifting.
A full-body shift?
That only means one thing.
Your eyes land on your smartwatch as you bring your arm closer. Fingers tremble opening the calendar. Right there on tonight’s date confirms your worst fear. It has one added icon: a full moon.
No. No. No.
You broke Chan out on a full moon.
His hesitation back at the lab makes sense now.
Chan wasn’t afraid of leaving.
He was afraid of shifting while near you.
Chan’s noises become more distressed as he kneels. Howls of pain bounce off the walls of the small cabin as each of his limbs twists at unnatural angles. Bones snap loud as thunder, shifting under the skin to extend. Patches of black fur push through the layers of skin, slowly expanding to cover his body. Long, sharp, black nails extend out of his hands, forming claws that dig into the wood, easily scraping through the material as if tearing through a ripe peach.
You watch in horror, paralyzed by the way his teeth extend into fully elongated canines. The familiar face shifts next, contorting as his snout extends and ears on the top of his head form. It takes nearly two minutes for the full transformation to occur. One you have only seen pictures of until now. Senior staff were the only ones permitted to observe full transformations behind several walls of glass to be safe.
Plumes of air rise in the cold temperature around his mouth as he pants like a dog. His fully formed tail lightly sways behind him while the werewolf is taking stock of his being. Golden eyes scan the room before settling on your quivering body.
“Chan?” You ask, voice timid.
His head tilts to the side. Recognition, you hope. The stack of files never mentioned coherency during shifts. Chan wasn’t part of that study. He could be in this beast form and aware of you in front of him. Or, maybe he’s tucked far away, as the animal has its own independence. Regardless, this is a dangerous situation. One that you must tread carefully.
The werewolf takes a step. Then another, slowly crawling to close the distance between the two of you. Your eyes focus on the floor, avoiding direct eye contact. Thoughts race in your head as you try to remember more of the information you consumed in his file. Werewolves share mannerisms with other species of canines. It could help you now. Avoiding eye contact is the first big tip you learned. Some species interpret direct eye contact as a threat or an initiation to challenge them.
Warm breath fans over the crown of your head when Chan stops in front of you. His claws rest on either side of your thighs. Up close, you notice the way his onyx nails start deep in the nail beds, extending nearly two inches where the tips of his fingers once were. Your stomach sinks at the thought of damage he could do.
Play this safe, you tell yourself.
Slowly, you tilt your head to the side to expose more of your neck. Sweat from the journey clings to your skin, dotted right along your collarbone despite the cooler weather. Chan should be able to smell your natural body odor. Several breeds of canines can tell pack mates from their scent. Werewolves are similar in that regard as well.
You gasp lightly at the faint brush of his nose in the crook of your neck. As motionless as a statue, you let him breathe you in for as long as he wants. Your daily ritual, he remembers. He should know it's you even if the wolf is in control. He’s spent the most time with you out of everyone on the project.
A surprise headbutt against your chest sends you falling backwards. Your head connects with the harsh wood, sending a sharp pain through the back of your skull down to your spine. The werewolf yips a playful sound with another head tilt. To his credit, you could argue he’s trying to play with you.
Chan’s right hand presses down on your stomach before you can sit back up. The jutting claws dig through the thin shirt straight into your skin, just enough to be a warning. Stay where you are. Because if you don’t, a bit more pressure and your skin will tear as if it were paper.
In the next second, you cry out at the harsh tug on your waistband. The fabric of your jeans and underwear rips cleanly down. Out of reflex, your legs try to close at the first instance of cold air against your skin. Except Chan is quicker, using his wide chest to keep your most intimate area exposed to him.
“Chan, what…?” Your words trail off. With gentle, controlled hands, your fingers wrap around his forearm. The fur here is coarse and thin compared to the rest of his body. His eyes connect with yours. It’s a hungry gaze. Confirmed by the way drool drips from his teeth. You may as well be a steak in front of him. There’s nothing but fear in your soft voice. “What are you doing?”
The ears on his head twitch; he’s heard you but doesn’t care as his snout slowly dips to prod at your pubic bone, not bothered by the small patch of hair there. Instead, he’s fascinated. Female werewolves have scent glands around their genitals. It’s where Chan knows pheromones should be when with a mate.
Your breath catches at the sound of his curious sniffing traveling south. His cold, wet nose is jarring against your warm, flushed skin. This isn’t right; you need to stop this and need to get away. This entire night was a mistake. You should have waited for a different opportunity to break him out.
The press of his rough tongue against your folds pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s tentative at first, lightly prodding, as if he’s testing the waters. However, despite how much you plead for your body to not react, a wetness forms from the stimulation. Chan gives a pleased hum of approval when tasting you. The hand on your stomach untangles from your grip with ease, moving down to your thigh, holding the squirming limb in place. His other hand mirrors, leaving your lower half pinned to the cabin floor. The supernatural strength keeps you from struggling and leaves him the perfect opportunity to shift his stance. He sinks lower between your thighs, nose pressed right against your clit, and tongue picking up speed the longer it swipes between your folds right across your hole, still determined to get more of you.
“Oh—Wait,” you whine, eyes wrenched shut, mind racing, thinking of anything to stop the growing arousal. “Ch—Chan, you can’t.”
The werewolf’s nose continues to grind against your sensitive clit with every swipe of his tongue, applying just enough pressure to aid the growing heat in your core. Your body tenses; the rush of pleasure is inevitable. This creature between your thighs is going to make you come, and time is running out to stop him.
All you have to do is get him away for half a second. That’s all you would need for the rush to die out. Your shaky fingers reach between your legs to tangle in the soft fur on the crown of his head, right between his ears, and in one last attempt to push him away, you shove with all your might.
Chan barely moves, unbothered by your effort, too hyper-focused on your taste. The sides of the invasive tongue slightly curl in on itself for easier access to dip deep inside your hole, the tip chasing the new wave of wetness that’s forming along your walls. Never in your life have you felt a sensation like this. It’s mind-melting, addictively intoxicating enough to neutralize any self-preservation as your orgasm overwhelms you.
“Fuck,” you whine out, trying to arch off the floor while you continue to battle your body over how euphoric this creature’s tongue feels.
Much to your relief, Chan pulls away completely, head bowing to look between his thighs. While he’s distracted, you use the opportunity to sit up slowly, using the palms of your hands as leverage to scoot away and create distance. Unease creeps under your skin. Even in the pale light of the room, you can see what he’s staring at.
His cock rests heavy between his legs, fully erect with more length and girth than any human man. Hell, it's bigger than most sex toys you have seen. The lump in your throat is hard to swallow the longer you look. Gears shift in your head. Chan is young for his kind, not even fully mature yet, meaning he’s yet to mate because of his captivity.
Your heartbeat pounds in your ears at the thought. He’s expected to go through a werewolf puberty phase. A natural progression to be driven to breed with one of his kind. "Rut" is the word that the scientists have used. Stabilizers typically keep his hormones in check, though there are limits to how much he can take to avoid impeding his development. And judging by how his body is reacting, the doctors didn’t give Chan his medication this month.
Now here he is, a dilemma on his hands, and a body demanding he react.
Chan’s gaze comes back to you, and with his heightened senses, his nostrils flare, taking in the smell of your arousal that’s still permeating the air in the space between you.
It’s now or never. You need to get away from him. Tonight escalated far worse than it should have. Running away may be a death sentence, but you have to try even if it’s futile.
At a snail’s pace, you rise to get on your feet. Chan mirrors, standing up straight on his rear legs. He is a bipedal werewolf. One that’s taller than you expect; the tips of his ears nearly brush against the ceiling of the room. The longer you take him in, the more you realize how tiny you are. You are no match for him; you barely come up to the middle of his broad chest. The width of his shoulders takes up an entire doorframe. If you let him catch you, there is no escaping. You push the thoughts away as you turn on your heel to face the exit of the room.
One of Chan’s growls comes out. It’s low, rumbling deep in his chest, and reminds you of an irate dog giving one last warning before an attack. It stops you in your tracks, giving you time to recognize your error.
He’s an apex predator.
You have turned your back on him and not submitted yourself to him.
It’s a challenge against him.
You don’t wait any longer, pushing off the tips of your toes, bolting to cross the room, to the one door that could separate you from the werewolf.
Half a second later, Chan crashes into your body with the force of a freight train, knocking all the air out of your lungs and successfully stunning you for a second. Adrenaline courses through your veins, keeping the fight inside you alive, burning like a raging wildfire. Your frame twists away from the snapping jaws in an attempt to get anywhere from his grasp. Though his sharp talon nails manage to hook into the thin material of your shirt, tearing it to mere strips of fabric as he scrambles to keep his hold on you.
With all the strength you can manage, you push off the ground, trying to get your feet under you once more to get to that sweet safety that’s a few steps away. Chan is miles faster, using only a hand to swipe at your unsteady legs, sending you back to the floor in a pile of limbs.
Before you can even acknowledge the pain from the fall, two burly, fur-covered forearms come into view, trapping you under his body. Chan, as a human, was already muscular from his daily exercise to pass his time. Now, in his true form, the extremities have far more mass and more definition. Truly a cage to keep you from escaping.
You whimper in response to the sound of Chan snapping his jaw by your ear. It’s a polar opposite of the sweet man you know. He’s not the same soft guy who blushes when you bring him new food to eat or the one who gets dramatic when you start his daily lessons. He’s a complete stranger, a different being.
This is a monster.
Yes, you knew this side of him existed; it was inevitable he would shift, but he was going to be released before he needed to.
Chan’s sharp teeth are too close for comfort as he growls above you. Your eyes wrench shut, too scared to look at him, too scared of the bite that could occur. It wouldn’t kill you nor infect you; it’s the pain that terrifies you.
Instead of the impending doom, you flinch reflexively as drool drips down onto your bare back as he assesses you under him. You are no wolf. However, he’s coherent and smart enough to know you are a human with a hole he can use. Your teeth sink deep into your tongue to fight the noise of distress trying to escape you at the sudden tug at the waistband of what remains of your jeans. Same as before, the rest of the denim shreds as effortlessly as before, leaving you completely bare under him.
“Chan, please.” You beg again, trying to reach for the human part of him that is still in there. Your anguished voice is unrecognizable even to yourself. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to go further.”
If the werewolf understands your words, he doesn’t appear to care. Too busy scraping one of his claws repeatedly along the soft flesh of your hip, attempting to force you onto your hands and knees. The searing burn of the scratches is enough to make you comply.
His knees slip between your legs, spreading you wider to accommodate his massive thighs. Anticipation of what is coming next causes your whole body to tremble under him. If your heart hammers any faster in your chest cavity, it may explode. Silently you pray it happens to escape this fate.
Chan’s hips shift to angle his cock against you. Your breath catches at his first attempt to push inside. He really is going to try to bully his cock inside you. There is no physical way. You aren’t even prepared for a regular cock.
“Chan, wait. You can’t…” Your words trail off, too distracted by the way the tip of his cock slips from the wetness, now nudging against your clit each time he thrusts forward. You can feel every ridge of the thick veins running along the length as he continues to rub so intimately against your folds, searching blindly for the hole he’s desperate to bury himself into.
His noises of complaint fill the room with his growing frustration. It’s not right. He knows he needs to be inside. Though with his size he will rip you open. He could do irreparable damage.
One of his hands moves to curl under you. The expanse of the wide claw covers your entire stomach as he brings you flush against his body. With a few more awkward shifts from his hips, the hot, angry tip of his cock finds home in the entrance he’s looking for.
“Ah, fuck.” You cry out as the girth of his cock forces your walls to accommodate around him. Your voice grows more wretched. “Channie, please!”
Thank goodness for the patience Chan suddenly found. Perhaps the beast understands the noises of discomfort slipping past your lips. Even though he doesn’t stop the whole ordeal, he waits to press another inch deeper inside only after your helpless noises quiet down.
The following thrusts are timid initially. He drives his cock gently from the tip to the length he’s managed to sink into you. Each minute creeping by feels like hours, a never-ending cycle of moments that ignite the arousal in your core to the fear of another inch being pressed inside.
When Chan makes the mistake of pulling out too far, you take the opportunity to attempt shifting your legs to sit down on your ass. It’s futile. Blocked not only by his thighs but also by the claw still resting against your stomach. The hold tightens, not allowing you to squirm away. He merely shifts you back where he wants you, cock easily pressing inside; this time he ruts quicker and quicker as his patience grows thin.
Your breath catches as the sharp prick of teeth sinks into the back of your neck. Chan is unaffected by the hair in the way, only focusing on keeping his grip tight. Not enough to pierce through the soft skin. More globs of thick saliva drip from his mouth, caking into your hair and sliding down your neck. A low, tamer grumble follows, another warning, and another familiar trait among the wolves.
Chan is scruffing you.
Most of the time, a mother animal will scruff their young to carry or move them. It’s different with werewolves. This is a sign of dominance. A command for you to freeze and not move till he’s done. There are even studies at the facility showing mated pairs may scuff each other to calm their partners through distress. This instance is a mix of the two, especially with the warning noise he delivered. The last thing Chan wants right now is you moving away from his increasingly aggressive thrusts. He doesn’t understand it hurts, doesn’t understand how big he is for your human form. All he sees is more disobedience, and he won’t tolerate it. Not when he’s in control and not during the confusion of his rut. He knows he must breed, and you will accept it.
Perhaps the werewolf is right.
The less you fight, the quicker he finishes, and the faster this whole affair will end.
Chan’s thrusts are consistent thanks to the lack of your interference. Your pussy accepts his thick cock greedily, sheathing around him again. All of your attention is on the floorboards below you as you try your best to release the tension in your body. Accept him and his cock. That’s all you need to do right now.
Just when you think you can handle the events of tonight, an additional issue arises.
Chan’s cock appears to be growing at the base.
No, bulging the more you focus.
The last part of the mating process.
Your human biology was never intended to accommodate a physical knot that werewolves have. Still, it doesn’t deter Chan from shoving as much of the bulging gland as he can into you. You cry out, feeling impossibly full, the tip of his cock pressing right against your cervix. No matter how you shift or squirm, there’s no way to dislodge yourself until the swelling goes down. Mercifully, the thrusts have stopped. Instead, Chan now grinds against you, giving himself just enough stimulation to reach his high.
It’s a flood. No, more of a tsunami as warm seed erupts from his cock, adding to the uncomfortable pressure. You bring a hand to your lower stomach, moving his claw, now feeling where your body extends as more cum seeps inside of you. It’s dizzying and never-ending as his cock continues to pulsate inside of you.
You sink to the floor, defeated and accepting your fate. You won’t be able to move for a while. Werewolves can stay locked together for hours to ensure the seed takes. Those in their rut can take even longer since their bodies aren’t used to mating. Chan is working on pure instinct with his muddy, hormone-fueled brain. He won’t understand he can’t get you pregnant.
Speaking of said werewolf, he shifts his face, releasing his hold on your neck to drag his tongue against the planes of your sweaty back. Another recognizable behavior: He’s grooming you, showing you affection for the successful coital tie.
The worst is over.
By some miracle, you endured.
Judging by the chime of your watch, it takes nearly an hour for the swelling to go down enough to unlock. You know, by the way your pussy begins leaking sperm around his softening cock. It’s a welcome relief.
Chan doesn’t stop you from dislodging yourself away from his cock or when crawling out from underneath him. All of your movements are slow and cautious to not rile the werewolf, but accepting the adrenaline rush is long gone. The fatigue is settling into every muscle in your body.
You shift to sit on your ass a few feet shy of the beast. There's no care for your nudity, nor the filth of time caked onto the floorboards you rest on, and not even the mess still leaking between your thighs. All you want is to settle your racing heart.
However, Chan’s rut continues to rage on.
His snout presses against the wood flooring, right into the expanding trail of fluids, and he growls, offended at the way his hard work has spilled. This cum is supposed to stay inside of you. Thorough breeding is necessary. It’s the only way he can get pups.
“Channie,” you plead, desperate as tears burn your lash line. “It won’t take. I’m human.”
A corner of his lip curls as he snarls. It’s a cruel, angry sound. You are disregarding his wants once more. The alpha wolf in the room. A new wave of panic courses through as he takes a step forward. He doesn’t make another noise. He doesn’t have to; you know what that piercing look means.
No more games.
You will take his cock a second time.
You will stop fighting his mating attempt.
“Okay,” you say softly, hands raised to halt him. “I understand.”
His golden eyes watch as your throbbing limbs shift. This time he’s not upset as you willingly turn away from him, back on your hands and knees. Your front presses flat against the wood. Both knees shift wider to leave room for him. The position is an invitation. You are presenting your pussy to the wolf, a universal sign of submission.
Chan chuffs, happy at the display. His claws tap lightly against the flooring as he nears. Your heart thumps erratically in your chest in anticipation. Silently you pray to whatever higher being will listen that his second round will be quicker. Your pussy aches, still puffy and swollen from the abuse it’s endured.
One claw comes down to rest next to one of your ears, followed by the other mirroring on the other side of your head. His firm stomach muscles press against your back, keeping him physically close to you while he stays mounted over you.
This time around he doesn’t struggle to find your hole. His cock slides right in with a loud squelch. Your walls don’t fight his size anymore. The excessive amount of mixed fluids makes each of his cautious thrusts glide back and forth easily. You groan to yourself in disgust, hearing the drips from your pussy splatter against the wood flooring. There was so much of his cum, and still it wasn’t enough to satisfy his rut-filled brain.
This night appears to be far from over unless you can help him along.
One of your hands slips under your body, allowing your fingers to brush against your neglected clit. Jolts of pleasure run up your spine the longer you rub messy circles in the way you know will let your own orgasm rush over you.
It takes only a handful of seconds before your own moans slip past your lips. Chan whines high and pitifully when your tight walls spasm around his cock, trying to milk his cum out of him. He must love the sensation. His hips snap faster, trying to shove his knot back inside to feel this where he’s the most sensitive. Your plan is working. The knot is already swelling back up to its previous size.
Call it guilt for the life he’s had in the facility, call it selfishness for wanting this to be over, or maybe it’s buried feelings locked deep in your heart that you refuse to acknowledge. Just justify the whole night how you want. Your fingers continue to rub through the fall of your orgasm, pushing for another. You know your body best; you can force another orgasm.
You can give Chan what he wants.
The pleasure he deserves.
Those bulky forearms of his wobble as he struggles to not collapse on top of you. His head hangs right against your face. The soft fur tickles your cheek as he pants heavily from exertion. He’s getting as worn out as you. He must be right on the edge.
Get him there, you say to yourself. Make it happen, and it’ll be over.
With the perfect pressure against your clit, you dive headfirst over the edge. Your moans are shameless; no one else is here to witness you. Let yourself be honest and enjoy the pleasure. Accept the way Chan eagerly pushes his knot firmly against your hole to assure a successful lock back into place. Same as before, the hot seed gushes inside you as the werewolf above howls in satisfaction. It’s a rewarding rush of power as you ride out the entire length of your orgasm.
Your own limbs are faring no better than his, now caving to fold under you from the exhaustion. You cry out at the harsh tug of the knot, unable to dislodge it. Though Chan sinks lower immediately to ease the pain for you. His soft fur is warm across the expanse of your body, enveloping you in a comforting, safe embrace. He rests his face against yours, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth to lightly drag over your cheek. He’s content, rut settling.
The rest of the world feels worlds away. You know there is still the threat of the company on the horizon, but Chan needs time to shift back. Then you can get him out of here. It’ll just be delayed. There’s no telling how long until he's human again. Records stated his last full shift was five years ago. It’ll happen when his body is ready. You should stay awake to keep an eye on him. Yet, no matter how hard you fight, your eyelids close as you fall asleep.
It’s hours later when you wake.
Mercifully, on the couch that was tucked away in the corner. Chan must have moved you when he shifted back. There’s heat cocooning your body. A moth-eaten blanket was tossed over you. You don’t care how old or dusty the cushioning might be. It’s a blessing after all the time spent on the wood flooring.
Gradually, you assess your health. Every part of the body hurts. Besides soaking, a bath is necessary to remove the sticky mess between your legs. Overall, it's not intolerable. You still have a drive ahead of you and should be able to manage. You don’t have a choice though; the security guards are awake by now, and Chan isn’t safe yet. He needs to get out of these woods.
Your eyes scan to the left. Next to you is a small corner table with two apples and a handful of wild berries that were not there last night. Chan must have left them as a gift. Dread sinks into the pit of your stomach the longer you stare at fruit. He left the cabin. He doesn’t know that the company owns drones that can scan the entire area. Not to mention plenty of thermal cameras.
Where is he?
You fight the fatigue to sit up, voice struggling to come out of your parched throat, “Channie?”
A human whine slips out across the room.
Chan is in a corner. He’s tucked his limbs tightly against himself to be as small as he physically can be. His red, teary eyes briefly meet yours before falling back to the floor. He whimpers, something sad or hurt. He looks guilty and must feel it too.
Your heart hurts; he remembers what occurred. His favorite human hurt by his own hand, the one person he trusted and felt safe with. Now unable to even look you in the eyes, worried about how you feel. Surely, he assumes anger, perhaps hatred, or even fear of his true self.
Yet, there are none of those emotions flowing through you. Last night was your fault. You took him from that awful place at the worst possible moment. The animal inside him only acted as its biology told it to do. He can’t fight his own nature.
“Chan?” You whisper, keeping your voice low. “It’s okay, honey.”
More heart-wrenching whines leave him. He turns his face away, burying it in the crook of his arm. His entire frame trembles as he begins to sob. You can’t even comprehend the emotional turmoil he’s going through. Werewolves mate for life unless in dire circumstances. Poor thing probably is wrestling a heavy conscience when he doesn’t need to.
“Channie, come here," you say, firmer. A painful knot twists in your stomach. Not only does he need comfort, but after everything that occurred, you need him. "Please.”
Chan doesn’t rise to his feet when he finally moves. No, he scampers closer on all fours. He sits on the floor, physically as close as he can be, with his head low, anticipating some sort of punishment.
It never comes, and it never will.
“None of last night was your fault. I’m not upset," you say, with fingers tangling in his greasy curls to scratch at his scalp. His eyelids flutter shut. The touch is soothing, solacing enough for his crying to settle. It takes a few minutes for Chan’s tension to melt away. You only speak again once his breathing regulates. “We need to move soon.”
Chan pulls away as if your touch burns. His head shakes, telling you no. One of his hands comes up to his lips, signing a word: Eat.
“I will," you answer. “But you shouldn’t have gone out.”
Chan huffs; it’s an offended sound. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration that he can’t communicate what he wants. His body twists, searching the room for anything the previous owners left so he could use it to help vocalize his response.
You bring a hand to his shoulder, softly squeezing the warm skin, “Don’t worry about it. I know what you're doing.”
He forgets the stacks of research you consumed over the year. The only reason he left the cabin was to find you food. It’s his job to provide a meal after a successful mating session. He knew enough about the human diet to not bring you a dead animal. Instead, he picked a safer option, one probably from memory with all the times you ate lunch with him. You shared countless apples with him, and the berries are similar to the blueberries you offered him despite his hatred for them.
Once more Chan signs for you to eat. This time, more assertive. He pulls away to crawl across the room only to return with a bucket he must have found somewhere in the house. There’s water inside. He traveled to the nearby river you passed on the way here.
“How long were you out there?” Your tone comes out more aggressive than intended. His eyes are wide with panic, taken aback. Plush lips start to part, but only a groan comes out instead of a word. He wants to plead his case. He doesn’t get the chance, not with your continuous prodding. “Did anyone see you? Did you hear anyone?”
Chan shakes his head, shoulders tense as the questions keep coming. His breathing becomes labored as the stress of your words overwhelms him. He slams the bucket down, causing you to flinch. Water sloshes over him onto the floor. He doesn’t particularly care, instead bringing his palm to cover your mouth, shushing the words of interrogation.
The mood around you shifts. Chan’s cheeks are still puffy and tear-stained, though his eyes have narrowed. They’re not as round and curious. No, this gaze is serious, almost commanding. Similar to last night, when Chan established his power over you. He maintains the burning alpha wolf's gaze while his free hand blindly reaches for one of the apples to drop it into your palm.
Heat spreads across your skin with how flustered you become. Sparks of arousal curl deep in your core. It’s followed by shame at how your body reacts to his display of dominance. It's a humbling reminder that you are no longer at the lab and Chan chooses to follow your lead. He can overpower you at any moment, but he doesn’t. All because he respects you.
He releases his hold, and for one last time signs for you to eat. His eyes don’t leave yours; he doesn’t blink, just watching as you bring the apple to your mouth to take a bite. That appears to be enough to appease him, and he falls back to a seated position on the floor.
Minus Chan’s nudity and dirty feet, he’s in good shape after his shift. This is good, very good for you. Occasionally, some werewolves fall into a deep slumber to recover. There was a genuine fear that you might have to try to move Chan’s bulky body, and you are in no shape to do so.
“We have a long day ahead of us. How are you feeling?” You ask timidly before biting into the tart apple again. The werewolf at your feet merely shrugs in response. That's a good enough answer for you. You’ll finish this damn apple so his provider mentality is satisfied and then get moving.
When tossing the blanket to the side, cold air sinks straight to the bone. It’s no different from dunking yourself straight into a lake in the middle of winter. Yes, it’s time to leave and never leave the warmth of the car heater. Damn Chan and his heightened body height. The cool weather is probably a blessing to his skin.
“Help me up.” You say while slowly maneuvering your limbs to sit on the edge of the couch. “We have to get moving.”
Chan motions over to you and back to himself. You don’t need him to speak to understand. The lack of sunrise will keep the forest a maze. Both of you are nude, and in no shape to be back out in the woods. Especially you, with what you endured.
“I planned ahead. Don’t worry. We just need to get me to the shed in the back.”
Instead of being a shoulder for you to lean on, Chan stands upright before reaching for your frame. His strong arms wrap around your middle, pulling you up and away. You gasp at the sudden display of strength, wrapping your arms around his neck and securing your legs tight around his hips. With one final adjustment of his hold, Chan sets off through the decapitated cabin and straight for the smaller building.
The ice-cold cement slab the shed is built on burns against the blisters on your feet once they connect to the ground. You work quickly, hands reaching for the blue tarp you placed here a couple of nights ago. It slides off easily, revealing the car underneath. The vehicle is nearly two decades old. Bought with cash from a car lot two towns away to have no ties to you. It took a couple thousand dollars to make sure it would be up and running for the long journey, but at the end of the day the cost didn’t matter. Just as long as Chan was free.
Slowly you hobble to make your way around to the trunk. Chan follows, hands outstretched around your frame just in case you were to fall. It’s charming how much care he has for you. Again, it’s part of the werewolf in him. In his culture, you two are bonded partners for life now. He could be shunned from his pack if anything bad happens to you. He doesn’t even know where they are, but the values instilled in him remain regardless.
Could you handle a lifetime with Chan?
Don’t you have the answer already?
Your fingers search for the handle, and with some effort, the lid pops open. Inside the trunk are a few supplies. Mostly clothes and shoes. You reach in, grabbing the set for Chan first. He accepts the pants first, wasting no time to pull them on. The tee shirt is a bit tight for the broad frame, but he appears unaffected. Finally, he accepts a hoodie. It’s on the large side. Loose for him to hide in, including his face. You help zip it up before reaching around his neck to pull the hood up.
It’s perfect.
Well, almost. The shoes are a lost cause because his feet don’t fit, but you don’t plan on bringing him anywhere near people. Not until you know it’s safe. Chan merely tosses them away. He’s always preferred being barefoot, anyway. He never used the lab-issued slip-ons the entire time he was there.
To your surprise, Chan takes the sweatpants you packed for yourself and kneels at your feet. His touch is gentle, using one hand wrapped around your ankle to lift your foot up so he can guide your leg through. He mirrors the other before hoisting the waistband up to rest comfortably at your hips. His gaze lingers on your stomach. Even in the low light, he notices the several small cuts from where his claw pressed onto your skin. His lash line is wet as he gently covers your belly button with his palm.
"No pups," you murmur.
Chan lets out a relieved sigh. Another pressing question that had likely been bothering him was answered. He moves his hand only to quickly press his plush lips against each of the scabbed-over cuts. On the last one, he looks up at you, lips brushing your skin. He’s mouthing words, though no voice comes out: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
If only he knew how much guilt you were battling. There will be time in the future to heal and reflect. For now, you accept his words and allow him to help you dress if it eases his pain. The tasks appear to be a good distraction from the spiraling thoughts. He obeys your command to open the shed doors due to you not having the strength to fight the rotting wood. It gives you a moment to get the car running and warmer by the time he slips into the backseat with an excited chirp.
Yes, you feel the exhilaration too. It’s time to get the hell out. Your palms adjust their hold on the steering wheel as you pull onto the old dirt road. It’s bumpy and slowly being reclaimed by nature. Chan giggles in the back with every large dip, amused by how the car rocks. It’s a wonderful noise to hear. Once this is said and done, you’ll do everything in your power to hear all the time.
Eventually, the lack of gasoline forces you to pull off the interstate. Chan’s stomach had been rumbling for the last hour, so a pit stop was needed. You could fuel up and find him some food for both of you. Something more substantial than fruit. Then keep driving until you hit the hotel tucked right over the state line.
Tucked off a few miles from the highway is a gas station you settle on. The building is no bigger than a two-car garage. Each of the walls is weathered from the years in operation. Several windows are boarded up with wood, and the roof has pieces of sheet metal used to repair leaks. Business probably only continues in service thanks to the random cars traveling through and a handful of locals. This is ideal; the chance of security cameras is low. People out here tend to mind their own business, and you will pay in cash. There is no way the company will know you were here.
“Channie, I have to go inside for a minute.” You say while pulling out your stashed wallet in the center console. The cash is still confirmed inside. Your body twists toward the back to face him. “Will you be okay staying here?”
Chan nods softly, face barely peeking from the hood. He doesn’t move from his lying position.
Smart boy, he knows to hide.
The store attendant doesn’t even acknowledge you entering, too invested in the newspaper he’s reading. You slink through the aisles, scanning the food. Two packages of jerky, one dusty can of pineapple, bottles of water, and a couple of overpriced handmade sandwiches from the cooler. It’ll hold you guys over until the next town. You don’t want to waste much time inside; you need to get back to Chan.
Even at the register, the worker still doesn’t speak when you pay. Just a simple nod in acknowledgment at what pump the car is at. This guy is simply going through the motions, probably thinking about how long till his shift is over. It’s a blessing; you wanted to avoid painful small talk.
Back outside, the sun is high in the sky. It’s a nice day. The weather is warming up despite how cold the temps dipped the previous night. Birds chirp in the distance. There’s not a cloud in the sky, you realize, as you silently pump the gas. Perhaps a sign of better days ahead for you. The property you bought to remain under the radar is tucked away in the woods, nearly thirty minutes away from a one-stoplight town. There is genuine fear of how the company is going to react once they find out one of their test subjects is gone. You used most of your savings making it self-sufficient. Anything to make sure you don’t have to be seen.
Will it last forever? No, but it’s enough until Chan decides what he wants to do with his life.
Speaking of said werewolf, isn't he a little curious about the food you bought?
Once securing the gas cap, you peek into the back seat.
The familiar feeling of dread hits fast and hard.
He’s not inside.
“Chan!” Your voice cracks across the parking lot. The dirt parking lot has no fresh tire tracks, no strangers. Just dust and a pair of footprints trailing the opposite way from the car. The grocery bag slips from your fingers as fear turns the blood in your veins into ice.
He’s gone.
Just like that?
You scream louder this time. “Chan!”
A second later, Chan appears from the side of the building. He jogs back over to the car, head ducked low, shoulders tight. A sight similar to a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Guilt written all over him.
“I said stay in the car!” You exclaim, the anger in your voice thin and shaking. Loss, anger, and relief crash into you so hard your knees nearly give out. It’s a whirlwind. Nausea hits next, causing stomach acid to burn the back of your throat. “You should have waited. I was worried.”
Chan signs two words: Toilet. Sorry.
He circles the car to grab the fallen bag. When he straightens, his hood slips off his head. Sunlight catches in his curls, wind teasing the brown strands, and it shows off all the different shades of color.
Chan came back to you.
He didn’t have to.
It was the perfect opportunity to leave you behind.
He is choosing to stay, right?
In a perfect world, he would find his pack and return to his family. Though that dream might be impossible. You don’t even know where Chan is originally from. Umbra ships creatures from around the world. The other werewolves could be oceans away.
Now the insecurities inside you are trying to guilt you. You are all he knows now. He is still in survival mode. He’s accepted his fate. Being with you means he’s not a lab rat. Of course he would pick being out here. That thought stings more than the scratches healing on your hip.
You want him to stay because he wants to.
Maybe that’s selfish of you.
The fear of losing him lingers in your chest, raw and undeniable. There is no shoving your feelings away anymore. You care for him. No, you love him. You would do anything for him. Able to see him here free, enjoying the sunshine, is priceless. Everything you have done and endured seems worth it. You would do it a million times over. This is what you wanted for him.
For the first time, the voice you desperately wanted to hear speaks beside you. It's trembling, strained, and soft. “L—L—Love…You.”
The world stills. These are Chan’s first vocalized words to you. After a year of working every day. It’s not letters or numbers. Not rehearsed sounds practiced for hours at a time. Not a forced syllable squeezed out of frustration. All of it has paid off.
He is expressing his true feelings.
You knew Chan was fond of you. Yes, you also knew of his deep emotional attachment. You aren’t blind. He sought you out in that horrible place. You were his comfort; of course he would grow attached. This makes your plan for his release harder on top of all your complicated feelings. The goal was to let him run free up in the thick woods near the mountain. Very few humans travel up there, so he could shift freely and safely from danger. There is a dense population of wildlife that would be perfect for him to hunt. Now you’re unsure if you could let him out there if he didn’t want to stay with you.
“Chan,” you whisper.
His eyes stay on the ground like he expects the words to be wrong somehow. As if he’s bracing for correction. It isn’t perfect. It doesn’t have to be. Not when it’s music to your ears.
He swallows and tries again, stronger this time. “Love you.”
“I love you too, Channie.” You answer with tears burning your lash line. Cautiously bring a hand to his cheek, cupping his face before leaning close to place a soft kiss on his plush lips. Chan pulls away immediately, face flushing a deep shade of red, and gaze falling to the dirt below his feet. He’s shy about such sudden affection, but the wide smile on his face tells you he enjoyed it.
“Come on.” You say with enthusiasm, turning to open the door for him. “We still have a long way to go.”
Chan slips into the passenger seat, closing the door behind himself. His eyes lock onto you, watching you walk around the front and enter on your side. He allows you to buckle his seatbelt without a struggle. His fingers fiddle with the cloth strap, completely distracted by the mechanism, curious how it works.
And with that, you two are back on the road.
If Chan minds the soft music playing, he doesn’t show it. He eats quietly beside you, scarfing down a sandwich and a bag of jerky in a handful of minutes. The pull tab on the can of pineapple gives him a small fight, but he chirps in excitement when realizing what’s inside. He eats one piece at a time with his fingers, savoring the fruit.
The car ride was fairly silent after that. Chan rests his head against the cool glass, focused on the scenery passing by. Cautiously, you bring one of your hands to his, intertwining your fingers to hold. Out of your peripheral, he glances down at the hold and tightens the grip.
The two of you will figure out what to do about his next shift. Your new home has a basement. Though the idea of chaining him down doesn’t seem too appealing and is rather cruel, maybe he’ll understand. However, the real question is if you can werewolf-proof your home just in case it’s not enough to hold him. Sure, you live outside the city in the woods, but there are still neighbors miles down the road.
Those thoughts don’t matter right now.
After all, you have time until the next full moon.
︎Abiaswreck | Do not copy, repost, or translate | As always, reblogs are appreciated! Feel free to comment, reblog with feedback, or send me an ask. I’d love to hear from you; it helps with motivation. I hope today is kind to you. <3
Additional A/N: What do we think? Sequel maybe? I have ideas but want to know what you guys think.
Okay, wow. I don’t even know how to start this. The concept/plot itself is so refreshing and so… smart. I really loved this. It felt like watching a movie.
Truly wonderful. The world-building, the characters, how mc gains Chan’s trust and all. When they escaped I was so scared someone was gonna find them. Same when he wasn’t in the car at the end of the story. I thought they found him 😭
I feel so sorry for both of them. When Chan felt guilty the day after, my heart broke. I really hope they can escape and find a better life together.
His first words being love you was so wholesome. He’s wanted to say this for a long time I’m sure.
And yes: we definitely need a sequel (no pressure). I need to know how things work out with these two. 🥹
I’m totally here for 2026 being the year of selfish writing!!! 🫶🏻
Thank you for sharing your wonderful storytelling with us, Jess 🩷
summ: you still hate laboratories, but getting in a cabinet with jisung might be the first academic decision you’d gladly repeat.
⋆ pairing: nerd!jisung x f!reader
⋆ genre: smut (minors dni)
⋆ tags/cw: college au, almost no plot lol, kissing, biting, hair pulling, handjob, oral (m!receiving), teasing?, soft dom!reader, semi-public s*x, lots of whinning and begging, cum eating, boring science stuff ig
⋆ words: 3.6k
a/n: first time posting here. i’m really excited! i’ve been writing a lot about jisung lately, and i thought… why not post these somewhere? so here we are. nerdsung is truly my beloved, so expect to see a lot of him around here. if you notice anything missing from the tags, feel free to let me know ;)
that absolutely wasn’t your scene.
the lab smelled like a strange mix of aggressive disinfectant and something vaguely chemical that you couldn’t quite name, but definitely didn’t want to breathe in for extended periods of time. the perfectly aligned glassware, the suspicious-looking clear liquids, and the white coats paired with safety goggles were, without exaggeration, your personal definition of hell.
it just wasn’t your thing.
it never really had been.
you had zero interest in understanding chemical reactions or spending hours trapped in a space that looked like it had been designed specifically for people who enjoyed suffering voluntarily.
but that was exactly where you’d ended up. and you almost wished it had been for something remotely interesting, like a competition with an actual prize. something minimally stimulating that might have made the whole experience tolerable.
but no.
you simply sucked at chemistry and needed help to pass. it was either this or retake the course. and if there was anything you hated more than chemistry, it was the idea of reliving this same academic nightmare all over again.
you tied your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you stared with obvious displeasure at the white coat being held out to you by the boy standing in front of you.
han jisung.
the top chemistry student. the department’s pride and joy. the owner of an absurd arsenal of medals, trophies, and recognitions that honestly seemed excessive for someone whose hobby was mixing transparent liquids.
you never imagined you’d end up alone in a deserted lab with that walking brain.
but this was your only option.
that, and —if you were being completely honest with yourself— he was the only attractive nerd who didn’t immediately start drooling the second you walked into a room.
with him, at least, you could have a normal, coherent conversation without needing to remind him how to behave like a functioning human being.
the bar was painfully low, yeah.
you rolled your eyes at the thought and slipped on the coat with a sigh.
the sooner you started, the sooner you could go home, sink into your bed, and continue your beloved series. popcorn wouldn’t hurt either. you made a mental note.
“i promise this won’t take long,” jisung murmured. his voice was soft, slightly unsure.
you watched him pick up a test tube rack and place it carefully on the long white counter. every movement was precise and deliberate, almost reverent. you hummed in response, absentmindedly twirling a glass stir rod between your fingers.
the plan was simple: teach you something basic enough so you wouldn’t completely bomb your presentation the next day. you weren’t asking for a miracle, just something that would make you look vaguely competent.
jisung, of course, had suggested aiming higher and trying for an outstanding grade. something involving far too many steps, far too many things, and far too much time.
you had said no before he even finished explaining.
“for our first experiment,” he began, this time with noticeably more confidence, “we’re going to use this burette, a flask, phenolphthalein, and two important solutions.”
the shift in his tone caught your attention more than you cared to admit.
“sodium hydroxide and hydrochloric acid.”
he pointed at two perfectly labeled test tubes with a small but proud smile.
jisung stepped closer to the burette, picked up one of the tubes, and handed it to you with that same shy smile. when his fingers brushed yours, you noticed something.
he was trembling.
barely, but unmistakably.
“fill the burette with this. be careful. no bubbles,” he instructed, watching you with serious focus.
you bit your lip, concentrating far more than usual. the clear liquid slid down slowly until the tube was empty. when you finished, you looked up. jisung was staring at you like you’d accomplished something extraordinary.
you let out a quiet laugh at his proud expression over the fact that you’d successfully poured a liquid without spilling it.
ridiculously adorable.
he took the flask and poured in the hydrochloric acid, then lifted the small bottle of phenolphthalein.
“only two drops.”
you followed his instructions exactly. once you were done, you frowned slightly.
nothing had changed.
the liquid remained stubbornly, boringly clear.
jisung moved the flask beneath the burette and looked at you with dramatic seriousness. you raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter.
“what?”
“this step is crucial,” he said, like the fate of the universe depended on it. “you need to open the burette- carefully! and while you do that, swirl the flask in circles.”
you blinked at him in silence.
you weren’t sure what amused you more: his intensity or the faint flush creeping up his cheeks.
you nudged him lightly with your hip as you grabbed the flask without much care. he reacted instantly. his eyes widened in panic, and his hands closed around yours.
the warmth of his touch wrapped around you, soft and unexpectedly pleasant. something shifted uncomfortably in your stomach. a small, unwelcome flutter settling low in your tummy.
“please be careful. it’s fragile,” he murmured, almost whispering, before gently setting the flask down.
something told you he wasn’t just talking about the glassware.
he stepped back toward the burette, leaving a noticeably larger gap between you. you pressed your lips together.
“first i’ll show you how it’s done. then you can try it yourself.”
you didn’t like that distance at all.
in silent protest, you moved closer, deliberately brushing your arm against his. jisung inhaled sharply.
you smiled sweetly, fingers sliding along the glass of the flask.
“i want a closer look,” you said, your tone anything but innocent. “does that bother you?”
he shook his head quickly. maybe too quickly. his gaze dropped to your fingers, following every movement with almost hypnotic focus.
“y-yeah- i mean no! it’s fine…”
you nodded, batting your lashes. you gave him one of your best smiles. his adam’s apple bobbed visibly.
okay.
maybe jisung was one of those nerds who secretly drooled over you in class. at least he was better at hiding it and you were deeply grateful he hadn’t said anything stupid.
“watch closely, y/n. this is where the magic happens”, his voice carried genuine excitement.
his eyes were shining. that wide, heart-shaped smile nearly criminal.
great.
maybe being trapped in a lab with han jisung wasn’t such a harmless situation after all. something radioactive had to be floating in the air.
or maybe you’d just never paid enough attention.
because there was no way you could’ve ignored that smile, those eyes that always looked slightly amazed by everything, and those hands.
oh, those long, delicate fingers moving with careful precision in ways that sent your mind spiraling.
yeah.
you were absolutely losing it.
“do you understand?” jisung asked, adjusting his glasses.
you nodded despite not hearing a single word.
taking that as confirmation, he opened the stopcock.
“then let’s do it.”
by the fifth drop, you were already bored. by the tenth, you glanced sideways at him. and by the fifteenth, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.
patience had never been your strength.
“how much longer?” you complained, cheek resting against your palm.
“there’s no exact number, y/n.”
of course there wasn’t.
you rolled your eyes and shamelessly studied him instead.
his profile was unfairly pretty.
that small nose, those slightly pouted lips, lashes so perfectly curled they almost irritated you.
when the liquid finally turned pink, jisung practically lit up.
“there!”
he closed the valve, clapping with pure excitement, looking at you with that bright, expectant grin.
you stared at him, surprised by the smile forming on your own lips.
he was radiant.
your gaze flickered to the pink liquid, then back to him.
jisung had his hand raised. you met it with an easy high five.
the smile you got in return was dangerous.
“you’re better than i expected,” you teased, bumping his shoulder. “i’m glad i picked you as my tutor, ji.”
the nickname alone short-circuited him. you could practically see it. he smiled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
“well, uh- you’re a good learner. you’ll do great. i mean- of course you will. you’re… amazing.”
it was too much. simply too adorable for a single human being.
and technically, everything was done. the deal had been fulfilled.
and yet neither of you moved.
“you know,” you started, slowly shrugging off your coat, “science isn’t so terrible.”
jisung followed every movement openly now, shameless.
“not at all! once you understand chemical symbols, it can actually be fun. sometimes i even make words using the letters from the symbols. there are… interesting combinations.”
you had never seen something so nerdy sound so ridiculously charming.
that warm, tingly heat came back to your stomach, stronger this time, sending a shiver through you.
great.
you arched a brow, carefully undoing your ponytail so you wouldn’t pull at your hair. once it was loose, you casually ran your fingers through it, fixing it without much thought.
“sounds interesting. you’ll have to show me that someday,” you said.
that excited spark immediately returned to jisung’s eyes. honestly, if he kept doing that, the sugar rush alone might kill you.
“i didn’t think i’d have this much fun with you, ji,” you added, slipping your things into your bag. “i didn’t even realize how alone we are here.”
a thick silence settled over your words. the distant look on jisung’s face made you finish the thought for him.
“you know… locked in… with no one around.”
okay. maybe that comment had a little more intention behind it.
jisung felt like this was his last chance to get a foot out of that lab. he glanced at the small window on the door, staring at the empty hallway.
he shook his head, looking away with a nervous laugh. he just needed to focus on literally anything else so his mind wouldn’t wander somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.
but you weren’t going to make that easy for him. of course not.
“shouldn’t we put everything back in the cabinet? you know, the lab coats and the materials,” you said, gesturing with your chin, your tone deceptively neutral.
he looked at the supplies on the counter, then at the test tubes still in his hands. you were right. he nodded silently and began placing everything back on the rack with careful precision.
you picked up the lab coats with feigned disinterest, following him with a grin you didn’t bother hiding. you could see how tense he was, how his body trembled ever so slightly as he set things down on the shelf.
the cabinet was smaller than you remembered. the air inside felt different. heavier. hotter. every breath sounded too loud.
“okay… that’s everything. we can… go,” jisung murmured, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights.
“really?” you asked softly, taking a step forward. “i thought there were still a few things we could do.”
“i… already put everything away.”
you smiled, glancing away for a moment. jisung could only stare at you in disbelief. he never imagined he’d be standing this close to you, alone, without it feeling awkward.
the discomfort in his pants only worsened, fueled by the strange tension that was slowly suffocating him.
“then i guess it’s just us.”
jisung swallowed hard, wetting his lips. he genuinely had no idea how he was supposed to act right now.
you took another step, noticing the way his eyes flickered nervously, tracing every inch of your face. his adam’s apple bobbed visibly.
“you’ve been nervous since we came in here. haven’t you?”
jisung’s eyes widened in shock. he thought he’d been handling things pretty well. he glanced at his trembling hands and mentally cursed.
“no- well, yeah. just a little,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. he sighed, defeated. “it’s a small space...”
you shrugged, absentmindedly tracing the edge of the shelf beside you.
“doesn’t bother me,” you said, brushing lightly against his shoulder. “actually… i like it.”
“you like it?” jisung asked, his voice caught somewhere between scandalized and stunned. it cracked slightly at the end.
you laughed softly, nodding as you stepped closer, leaning unexpectedly toward his ear.
“i like it when you get like this with me,” you whispered, your lips grazing his skin. “nervous. shaky. waiting.”
jisung froze, holding his breath, fingers curling tightly around the edge of his cardigan.
“i- i didn’t mean to- i mean, i do like this, but… i thought you were just being friendly…”
you stepped even closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, locking eyes with him. that familiar excited gleam had returned.
apparently, science wasn’t the only thing that could light him up.
“since chemistry… i-”
“i know,” you replied calmly, shrugging with a soft, knowing smile. “and now i’m the one who wants to test something.”
jisung nodded awkwardly. there was nothing to agree to, but somehow it felt necessary. he swallowed again, his voice trembling as your fingers traced slow circles into his shoulder.
“test… what?”
you smiled, glancing down briefly, then back at him as your fingers slid gently into the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing a shaky breath from his lips.
“whether this is just weird tension…” your nose brushed against his. “or if we’re actually going to do something about it.”
jisung stared at your lips like he physically couldn’t stop himself anymore, like nothing else existed inside that cramped cabinet.
he wet his lips again, heart pounding so loudly it roared in his ears like the end of the world.
“are you sure? i mean- it’s me. jisung. scientist, comic nerd, level sixty in genshin-”
“jisung.”
his name on your lips completely unraveled him. you saw it happen in real time, the way something inside him gave out, his shoulders dropping just slightly, the unbearable tension finally cracking.
and when you looped your arm around his neck, his hands found your waist with clumsy, desperate need, like his body reacted long before his brain could catch up.
the contact was electric. absurdly intense. his fingers pressed into your skin, his entire body tensing against yours, his breathing already uneven.
“i shouldn’t be this easy to convince…” he murmured, voice shaking, more to himself than to you.
you smiled faintly. because you absolutely knew what you were doing.
“you can say no, ji. you know that.”
it was a clear invitation. and your lips brushing against his sealed it. a trembling breath slipped from his mouth, so fragile it made something tighten in your chest.
“i can’t…”
and then everything collapsed.
the kiss exploded into something raw, hungry, and long overdue. his lips crashed against yours with desperate clumsiness, breaths tangling, teeth grazing, hands gripping like he’d needed this for weeks. maybe months.
your hands slid into his hair, fingers threading through like they belonged there. jisung let out a choked sound when you tugged gently.
his back hit the cold cabinet wall with a dull thud, the sharp contrast between the chill and your heated body tearing a broken gasp from his lips. you took advantage instantly, your tongue slipping past his mouth.
that small, helpless moan vibrating against you was enough to make you tighten your grip in his hair.
you needed more.
“look at you…” you whispered against his mouth, barely pulling away. “so sensitive…”
jisung actually trembled. his hands, still slightly unsure, moved along your waist with that intoxicating mix of disbelief and need, like some part of him still couldn’t fully process that this was real, that he was allowed to touch you like this.
you guided his hands slowly to your ass, grinning when he gasped.
“y/n…” his voice sounded weak. completely gone.
your mouth moved down his jaw unhurriedly, leaving damp kisses along his neck, his skin burning beneath your lips. you could feel his pulse racing wildly, and when your teeth sank lightly into his skin, his fingers dug into you with almost violent urgency.
“h-holy shit…”
his hips jerked slightly, a small movement loaded with desperation. your hands slid across his chest, feeling his rapid breathing, the constant tremble in his muscles, the way every exhale sounded more wrecked than the last.
every sound you made near his ear had an immediate effect. you could feel it. you knew it.
you were absolutely ruining him.
“mmh… p-please…”
his voice came out completely shattered, fragile in a way that made you grit your teeth, your own arousal intensifying with every broken whimper.
“touch me… please… i- nngh- i need you to touch me…”
you lifted your gaze slowly, savoring every detail of his expression: glassy, blown pupils, uneven breaths, swollen parted lips like even breathing had become too much.
so unbelievably sensitive.
your hand slid down deliberately to his crotch, brushing lightly over the fabric while your mouth returned to his neck. jisung moaned, the sound bouncing off the tight cabinet walls as his grip on you tightened.
“like this?”
his hands clutched your ass firmly, roaming your hips, your thighs, unable to stay still, completely intoxicated by the heat, the contact, everything about you.
he needed more.
“is this what you wanted, sungie?”
he nodded immediately, almost frantically, whimpering into your neck, legs already unsteady.
“yes- fuck, yes…”
his breathing grew more erratic by the second, incoherent curses spilling from his lips, his body reacting to every tiny movement, every brush, every agonizing second you dragged out the tension.
“i’m not going to last if you keep doing that…”
the confession came out as a humiliating whine, and the sheer honesty of it was devastating.
his hands shook violently, his breaths hitching when your fingers slipped beneath the fabric. the dampness coating his cock was unmistakable. jisung let out a low, wrecked groan.
his hands rose to your face, holding you gently before kissing you again. there was still a hint of clumsiness, but hunger drove everything now. his tongue brushed your lower lip slowly, drawing a needy sound from you.
“jisung…”
your hand sped up, and his hips responded instantly, thrusting desperately for more friction, the sounds falling from his throat growing louder, less restrained.
when your fingers brushed the tip of his cock, jisung nearly collapsed, a pout forming on his lips as broken whimpers filled the cabinet.
“don’t stop— pleasepleaseplease don’t stop…”
he grabbed the shelf beside him as his legs trembled violently. your smile widened as you slowly sank down in front of him, watching him choke on his own breath.
“y/n… i- i-”
his words died when your hands wrapped around his cock again, firmer this time, stroking with slow, torturous intent while you looked up at him.
his chest heaved. cheeks flushed deep red. lips trembling uncontrollably.
“wait-” his hand tangled into your hair, grip shaking. “i’m sensitive- i’m going to come if you-”
“do it.”
the command hit him like gasoline on fire. the reaction was immediate, his entire body jolting.
you moved your hand in a slow rhythm, every stroke pulling visible spasms from his body. jisung’s head fell back.
“f-fuck…”
his hips moved uncontrollably, trying to chase your pace, but the second your tongue brushed his tip, his whole body convulsed violently, fingers tightening painfully in your hair.
and when your lips closed around him, the sound that tore from his throat was completely obscene. the cabinet filled with wet sounds, broken breathing, desperate whimpers that only drove you further.
the heat was suffocating. the air barely there. jisung’s body was slick with sweat, strands of hair stuck to his forehead, hips completely losing coordination.
“ah- fuck… i- i can’t- i’m gonna-”
his movements became frantic, desperate, until they ended in one final shattered moan, his entire body tensing before collapsing against the wall, spilling every last drop of cum into your mouth.
jisung struggled to breathe, lungs burning, mind completely blank. it had been unreal, overwhelming, like he’d short-circuited entirely. and when he saw you swallow everything with that satisfied smile, he genuinely thought he might come again.
when your eyes met, you smiled softly, rising to lean back against the wall. jisung looked like he’d just run a marathon, chest still heaving as he laughed breathlessly, running a hand through his damp hair.
holy shit. that had actually happened.
“you okay?” you asked gently, fingers brushing through his hair.
jisung let out a quiet laugh at the attention.
“y-yeah… i think so…”
he pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart still pounding violently. you leaned into his shoulder in comfortable silence, feeling his body finally relax.
“sorry if i…” he started hesitantly. “if i made too much noise or… i don’t know…”
you shook your head, lightly bumping your nose against his.
“i liked it,” you admitted casually, stretching.
kneeling hadn’t exactly been comfortable. but it had absolutely been worth it. jisung stared at you like you’d just revealed the biggest secret in human history.
“are you serious?”
you smiled sweetly. “completely.”
something in his expression softened. he looked down, fidgeting with the edge of his cardigan, a shy laugh escaping him.
then reality seemed to hit.
he glanced around nervously, like someone might magically appear.
“we should probably go…” jisung said, vaguely pointing toward the door. “before someone shows up.”
you nodded, taking his hand confidently, lacing your fingers with his. his face did that adorable, overwhelmed thing again.
you glanced at him sideways. “want something to drink?”
his eyes lit up instantly.
dangerous. you could get addicted to that.
“do you like iced americanos?”
you hesitated, grabbing your bag as you walked.
“never tried one.”
jisung practically vibrated beside you.
“then you have to. i know a place nearby that makes the best ones.”
and you walked out of the lab with flushed cheeks, fingers still intertwined, the conversation quickly dissolving into jisung rambling excitedly about coffee shops, games, and sci-fi movies.
you still hated laboratories.
those awful chemicals, those lab coats that didn’t match anything in your closet. that much would never change.
but maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind coming back.
Summery: with all the hallmark cliche vibes i can muster i bring to you a fic in which your high school sweetheart and you meet again after years of distance. He’s from the small town you left behind. You’ve started a new life in the city now. Wow I wonder what’s gonna happen
Approx read: 40 mins
A/n: holiday season isnt over till i say so cry about it
The sleigh bells were jingleing (whatever that means) the weather was chilly and stockings wer filled over the chimney, your old town looked like a hallmark movie threw up all over it, hell, rudolph has surely come around! You were already regretting forgetting your gloves as you see your own breath thick in the snowy air in front of you under the colorful lights.
God, its been so long since youve seen this place. I mean, none of your family even lives here anymore for goodness sake! But yet, here you stand waiting for your increasingly tardy uber outside the packed airport.
Why are you here? You ask yourself the same thing huffing inside the back of your uber black. Courtesy of the companies card. You almost wish you never came, though the familiar sights all coming back in flashes of holiday colors are turning out to be not so bad, you think. The company you work for you on a solo trip all the way out here, so so SO far from your comfy new home, perfectly and very solo-y decorated, not a singular anybody telling you not to hang your chandelier in the bathroom. And theyve sent you back here as a part of their community outreach program.
Although the three hour flight didnt seem like much of a community to you lets be so for real
Your job: single out a struggling local business to help out through their busiest season and highlight them within the towns new years celebration.
You make it to your company booked hotel in no time with your very non holiday music in your earbuds (yes that dose make you better than everyone else this time of year and dont let them tell you otherwise) even though it took upwards of an hour with all th traffic. You wonder how the hell there could be any struggling business with all the pedestrians around– some walking, most in their heated cars trying to stay warm.
~~~~~
“Yeah…” the hotels hostess’ voice is hesitant, apologetic when she continues speaking after a good ten minutes on the phone with her manager. At this point, youve attracted quite a crowd, multiple of the hotels staff has joined “joana” at the front desk. “So unfortunately we’ll only have a room available for you at..” she looks at her watch, “soon, probably a few hours. We can send you a text when we have it prepared for you.” she cringes and you feel bad for her. You sigh “really? Out of all of these hundreds of rooms in this eleven story hotel you dont have a single room?” it might not look like it on paper, but you were more tired and confused than anything and you hoped she heard the plain exhaustion in your tone.
She smiles apologetically. “Well, yes, we did. But since the reservation was only made yesterday which was a sunday, meaning we have a much slower processing time than usual due to less staff on… we had to hurry and book one and it kind of got pushed around and loss in our system. And when i tried to get you a new one.. The only one we have is covered in pink and white orbeez slime.” you were following but
“What?”
Joana sighs, girlie seems so done with everything you feel so bad for her. Maybe you slip a twenty to her for all this trouble. “Yes, i wish i was joking– out last guest covered it in.. pink and white orbeez slime. Its really sticky were suing them for everything the have later.” “as you should that sounds” you wrinkle your nose “horrible. Did you see it?” you sound like youre talking about a crime rather than a glue-y sticky mess. “Unfortuntly i had to. They got it in the drapes!” “thats just plain nasty” youre all in on joanas side now. Lady’s seen enough. “exactly. So you see where im at here. Im really sorry, but i will make sure that text gets sent as soon as we have a room. Ill personally check the progress on the slime room”
Curse your bosses fucking incompetent new assistant who has no idea what hes doing! but You figure its better to just leave it at this point. Theres nothing you can do, as tired and stressed out as you are, its best to just find a place to pass the time at this point right? He was prob gonna get fired anyways. You hope at least. You werent all that hungry, just in need of a place to relax for a little after dropping your bags with the people at the hotel.
And what better place than a nearby bar in the heart of town. Even though you werent really in a going out outfit or mood for that matter it was better than just sitting around. Right ?
Riiiiighhhtttt
“Don’t think I’d see you here”
Oh no
Ohhh nononononooooo
That cannot be him. Anyone but Him
You walked in in your work clothes blazer only slightly askew and heels clicking on the sticky bar floor. You plop down on a seat. The bar is almost empty, plenty of empty seats around you a voixws almost hushed. The bar hand comes over. You don’t order. You don’t even lift your head when you hear his voice and just tell him to give you a minute head still in between your palms. You don even lift your head until you hear his voice a couple minutes later. His voice is above you. His voice is gentle. His voice is reminiscent of a past you’d like to forget. His voice is right. Here. Beside you. “ not gonna talk to me hm? Do you still drink fireball?”
You finally lift your head “ fuck no that shit was always disgusting” you think for a minute. Trying to not let his pretty big brown eyes shake you. You should want him to leave. But, you don’t. That’s not something you want to admit at the sight of him. “Do you still mix it with red bull?” “That shit was disgusting, pretty” “god when did you get bold?” he shrugs, still not making a move to sit down, “i dunno, maybe the same time the voice got deeper and the shoulders got broader.” he makes a sigh kind of sound “yeahhhh i work out now.” “when once-uh-fuckin-week?” you avert your eyes, not needing to look at him. You already snuck a glance at your high school crush.
He turns around , rolling up his sleeves quickly and flexes in his tight henley. You roll your eyes though you have to admit, his more built physic did have something bubbling up inside you
You used to be close. But that was when you used to live here
He was in the past. At least he should be
Thats why you cant look at him. The last time you saw him was when he saw you off to the big city. You had stayed in touch during collage because of course you both went to the same one. And it shoudve been so much easier to do what you did but it really wasnt. You had stoped responding to calls, texts, and that one random email from him. That was two years ago. You shouldnt’ve even tried to stop contact with you high school friend. But you needed a fresh start.
But we both know that really wasnt the reason you quietly stoped responding as fast to him until he got the hint you didnt really wanna talk to him anymore… it was too much. He was too much. The thought of talking to him and never really having him was too much. And it wasnt his fault, either. He had wanted to get together before you left, you almost die smiling at the memory of when he confessed under the stars that late spring night on his roof. He said he always wanted you, you admitted you forever had thought the same
And you shared the most igniting kiss youve ever felt in your entire life
But the next morning you knew it couldnt work. He was staying to work at his families business, you were moving on to bigger and better, hours away. It would never work! And you were stupid in the moment to not just lie to him. You knew you both wanted different things at the time, and all youd do is constantly bicker anyways. And you think he knew that, but Beomgyu, forever the optimist, didnt really care. Thats why when he tried to kiss you goodbye at the airport and you leaned away without a word he just thought you were shy. And thats why when you didnt respond when he asked about visiting a second later he thought you were just overwhelmed.
It was such an asshole move on your part. Everything was. So why is he here and why is he talking to you. Why doesnt he hate you for what you did? And why didnt your actions over the past two years aiding you in not caring about him? After more than 700 days, you shouldnt care that hes standing there. You should be indifferent. But with your heart rate quickening, you know you arent.
You hear your own words coming out before you register them “you should sit”
“Dont mind if i do” he says has he pulls out the barstool. He waves over the bartender and you sigh, “just please dont order for me” he chuckles, not thinking your serious. You glance up and give him a look. “Literally why would i do that? I dont know your taste anymore. Other than the fireball thing.” you say nothing, just content on looking at him. Realization strikes his pretty features. “oh god did he… did he completely bypass whatever you want and order something for you?” why are his words affecting you like this? Why did you care that he cared?
“How did you know there was a he?” he smiles sheepihsly. “Ugh your parents mightve told me you and him broke up… about three weeks ago now?”
You deadpan
“You talk to my parents about my dating life?” you try to sound offended, appalled. But its hard, with your heart beating fast at his pretty brown eyes. “No your parents talk to me about your dating life. Im starting to think they want us to go out or something” oh no. nononono
“And what makes you think that? Theyre probably just updating my childhood best friend about my new life” you cross your arms. “They told me what hotel you were staying at and what day youre not working so i can take you out, y/n” he looks into your eyes, earnest, true, and sparkling. You have to tear yourself away from him. You grab his bottle, taking the last swig of the burning liquid. “What the fuck.” you were not intoxicated enough for this. he leans in a bit “right! Thats what i said, i mean you obviously wouldnt want to go out to a nice dinner or anything” “ye-” “you obviously would much rather stalk me and hunt me down in a small town bar to have a much more storybook worthy second meet cute”
Your first meet cute? You used to go to live on the same street, go to the same school, the same kindergarten. And from day one, when you played on the swings at recess and he pushed you when the playground friend you made stopped, you always went home with stories of Beomgyu. The first day though, you remember it like it was this morning, after the swings, he caught a ladybug for you, you touched fingers him letting it crawl onto yours. You caught him a butterfly in return, it fluttered in his face. You kissed his cheek saying goodbye. Your parents gushed. And from them on, it was you and him.
“You dick.” “mhm yours” “i will hit you with this” you jump and reach for the beer bottle you had set down on the bar. he grabs your hand the second its wrapped around its neck. “Nuhuh” he pouts “uhuh” you spit. You try to shake his grasp. But its tight and strong. Much more than you remembered. His hand is firm around yours and neither of you are letting go. His heat is seeping into yours, or maybe yours is seeping into his. You dont really know. But whatever this is its… distracting. You try to move your hand to the right then the left but he stays on, lifting your hand so high you have to stand up so it isnt painful to keep holding on. All the while he keeps the same cocky little smirk
He hasnt changed.
He stands up with you, in one swift motion tugging you towards his chest. You stay there, lingering looking up at him, his broad shoulders looking like something you could curl up in. then you let go of the bottle, the glass almost crashing into the floor. “For your information,” you grumble, “i wasnt stalking you,” “uhuhhhh sure you werent” you jab a finger at him “i was not! Im waiting for my hotel room, stupid thing isnt ready yet.” “hm,” he says in his chest youre sure if you were to hold your hand up to it you could feel the deep rumble. “Why arent you staying with your parents?” “i-i” and you dont even know, whats worse is you wanna tell him. Even if you knew you would. “I just can't."
You can tell hes searching for the right thing to say. You hold a finger up to shush him. “Huh?” “shushhh” the song was about to end, you didnt really care. Were you about to regret dancing with the guy you swore to never talk to again? You didnt really care. You lead him away from the bar as the last lines to santa tell me trap remix are playing. And just your luck, it switches to a slower, just as familiar song as soon as you plant your feet on the floor. You sing along to the words as soon as you hear them
“Sannntaaa doesnt know you like i doooo.”
You reach a hand out to him, he accepts
“Ive been there through the good and bad. Know how to make you laugh.”
His other hand is in yours, he sways you like he did at senior prom, only a little more practiced
“Kiss all your tears away babe only i can do that”
“So there was another guy?” “what?” you yell, breaking away from him and moving to the beat of the holiday song. “So there was another guy?” he repeats. You shrug.
“So tell me whats on your wishlist. I wanna make it come true”
“yeah, wasnt there another girl”
He looks at you dead in the eye. “You know there could never be another girl”
And something inside you just withers.
you felt so bad, seriously like such a bitch. What do you mean he was out here holding out, saving himself for you but you hadn't done the same. Not like you shouldve. But he did! He had waited two years and you were in another mans bed in six months. You felt so selfish
“And thats not my problem or business. Its your life who am i to say anything” he quickly tells you, seeing your troubled expression. You nod, the songs chorus playing for the last time now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
A drink and about ten songs later youre back at the bar with the former love of your life. Maybe he still holds that title, but youre not really worried about that right now. Not with his hand on your thigh or with lips on your neck, the next button of his shirt unbuttoned by your sly fingers a minute earlier. He breaks away, still never once touching your lips. A fact you are very mad about. He slides off the chairs and lifts your hand to his mouth, pecks it and looks at you sweetly. So sweetly you cant even think about your shared history. “Bye, pretty.”
“You have to go?” you wonder inside your head, but dont voice it.only a confused look on your face ques him in on what youre thinking. “I have to get up early to help out at the childrens hospital. I volunteer when i dont work.”
Hes helping out with kids. Of course hes helping out with kids.
“Yeah just picture me with a toddler in one arm.” he shoots you awkward finger guns, giving you a glimpse of the old him. “Hot, right?” you roll your eyes, turning away from your old lover.
He texted you goodnight to the new number you gave him
It wasnt much. It was a peace offering, a palm branch.
And you did not respond.
Again
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You stepped into the children’s hospital with a purpose today’s not just a day of random volunteering. You’ve been assigned to help plan the towns Winter festival that’s why you’re here after all. That’s why you’re in this godforsaken town again as far from just a few craft booth and hot chocolate stands at least from what you have in mind, your plan is the whole thing to be meant to be a spotlight on local businesses that have been making a real difference in the community this past year, small and large showcasing their contributions while giving them a chance to connect with visitors about bringing attention to the town, spirit of support and joy and love for the holidays not just the people here
but the businesses that get give it life and last night you were given what you think is one of the best ideas you’ve ever had to spotlight the town Children’s Hospital along with the local bakery shops And homeless shelters this could be a great opportunity for you to help elevate some of the work that’s been flying into the radar. Your mind is on the logistics the banners, the guest speakers, the partnership with bigger companies that sponsoring the event you write the checklist in your head, your heels clinging on the linoleum floor when a voice pulls you from your thoughts
“We keep meeting”
you freeze. no way not again
Well, you knew he was going to be here you figured you had a few moments to affect yourself before having to face him again having to face him after last night he drove me crazy last night all the way back then and apparently right now he still has a power to do so. He stands in front of you with a grin That’s all too familiar hands stuck into his jacket pocket like he wasn’t messing you up and like he hasn’t missed a beat since you last saw him
“you’re here” you huff “aren’t you supposed to be in a Santa costume visiting kids or something?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking questions stalker”
“excuse me?” “Don’t deny it. You’re stalking me!”
“Don’t flatter yourself you’re not the only one with a good cause”
he cocks his head. That’d bastard “you just can’t seem to stay away from me then?” “This is stupid” “what’s stupid is the fact that I bet money on how you’re probably only here because of the money right isn’t that what you cityfolk do you make some big story on the front page of whatever you’re doing and whatever company you work for now you slap your name on it and then you make a pretty penny” “where is this coming from?!” “you know where”
“No i actually dont!” you fire back “come on its not that hard, its all about image isnt it. Even right now, the perfectly pressed fancy clothes, the notebook in your hand. Even after last night you just cant seem to let yourself live in the past, the good times. Youve changed, and i know youre still in there but-” “but what! But fucking what” you whisper shout. “Maybe youre scared. Of this old life. Of your old life. Or youve become so focused on the new you youve forgotten how to not think about just money. I dont know which it is but i sure hope it aint the latter. and and I think you’re scared of that I think you’re scared of your own past. Ashamed, even, that’s why you act like you hate it here but I saw the way you smiled about main street diner. I saw the way the Christmas tree made your eyes light up you like being here dont you. But you just don’t want to admit it bc you’re miss big city hot shot no. its not hard to see.”
And he does something you dont expect. He walks away from you. Hes walking away and a part of you is tearing from you with him. You run to catch up with him, pulling his arm “lemme show you.” he turns around “fuck the checklist of things i have to write about, fuck the notebook and the money. Im still the girl you knew, Beanie. Lemme prove it.”
And there it is. Theres that sly smile you still love. The one you dreamt about for months. A fact that has just struck you in the back now.
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a day of doing various things around the hospital he looks at you and he looks at you and whispers i believe, it was only almost three pm and you were both crammed into a small tight supply closet. But he said it. Thats what mattered right now
You held his hand, at the hospital waiting room. Then you leave
“Fuck it, what’s your room number” he calls after you
“What” you dont even turn around, convinced youre hearing things. Maybe you need a hospital stay.
“Fuck. it.” he repeats, “What’s. Your. Room. Number.” and he says it like a promise of later on, “ I mean, I already know the hotel because your parents tell me they see what you can’t seem to want to admit” your knees weaken. Youre doomed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You practically run into your hotel room that night, huffing on the mattress like a school girl all over again whos new boyfriend said hed sneak in through the window that night. You sit up because oh god. Oh god oh god oh god he was coming over tonight. And youre pretty sure you were old enough to know whats happening. And you smile shly to yourself at the mere thought. But oh god none the less. You spring out of bed, stripping your coat, stokings, and thick sweater as you stumble to the bathroom
You scrub yourself clean, maybe back to your old self. You almost sparkle when you step out of the warm shower to be met with the cold tile floors of the pristine white hotel bathroom.
You try to distract yourself with mindless tv in your big tee shirt. You wouldve packed slightly less ill fitting night clothes if you wouldve known a certain man was going to visit your room. Not that he’d mind. You think hed like you in a potato sack.
Theres a soft knock on your door that makes you jump. Its tentative, hesitant, like it wonders if youre already asleep and doesnt want to wake you
You start to freak. You wanted him here. Of course you did. But now you’re walking to the door and now you’re freaking out over how you should open it. Should you lean? Should you say come in ? Should you as anything? Opening it all the way or halfway? You’re twisting the nob what if it isn’t him. What if it’s a crazy person trying to muster you. You should’ve—
“Damn where you clothes at”
“Huh?”
“I mean I figured we’d get to that later but don’t you wanna talk first? Maybe lemme buy you some dinner first “
You look down and shit
You forgot your robe on the bed. You’re in your underwear and a tiny tank top you’ve had for way too long
“I think ive seen that top before.” oh god you really had it for that long?
You dont move aside for him to come in, half naked basically, youre standing in the doorway with his eyes raking over you. The elevator dings, he places his palm lightly on your collar bone and guides you backwards, deeper into your room. He shuts the door with his foot and just stares at you.
You feel even more exposed now. You shiver. He notices, placing his warm hands on your goosebumpy shoulders. “You uh..” hes closer now, head tilted to the side, almost like hes about to go in for a kiss, faces and lips perfectly aligning and slotting together. He does not. “You ok?” and you know hes not just asking about your chillyness. “Im ok.” youre allowed to be here. I want you here and want you closer.
And he takes the hint. His lips press to yours and you heat up instantly. You deapen the kiss and you can feel every single bit of yourself. Your veins are on fire, his hands trial up your sides leaving a trail of fire, your blood boils and your lips sting with a certain kind of joy you havent felt since that night years ago. You missed it. But most of all You missed him.
You can feel himn reaching into your pocket, then raising his arm high above both of your heads. You breath the kiss, looking up at where hes holding a tiny piece of foliage. Its white berries dangling above you. You raise your eyebrow at him. “What, I brought it in case this” he gestures between you two, “didnt happen as quick as it did.” he says this like its the most obvious thing in the world. Like he does this every time hes planning on visiting someone hotel room. “So you were planning on tricking me, choi?” you slap his chest playfully. Its surprisingly firm. You have to admit, you hand does linger for a second too long. Youre not proud of this fact.
“So planning ahead is a trick now?” you roll your eyes, pulling him back into a heated kiss. A second later you smile against him as you hear something softly thud onto the carpeted floor.
Maybe coming back to your hometown wasn’t such a bad idea
✰---Summery: how txt would crush, confess their love, and annoy you!
✰---approx: 10 min read
✰---A/n:in honor of my return to tumblr and TXTs comeback (SKKSSKKSKS SO GOOD) I wanted to go back to my roots! So here’s a hc😏
✰--- warnings/info: not much I’m pretty sure gn reader! Kissing and ver very slightly suggestive
~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~
~Yeonjun~
you’d think he’d be super obvious but noooo
lowkey nervous
but in his head you don’t realize he is because he’s just so cool sexy and charming
(which he is)
but he’s laughing after every time he flirts with you and says that he’s “just joking”
pssst it was never just a joke for him
and you knew this
but you kinda wanted to let him have his fun. Plus it was kinda cute.
”maybe I want to take you out. I know you want it to baby” he’ll say. Followed by a quick “HAHA! Just kidding!”
a lot of talk, not much action though
Does he end up making the first move at some point?
thankfully yes
he was gonna wait he really was! But one day you were at the same party he was at, lookin extra fine and something just… clicks
like something in his mind just shatters
any resolve
any wish to take things a bit slower
to maybe check and see if you even wanted him to
he comes up to you
no fuss no parting the crowed
just saunters up to you grabs your hand and leads you to the center of the living room of the house party
A familier song starts playing overhead from the speakers on the corners of the room he pulls you close to him hands on your waist like never before
by the middle of the song your knees are weak from him looking into your eyes so deeply
By the end of the song his lips were on yours
~Soobin~
honestly he doesn't act much different than he does when he doesn't have a crush on someone
thinks hes doing the most but in reality he just looked at you for more than 0.2 seconds
thinks you "pick up what hes been putting down" for the past four months, but the entire time you thought he was just being friendly
by the fourth month of seeing each other around and exchanging no more than a few words each time you were starting to think he didnt like you, even as a friend
why else would he be looking at you with those interesting eyes every minute and a half?
or, why else would he only say hi how are you and never wanna talk anymore?
"soooo, how are you?" "you asked me that already." "oh um--"
"hi! how are you?" "in the last hour since youve asked me ive been good." "sorry its just... yeah!" then he shoots you finger guns and the cutest dopey smile and backs away, knocking into a trash can
but he always asks about you when youre not around.
never creepily, just if he knows someone knows you hell ask if youre ok
maybe silently hoping that they'd tell you he was asking about you and then you'd realize he was practically in love with you
"Hey!” He says for the hundredth time while walking swiftly past you, the smell of his cologne life a fresh spring breeze knocking into you. “Soobin-“ he turns around on his heels so quickly you would’ve thunk there was a fire in front of him.
he blinks at you
”please just ask me on a date!” That’s makes him walk a bit closer to you
”youd actually wanna go on one?”
~Beomgyu~
youd think Beomgyu would be loud about it but noooo
well he’d be loud just not in that sense you’re thinking
I feel like he almost self sabotage
like maybe a part of him actually doesn’t want you to find out, maybe he’s just at a loss of what to do we’ll never know
but he acts so friendly with you! You would’ve never realized he liked you until soobin ratted on him
Which he told soobin to do so nobody’s really that sure why Beomgyu hit him with a slipper🤷♀️
he said it was just for the vibes
BUT ANYWAY
when I say he acts like just a friend to you I mean he’s always teasing you
poking friendly fun at you, playfully annoying you, trying to beat you up
Even after soobin ratted on him you two have friendly sleep overs and everything
you trust him fully. And now that you know about his little crush on you… it was fun to watch him squirm when you got a little too close
he once suggested a pillow fight but you thought he was just joking
he was not just joking
he does NOT play about pillow fights
because as much as he might not seem like it maybe our boy gyu wants to live out a hot cute little moment where he pins you to the bed and kissed you senseless
it ends up being exactly that!
Except you pinned him to the ground once you fell on top of him from laughing and kissed him senseless
then you know he flipped you around and the rest in history ;)
~~~ end
Pt.2? Lmk! thanks for reading! If u liked it please reblog lovelies🙂↕️😛
✰---Summery: how txt would crush, confess their love, and annoy you!
✰---approx: 10 min read
✰---A/n:in honor of my return to tumblr and TXTs comeback (SKKSSKKSKS SO GOOD) I wanted to go back to my roots! So here’s a hc😏
✰--- warnings/info: not much I’m pretty sure gn reader! Kissing and ver very slightly suggestive
~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~
~Yeonjun~
you’d think he’d be super obvious but noooo
lowkey nervous
but in his head you don’t realize he is because he’s just so cool sexy and charming
(which he is)
but he’s laughing after every time he flirts with you and says that he’s “just joking”
pssst it was never just a joke for him
and you knew this
but you kinda wanted to let him have his fun. Plus it was kinda cute.
”maybe I want to take you out. I know you want it to baby” he’ll say. Followed by a quick “HAHA! Just kidding!”
a lot of talk, not much action though
Does he end up making the first move at some point?
thankfully yes
he was gonna wait he really was! But one day you were at the same party he was at, lookin extra fine and something just… clicks
like something in his mind just shatters
any resolve
any wish to take things a bit slower
to maybe check and see if you even wanted him to
he comes up to you
no fuss no parting the crowed
just saunters up to you grabs your hand and leads you to the center of the living room of the house party
A familier song starts playing overhead from the speakers on the corners of the room he pulls you close to him hands on your waist like never before
by the middle of the song your knees are weak from him looking into your eyes so deeply
By the end of the song his lips were on yours
~Soobin~
honestly he doesn't act much different than he does when he doesn't have a crush on someone
thinks hes doing the most but in reality he just looked at you for more than 0.2 seconds
thinks you "pick up what hes been putting down" for the past four months, but the entire time you thought he was just being friendly
by the fourth month of seeing each other around and exchanging no more than a few words each time you were starting to think he didnt like you, even as a friend
why else would he be looking at you with those interesting eyes every minute and a half?
or, why else would he only say hi how are you and never wanna talk anymore?
"soooo, how are you?" "you asked me that already." "oh um--"
"hi! how are you?" "in the last hour since youve asked me ive been good." "sorry its just... yeah!" then he shoots you finger guns and the cutest dopey smile and backs away, knocking into a trash can
but he always asks about you when youre not around.
never creepily, just if he knows someone knows you hell ask if youre ok
maybe silently hoping that they'd tell you he was asking about you and then you'd realize he was practically in love with you
"Hey!” He says for the hundredth time while walking swiftly past you, the smell of his cologne life a fresh spring breeze knocking into you. “Soobin-“ he turns around on his heels so quickly you would’ve thunk there was a fire in front of him.
he blinks at you
”please just ask me on a date!” That’s makes him walk a bit closer to you
”youd actually wanna go on one?”
~Beomgyu~
youd think Beomgyu would be loud about it but noooo
well he’d be loud just not in that sense you’re thinking
I feel like he almost self sabotage
like maybe a part of him actually doesn’t want you to find out, maybe he’s just at a loss of what to do we’ll never know
but he acts so friendly with you! You would’ve never realized he liked you until soobin ratted on him
Which he told soobin to do so nobody’s really that sure why Beomgyu hit him with a slipper🤷♀️
he said it was just for the vibes
BUT ANYWAY
when I say he acts like just a friend to you I mean he’s always teasing you
poking friendly fun at you, playfully annoying you, trying to beat you up
Even after soobin ratted on him you two have friendly sleep overs and everything
you trust him fully. And now that you know about his little crush on you… it was fun to watch him squirm when you got a little too close
he once suggested a pillow fight but you thought he was just joking
he was not just joking
he does NOT play about pillow fights
because as much as he might not seem like it maybe our boy gyu wants to live out a hot cute little moment where he pins you to the bed and kissed you senseless
it ends up being exactly that!
Except you pinned him to the ground once you fell on top of him from laughing and kissed him senseless
then you know he flipped you around and the rest in history ;)
~~~ end
Pt.2? Lmk! thanks for reading! If u liked it please reblog lovelies🙂↕️😛
My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.
The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.
I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.
Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.
I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.
My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.
Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.
Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.
﹙𝗮.﹚ ⠀⠀ ⠀° 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁 ... it's WEIRD I GUESS ? ─── warnings ᯓ 𝘁𝗮𝘅 𝗲𝘃𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻? +NFTS(¬_¬") i feel like im gonna keep writing stupid headcanons until i finish my one shot. so yay suffer!
────YEONJUN.
He won't. On the contrary, would show off how much tax he is paying. Also gets called in for fraud for announcing a bigger sum as tax than his dues for clout.
Goes viral for his famous mug shots.
His court hearing is public, which he later uses to turn into a reality show.
Finally pays the amount of tax he had said he does, and even more.
Gets on some Forbes 30 Under 30 listing.
No one remembers him after a few years though.
Might try evading tax next time for attention who knows?
────SOOBIN.
He would try yeah.
Hundred percent tries to pass off his work as a non profit so that he won't have to pay the taxes. But the pesky little thing called moral (and the fear of IRS) has him come clean and start anew with completely legal documents. No one will ever know of his dark past.
Although has a blog somewhere on the internet completely journaling his brief stint.
Had the most potential to get away to be honest.
────BEOMGYU.
He would convert all his assets into NFT so he could evade tax.
Is so sure that he won't be caught.
And he is right.
Because NFT crashes soon because how utterly stupid that was and he loses all his money.
So now he lives in Taehyun's basement.
He does get away but at what cost?
────TAEHYUN.
Oh he pays taxes alright.
But it's just a front.
Acts like a dutiful citizen in front of everyone.
Standing up with a palm on his chest and shit for the national anthem.
But he has a side business which he uses to buy gold and turn into gold bar and takes a boat every other month to his secret place.
The address is made into a treasure hunt map so he can leave a legacy behind.
He also does this so that he won't have to leave a trust fund for his future kids, he won't be paying a dime more than what he absolutely has to for them to build their own life.
Leaves a few bars for beomgyu though and some for kai.
Has been on the radar for the longest time, might get busted at his death bed.
────KAI.
Literally yes.
He would do everything to evade the goddamn taxes.
Has an offshore account just for his side hustle.
Might as well declare him as part of a cult with the income as just “blessing”so that the government can't put their paws on it.
Has backpacked through out Indonesian jungles to get the IRS off his back.
Has drunk coconut water with an officer without realising he was shacking in with the enemy.
✰---Summery: part one of my five part TxT cabin in the woods series where YN has a winter wonderland vacation with each txt member respectively (these aren’t meant to be in the same universe so you don’t have to read in order) Cabin #1 is quiet and cold, but thank god there’s a hot tub outside the owner said you could use. That’ll heat you two up just fine don’t you think?
✰---A/n: let’s pretend I know how to work a hot tub for the sake of the plot k babes?
✰---warnings/info: kissing, suggestive, mentions of drinking but I never say what, water, snow, cabin in the woods (duh) very light cursing I think?
~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper”. This is in no way is meant to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone~
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
You slip on your robe, the airb&b hosts did their due diligence in providing some for the two of you. the fluffy material hugs your cold practailly bare skin. only your swimsuit underneath. one thing the airb&b hosts didnt do well was tell you both how to work the thermostat. so for now the drafty cabin was stuck at 60 degrees, it being basically half that outside.
why were you in a swimsuit about to go out in thirty degree weather? well, since it was a cold inside your boyfriend had suggested to warm up in the hot tub on the cabins deck. it would relax you both, soothing your muscles, making for a better sleep, and give you both an excuse to try it out. what was not to like? so you agreed, your boyfriend telling you to get changed while he braved the cold to uncover the hot tub.
you glance back at the counter, one of the two drinks you had together being half finished, you take a gulp, it cougting your throat and smoothing any anxiety you had. you'd seen him without a shirt numerous times, so why was this different? it really didnt have to be. but here you were, wrapping the robe around you with one hand as if you hadn't tied it too, drink in the other, pitter patting through the wood floors to the decks sliding glass doors.
you spot him, in all his glory, setting down his phone on the pool table next to the speaker. "Daniel ceaser?" "yeah! want me to turn it up?" you nod, leaning over the edge of the hot tub, moving the water around with your hand for no apparent reason. you can feel his eyes on you, hot gaze burning your skin and making it go up in flames. he pushes himself towards you and take your drink out of your hand, placing it on the table but not moving away from you, in fact he was leaning.... towards you... you hear the soft clink of he glass setting down on the table, but your eyes don't leave his
in and instant his hand is on the back of your neck, gently pulling you to his lips. his fingers squeeze you just right in a way that gives you goosebumps. his lips seem to devour you, envelop you with all his emotion. and you only break away when you need air.
you smile, giddy like youve just made eyeconact with your middle shcool crush. you slip off your robe. the fabric slides slowly off your skin as the cold air hits it raising the hairs on your body. you can feel Yeonjuns eyes on you, raking their way up and down the expanse of your body. your bikini doing little to cover you up but hey, that was kinda the point right now.
he makes his way to the steps of the hot tub, shoulders broad and warm from the steam and torso dripping, abs straight tout of a magazine. you tell yourself to relax. but how could you with your loving boyfriend looking like that pumping pure want and adrenaline through your veins?
he stretches out his hand for you to hold. "madam?" he sounds like a proper English gentleman and you giggle. "its only two stars." but you take his hand anyway. "two very slippery stairs." you finally look away from his face, from his shoulders and bellow th bubbly steaming water. "youre not..." "wearing any pants" he finishes for you, we'll that was a lie, he was wearing his underwear. same difference though. I mean he wasn't naked. not yet anyway
"oh my god why?" you laugh, letting go of his hand.
he sticks his tongue out at you. "I didnt feel like going back inside to change." "you say it like this is a perfectly normal thing to do." he smirks . "is it not? youre not enjoying it?" he knows full well you are. especially when he slips them off and slings them across the deck, the article of clothing landing with a wet plop. your glad you dont have any close neighbors here.
you settle close to him, sideways, with your legs over his thighs, his hand resting on your knees. once your drink was handed to you you take a couple gulps. maybe being in the water was making you thirsty? nevertheless hes snatching it out of your hand a second later, leaning down to kiss you.
the kiss is searing, YOURE searing. he gives you no mercy, mouth moving on yours. the difference in lack of clothing was quite imbalanced but you felt comfortable with it for now. he turns around form you to swiftly put down your drink then returns to your hungry lips. he places a hand on your back supporting you as he leans you down a bit. your hair not touching the water.
you continue to kiss, your hands creeping up the wide expanse of his back. his free hand on your breast, fingers slowly dipping under the band of the bikini. his other hand still holding the back of your neck, guiding you In a way as he leaned you up against the edge of the pool. you feel like putty in his hands as hi kisses make their way down your body. he focuses on your neck, that place where he swears up and down is his favorite part of you
"I could kiss and mark it up for hours baby." it's something he tells you often but you never get tired of. you tilt your head to give him better access, "mmh yeah gimme that neck baby, fuck~" he mumbles against your skin.
he moves down to your collar bone, his "other favorite" part of you. but youre not too sure he could even pick one, given how obsessed he seems with every bit of you. youre sure tomorrow you'll wake up next to him to find bruises on your skin were he abused it with his lips and teeth last night. you tell him, albeit through a breathless moan and a smile. he lifts his head from the assault on your skin, "mm thats the point baby, yeah?" he cocks his smug little head to the side and you roll your eyes.
"good thing its winter, hm?" you nod, though hes already back into doing what he has been. You kiss him with hunger, diving into him the same way he’s been doing to you.
He pulls away for a moment, "is this what you wanted me to come out here for?" He questions you, hazy eyes and smiling, " and here I thought you just wanted to relax?" “You’re the one who asked first!” He puts a finger to you’d lips “shhh baby”
✰---Summery: part one of my five part TxT cabin in the woods series where YN has a winter wonderland vacation with each txt member respectively (these aren’t meant to be in the same universe so you don’t have to read in order) Cabin #1 is quiet and cold, but thank god there’s a hot tub outside the owner said you could use. That’ll heat you two up just fine don’t you think?
✰---A/n: let’s pretend I know how to work a hot tub for the sake of the plot k babes?
✰---warnings/info: kissing, suggestive, mentions of drinking but I never say what, water, snow, cabin in the woods (duh) very light cursing I think?
~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper”. This is in no way is meant to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone~
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
You slip on your robe, the airb&b hosts did their due diligence in providing some for the two of you. the fluffy material hugs your cold practailly bare skin. only your swimsuit underneath. one thing the airb&b hosts didnt do well was tell you both how to work the thermostat. so for now the drafty cabin was stuck at 60 degrees, it being basically half that outside.
why were you in a swimsuit about to go out in thirty degree weather? well, since it was a cold inside your boyfriend had suggested to warm up in the hot tub on the cabins deck. it would relax you both, soothing your muscles, making for a better sleep, and give you both an excuse to try it out. what was not to like? so you agreed, your boyfriend telling you to get changed while he braved the cold to uncover the hot tub.
you glance back at the counter, one of the two drinks you had together being half finished, you take a gulp, it cougting your throat and smoothing any anxiety you had. you'd seen him without a shirt numerous times, so why was this different? it really didnt have to be. but here you were, wrapping the robe around you with one hand as if you hadn't tied it too, drink in the other, pitter patting through the wood floors to the decks sliding glass doors.
you spot him, in all his glory, setting down his phone on the pool table next to the speaker. "Daniel ceaser?" "yeah! want me to turn it up?" you nod, leaning over the edge of the hot tub, moving the water around with your hand for no apparent reason. you can feel his eyes on you, hot gaze burning your skin and making it go up in flames. he pushes himself towards you and take your drink out of your hand, placing it on the table but not moving away from you, in fact he was leaning.... towards you... you hear the soft clink of he glass setting down on the table, but your eyes don't leave his
in and instant his hand is on the back of your neck, gently pulling you to his lips. his fingers squeeze you just right in a way that gives you goosebumps. his lips seem to devour you, envelop you with all his emotion. and you only break away when you need air.
you smile, giddy like youve just made eyeconact with your middle shcool crush. you slip off your robe. the fabric slides slowly off your skin as the cold air hits it raising the hairs on your body. you can feel Yeonjuns eyes on you, raking their way up and down the expanse of your body. your bikini doing little to cover you up but hey, that was kinda the point right now.
he makes his way to the steps of the hot tub, shoulders broad and warm from the steam and torso dripping, abs straight tout of a magazine. you tell yourself to relax. but how could you with your loving boyfriend looking like that pumping pure want and adrenaline through your veins?
he stretches out his hand for you to hold. "madam?" he sounds like a proper English gentleman and you giggle. "its only two stars." but you take his hand anyway. "two very slippery stairs." you finally look away from his face, from his shoulders and bellow th bubbly steaming water. "youre not..." "wearing any pants" he finishes for you, we'll that was a lie, he was wearing his underwear. same difference though. I mean he wasn't naked. not yet anyway
"oh my god why?" you laugh, letting go of his hand.
he sticks his tongue out at you. "I didnt feel like going back inside to change." "you say it like this is a perfectly normal thing to do." he smirks . "is it not? youre not enjoying it?" he knows full well you are. especially when he slips them off and slings them across the deck, the article of clothing landing with a wet plop. your glad you dont have any close neighbors here.
you settle close to him, sideways, with your legs over his thighs, his hand resting on your knees. once your drink was handed to you you take a couple gulps. maybe being in the water was making you thirsty? nevertheless hes snatching it out of your hand a second later, leaning down to kiss you.
the kiss is searing, YOURE searing. he gives you no mercy, mouth moving on yours. the difference in lack of clothing was quite imbalanced but you felt comfortable with it for now. he turns around form you to swiftly put down your drink then returns to your hungry lips. he places a hand on your back supporting you as he leans you down a bit. your hair not touching the water.
you continue to kiss, your hands creeping up the wide expanse of his back. his free hand on your breast, fingers slowly dipping under the band of the bikini. his other hand still holding the back of your neck, guiding you In a way as he leaned you up against the edge of the pool. you feel like putty in his hands as hi kisses make their way down your body. he focuses on your neck, that place where he swears up and down is his favorite part of you
"I could kiss and mark it up for hours baby." it's something he tells you often but you never get tired of. you tilt your head to give him better access, "mmh yeah gimme that neck baby, fuck~" he mumbles against your skin.
he moves down to your collar bone, his "other favorite" part of you. but youre not too sure he could even pick one, given how obsessed he seems with every bit of you. youre sure tomorrow you'll wake up next to him to find bruises on your skin were he abused it with his lips and teeth last night. you tell him, albeit through a breathless moan and a smile. he lifts his head from the assault on your skin, "mm thats the point baby, yeah?" he cocks his smug little head to the side and you roll your eyes.
"good thing its winter, hm?" you nod, though hes already back into doing what he has been. You kiss him with hunger, diving into him the same way he’s been doing to you.
He pulls away for a moment, "is this what you wanted me to come out here for?" He questions you, hazy eyes and smiling, " and here I thought you just wanted to relax?" “You’re the one who asked first!” He puts a finger to you’d lips “shhh baby”
~end~
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stay safe ❤️
QhostBehindThePen @shutupheathersorryheatherr - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
