#hi this fit so incredibly perfect for them
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narinder picked them an easy job and everything
#cult of the lamb#cotl#hi this fit so incredibly perfect for them#lamb been out all night theyre a little hungover but also a lot not paying attention and they dont wanna be here#i love maid au one of my faves#crack maid au#cotl lamb#cotl narinder#my art#maids
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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSWEET BUNNYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
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☆ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader
☆ HEADCANON : How would they be with a timid and shy darling?
☆ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.
☆ NOTE : Request by anon ♡ English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆
Bruce never saw himself as possessive. He saw himself as cautious, reasonable, and responsible. But when it came to you, it was different. You’re the softest thing in his life, a delicate presence that soothes the storm within him. Your shy nature makes you easy to shelter, easy to protect. You don’t argue when he keeps you close, don’t push when he subtly alters your life to fit his vision of safety.
You needed him. It was obvious.
How easy it is for you to let him take care of everything. How naturally you let him lead you through crowds, shielding you from eyes that linger too long. How your voice wavers when you say his name, like you’re unsure you’re allowed to. You are. You’re allowed to do anything with him. But no one else. And that’s the problem. Because he notices the way people don’t hesitate to approach you, knowing you won’t push them away. That man at the gala who leaned too close. The colleague who placed a hand on your shoulder. The waiter who smiled too much. He finds your timidity utterly enchanting. The way you hesitate before speaking, the way your gaze flits downward when he holds your chin, how you stammer under his scrutiny—it feeds something deep inside him. You need him, even if you don’t realize it yet. Bruce never gets frustrated with your shyness. If anything, he finds it ideal. You aren’t reckless. You aren’t difficult. You’re perfectly moldable. His perfect little doll. You don’t have to worry about the outside world anymore. Gotham is dangerous. Men look at you too long, the world is too harsh, and Bruce knows what’s best for you. He’s a provider by nature, and now you belong to him, his fragile little thing. You won’t even notice when your life shrinks—how he’s always there, subtly guiding you into dependency. He’s a master at making his control feel natural. It’s for your own good, sweetheart.
— DICK GRAYSON ⋆
Dick is obsessive in the purest sense. He’s everywhere—hovering, smothering, watching. He doesn’t just want to own you; he wants to drown in you, breathe you. You’re so shy, so quiet—and it drives him crazy. Every time you flinch under his overwhelming affection, every time your voice dies in your throat because he’s just too much, he melts. "Aw, sweetheart, don’t be shy. It’s just me." But he loves it. He loves how you tremble when he hugs you too tight, how your voice wavers when you try to refuse him. It makes him feel powerful—knowing he’s the only one who gets to see these pieces of you. At first, he tries to ease you into his intensity. But the longer he’s around you, the more agitated he becomes. Why are you still flinching? Why do you shy away when he’s the safest place you could ever be? The frustration isn’t with you. It’s with the world. Did someone teach you to be afraid? Who hurt you? He wants to rip them apart. He wants to keep you forever. So, he keeps pushing. The cuddles become longer. The touches linger. The kisses are too frequent, too intimate, but he brushes off your hesitance. "Come on, angel, don’t be like that. I just wanna be close." And when you still shy away? When you still look uncertain even after everything? He just pulls you tighter, cooing into your ear. "You’ll get used to me, baby. You’ll see."
— JASON TODD ⋆
At first, your timid nature makes him incredibly soft with you. You’re so meek, so gentle—and that means you need someone to keep you safe, right? You need someone who won’t let the world chew you up. Jason adores your shyness. The way you shrink under his gaze, the way you hesitate before speaking—it makes him feel needed. But as time passes, his patience wears thin. Why won’t you trust him? Why do you still tense when he holds you? He’s here to protect you, damn it. He’d kill for you. The worst part? You’re so sweet that you don’t even fight back. Your soft apologies, your nervous glances—they’re infuriating. He doesn’t want your fear, he wants your adoration. But Jason is impatient. And when you keep shying away, keep hesitating—he starts getting rougher. Not in a way that hurts, never that. But his hands linger longer, his grip tightens, his voice drops into something more desperate. "Stop bein’ so scared of me, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you." He doesn’t realize how terrifying he can be. How his sheer size, his intensity, can make your heart race in a way that isn’t just flustered affection. But he doesn’t want you to be afraid. He just wants you to be his, to love him. So he softens again. He makes up for his outbursts. He coaxes you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin. "I just want you to feel safe, doll. You are safe. Just let me take care of you." He’ll never let go.
— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆
Damian sees your shyness as a flaw—a weakness in need of fixing. You’re too soft for this world, too easily pushed aside, and he simply cannot allow it. At first, he tolerates it. He even finds it charming. The way you lower your gaze, the way your voice barely rises above a whisper—it’s a novelty. He enjoys watching you struggle for words, enjoys the way you shrink in his presence. But soon, it frustrates him. "You must learn to speak when addressed, beloved. Do not make me repeat myself." He doesn’t understand why you hesitate, why you fear expressing yourself. And it makes him mad. Not at you, never at you—but at the world that made you this way. So, he takes control. He begins teaching you. He holds your chin between gloved fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. He corrects you when you stammer, urges you to speak up when your voice wavers. "Again. Say it again—this time, with confidence." But he adores how pliant you are. The way you listen, the way you try to please him—it soothes something primal inside him. He’s training you, molding you into something worthy of standing beside him. And yet… there’s a part of him that likes the way you tremble when he raises his voice. The way your breath catches when he leans in too close. The way your small hands clutch at his sleeves when he pulls you in. Perhaps… you don’t need fixing after all. Perhaps you just need him to be the voice you lack. "Very well, my love. If you refuse to speak, I will simply do it for you." And from then on, Damian owns every decision you make.
— MASTERLIST ☆
— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆
#🕊️. dc comics#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne#yandere bruce wayne#yandere batman#jason todd x reader#dc x reader#jason todd#dark dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson#yandere dick grayson#yandere dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#yandere nightwing#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd fic#jason todd x fem!reader#yandere jason todd x reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x you#yandere jason todd#damian wayne x you#damian wayne x reader#yandere damian wayne#damian wayne x female reader#yandere red hood
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okay i was SO hype to read this because LEE CHAN LOML and it did NOT disappoint!!!!! i kind of livetweeted as i read i'm sorry lol
Lol the second the window tap happened I was like oh the menace is here and I was RIGHT :’)
Asijfkasfh the mental picture of him trying to climb her building STOP
WITH A LIP PIERCING?????????????? GURL ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME???????? ABSOLUTELY NOT, NO, I AM ERASING THAT DETAIL FROM MY MEMORY.
Oh they are sooooooooo down bad for each other, god.
Lmaoooooooooooooo jeonghan has me laughing out loud.
godddd the whole first skatepark scene together WAHHHHH THEY ARE SO SOFT :( :( :(
LEE DINOOOOOOO!!!!! love the little detail of him talking to himself in third person, my favorite little habit of his.
I AM OBSESSED with this characterization of Chan!!!! Like!!!!! I see what you are putting down and I am picking it up!!!
"Maybe falling𑁋on the board, for you" - !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this was genius
“You ever think that maybe no one’s expecting you to be perfect except yourself?” – HAHAHA GO AWAY RANIA. ME AND CHAN HAVE TO BE BETTER. THAT’S THE RULE.
"He bought them in bulk last time he got shit-faced high. Said they were ‘the peak of human invention’" – ADHUFH I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM
“stay there for me” THE “FOR ME” STOP I NEED TO PUKE OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDD
NOOOOOOOO DON’T PUSH HIM AWAY NOOOOOOOOOOOO WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
OH SHIT HE SAID IT HE SAID IT OH NO
“Say it, and I’ll go. Say it, and I’ll stay” I AM ROLLING AROUND ON MY FLOOR CLUTCHING AT MY CHEST WHAT IS HAPPENING AIOSJHFUAHEFIUEHFUIHQFIUHFIUHFUIAEH
OH MY GOD THIS IS HREATBREAKING WHAT THE FUCK
He should have stayed. Should have fought harder. Should have told you that even if you pushed him away, even if you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him, he wasn’t going anywhere, because no matter which direction he goes, the path always leads back to you. – RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
oh my gosh i loved this SO MUCH i think this is my favorite Chan fic of all time, i will DEFINITELY be back to reread!!!! the characterization was incredible, their different struggles, the way they fit together, the way they'd use call-backs to earlier days to make a point, THE VERNON OF IT ALL???, the parallels of them getting hurt/needing each other :( it was just all so wonderful
paging dr. heartthrob | lee chan
SYNOPSIS. You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him. PAIRING. skater boy!lee chan x med student!fem!reader (ft. lowkey stoner!vernon, med student!jeonghan, med student!joshua, soonyoung) GENRE. fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive, slow burn, college au WARNINGS. heavy swearing, food + drinking mentions/consumption, so much fucking mutual pining!!!, reader experiencing burnout + self-doubt issues, chan has a mullet, piercings, and tattoos yes, (3) shirtless chan scenes, chan is a self-critical perfectionist, mention of scars, descriptions of minor injuries, hospital mentions + visits, mental health topics, drug use (weed & vaping), reader has a panic attack and passes out, kissing, terms of endearment, vernon makes a sex joke at the end lmao WORD COUNT. 24.2k
notes: hi hi everyone! this fic is part of the @camandemstudios "the lonely heart's cafe" collab! it also takes part in the same universe as my favourite horangdan @etherealyoungk upcoming fic with hoshi HAHA. ty to skye and also @bananabubble + @imujings listen to me ramble abt this too. pls don't forget to show love all the other authors in this collab <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE CHAN!!! 🫶
You slam your textbook shut. You don’t think you can reread the same page about neurotransmitters and synaptic transmissions any longer without losing your mind for the third time that night.
Your head feels like it’s two seconds away from combusting, and the pressure coming from upcoming exams, assignments that are constantly due the very next day, along with endless clinicals is suffocating. You’ve been staring at this textbook for what feels like hours or even days, but nothing’s sticking. It’s as if your brain has reached its limit for the day, and you’re left grasping for focus that you can’t find.
“Screw it,” You mutter under your breath, closing the textbook and tossing it to the edge of the bed where it threatens to fall off if you don’t catch it in time, but you ignore it, too tired to even care, and it falls onto the floor below with a soft thud.
Running a hand through your hair, you can feel a headache beginning to creep in, a dull throb behind your eyes. Your body feels heavy, as though it’s been holding in all your exhaustion for the past five months. Accepting your fate, you flimsily fall back onto the bed, granting the greenlight for the comfort of the sheets to swallow you whole.
Then a tap hits your window.
You ignore it at first by grabbing your pillow and burying your face in it, too bummed out to scold the freshmen who think that it’s cute to throw pebbles at people’s windows for the hundredth time this semester.
Another tap follows, then another, becoming more insistent after each one. At this point, they may as well blow a missile through your damn window. But then you hear it𑁋the sharp hiss of a psst, before a muffled, yet unmistakable voice holler out your name. A groan escapes your lips as you drag your body off the bed and shuffle towards the window, pulling the curtain aside and sliding the sash up. You’re immediately greeted by a whiff of cold air hitting your face.
The irritation leaves your body within a second once you spot the figure that’s waving up at you from the ground below. There’s a jump to your heart when you catch a glimpse of the scheming grin that runs across their face.
“Chan? What the hell?” You whisper-yell down towards him, glancing around you as if your voice was loud enough to wake up your next-door neighbours. “It’s midnight!”
You wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow mistakened your best friend as a burglar from how the dark hoodie he’s wearing engulfs him. But you watch as he pulls his hood down and adjusts the scratched-up skateboard tucked underneath his armpit, flashing you that boyish grin that never fails to disarm your guarded-up walls. His breath curls in the cold night air, and you catch the glint of his lip piercing when he tilts his head back to look at you.
“Come on, Y/N, I got reinforcements!” He reveals a black plastic bag from somewhere behind his back, waving it up to you like he’s just discovered some kind of treasure.
You squint, trying to make out what’s in the bag, but it’s too dark to see anything clearly from your window. “What is that?”
“Snacks,” he calls back, his grin widening. “And caffeine. Actually, wait𑁋” He reaches a hand inside the bag, shuffling throughout its contents. “No caffeine, because you need to get your insomniac ass to sleep.”
You roll your eyes at that. “You’re actually a goddamn idiot.”
“So I’ve been told many times. Now, are you going to let me in before that stupid security guard comes and tackles me to the ground again?’
Briefly, you can’t help but smile at the memory of that one specific time a few months back where Chan had been caught sneaking around the apartment complex. The poor elderly security guard nearly had a heart attack when he found Chan struggling to climb the side of the building with a skateboard in hand because you jokingly refused to let him inside your messy apartment. You had to spend an hour talking your way out of that one, and even then, you weren’t sure if all your talking and dumb excuses were enough to convince the security guard that Chan wasn’t a robber trying to get to you through your window.
“Ugh, fine. Give me a second,” You relent, pulling away from the window and hurrying to unlock the door. After a minute, you could already hear the recognisable, obnoxious stomps from the stairs that were echoing throughout the quiet hallway of your apartment.
When you see Chan emerge all breathless like he’s run a marathon in that oversized hoodie, skateboard still tucked under his arm, you can’t help but shake your head, crossing your arms together as he gallops down the hallway and to your door.
Then he looks at you, and for some reason, it almost seems like he looks… different. You don’t know why, because in your eyes, he still looks the same. His dark hair had grown longer𑁋pretty much a mullet at this point𑁋and he had recently changed his lip ring to a sleek silver hoop that catches the faint light in your apartment hallway. The hoodie he wore was thrifted from this store in a sketchy part of town that closed up two years ago, its print faded and frayed at the cuffs of the sleeves. His beat-up Converse shoes are practically at the verge of dying. You think he’s definitely worn it more than a million times, but that wasn’t anything new. There wasn’t anything on the surface that was new.
Yet as he stands there, rosy cheeks flushed from the cold, his grin as radiant as always, there’s something about him that makes your heart stutter for just a moment.
“Okay… You’re doing that staring thing again.” Chan snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back from your head. “You gonna let me in or not?”
You snap out of it, quickly stepping aside to let him in. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”
“And yet, you still tolerate me.” He shoots you a wink before brushing past you, and you observe as he leans his skateboard against the wall of your place. Then he flops onto the wobbly chair in front of your desk like its second instinct, like this place is his second home, and in a way, it is, because you’ll always be the first to let him in.
Chan lifts the black plastic bag as if he’s showing it off to you and sets it down on your cluttered desk, which has been overtaken by textbooks, flashcards, and an impressive collection of empty coffee mugs. You feel yourself fall into a pit of embarrassment at the mess, but this is Chan you’re talking about𑁋he’s seen you at your worst, or… the worst he’s seen so far.
“You know, I’ve heard these snacks are scientifically proven to cure stress,” he claims while handing you a plastic bowl of cup ramen.
You snort at that as you grab the cup of ramen from his grasp and place yourself down on the floor right by him. “Oh, really? Did you read that in The Medical Journal of Lee Chan’s Dumbass Theories?”
“Damn right I did.” He flashes you that lopsided grin, popping open a bottle of water and taking a sip before passing it to you. “Drink. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee for days. Can’t imagine how much shit is in your head right now.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose at the thought. “I know. I’ve got a headache trying to memorise whatever the hell is in these textbooks.”
“And what’s the medical term for a headache again?”
You peer at him with narrowed eyes when you take another sip of water. “Cephalalgia.”
“See, you’ve still got it in you,” he quips wholeheartedly while leaning back in the chair, a leg propped up on his knee, a pleased smirk to his face when he captures the faintest sight of a smile to your features.
You only let out a scoff as you stand up to fill water into your cup of ramen, placing it in the microwave right after. Even then, you swear you can still feel the way his eyes are wandering over you as you move around the small kitchen, the tonnage of his gaze making your skin tingle. You try to shake off the odd sensation, focusing on getting your ramen prepared. You can hear Chan shifting in the chair behind you, the sounds of rustling hitting your ears as he rummages through the snacks.
Silence overtakes the both of you for a few minutes. It’s comfortable. It always is when it’s with him.
It’s a bit scary, too. Even though it shouldn’t be.
“I went to the skatepark earlier,” Chan suddenly pops in.
When the microwave dings, you carefully take out the cup of ramen. “Practicing your 900?”
“What can I say? I’ll be the next Tony Hawk,” he teases amusedly. “I’m just kidding. Could never be on that man’s level.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself one day doing all those… tricks and shit,” You say as you settle on your bed, pushing away pieces of paper of horrendous math calculations, making them fall down to the ground.
Chan shrugs, looking nonchalant as he leans back in his chair, casually stretching his arms behind his head. He was always pushing himself, always looking for the next adrenaline rush, no matter how reckless it seemed. It's a bit worrying sometimes. “Eh, I’ll survive. A little pain is part of the game.”
“Still. Just… be careful, alright?” The softness and genuine concern to your tone isn’t hard to miss as Chan looks over at you, the teasing spark in his eyes dimming for a second.
Chan plops a chip into his mouth, the crunch bouncing off the walls of the room.
“I will, don’t worry.” Then he leans in like some sort of villain in a superhero movie. “So… I’d like to propose an idea.”
You already know what he’s about to propose. “Chan, no𑁋”
“You, me, these snacks I robbed from the store, and a few episodes of Gilmore Girls.”
You pause mid-bite, your spoonful of ramen hovering just inches from your mouth as you stare at him in disbelief. A part of you wonders if the lack of caffeine in the bag had somehow changed his brain chemistry, but then again, this is the Lee Chan you’ve always known since you were fourteen𑁋spontaneous, reckless, and somehow endearing despite it all.
“You’re such a weirdo,” You murmur under your breath, but the smile on your face betrays you as it always does.
“Come on! You know you want to, Y/N,” he says smugly, and as he catches the slight unsureness to your features, he lets out a sigh. “Relax with me, please?”
For a moment, your mind weighs about the mountain of work that’s bound to be dumped on you, the looming exams, the clinical hours you’ve been drowning in… and then you think about the weight lifting off your shoulders every time Chan’s around. Even just for a little while, the world seems to slow down when he’s here.
He’s a goddamn terrible influence on you in the oddly best way possible. Oh, the irony.
“Okay, fine. Just… one or two episodes, alright?” You give in.
The way Chan’s eyes light up from your words sends a flip to your stomach, and he’s quick to leap off the chair to sink himself down right next to you on the bed. His warmth is quick to surround and engulf you, making himself comfortable in a way that feels so familiar it almost makes your heart race. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you shift slightly to make more room for him, attempting to ignore how suddenly hyper aware you are of his closeness to you.
He rolls his sleeves as if he’s prepared to commit his entire being to this mini-marathon of episodes, and you catch a peek of the tattoos that roam up and down his arms. You’ve seen them countless times before, but tonight, they seem to catch your attention more curiously than ever, and your gaze lingers for just a second too long before you snap your attention back to the screen of the laptop being placed between the two of you.
The bed creaks slightly as he adjusts himself, pulling the blankets up over both of your legs and getting comfortable as if he owns the place, before pressing the play button.
Even as the episode rolls in front of you, your mind… wanders to the boy right next to you. To Chan. To your best friend.
He isn’t looking at you when you’re looking at him, too focused on the scene playing before you. And just the single thought of him is enough to fill every part of your mind, every crevice in your heart. It’s overwhelming.
But it’s not just tonight. It’s not just this moment.
It’s every time he’s around.
The warmth of his body against yours feels too comforting to ignore. The way his carefree smile that you’ve seen thousands of times over the years always makes you forget the time, the way his eyes seem to see through you sometimes that you feel almost bare, the way out of the eight billion people walking this planet right now, he’s the only one who knows you better than anything else.
Your heart stutters in your chest.
Is this it? Is this what people talk about when they say it just clicks?
You want to laugh at how oblivious you’ve been, but the thought that keeps echoing through your mind is no, this isn’t new𑁋it’s been there for a while.
But as you steal another glance at him, the realisation hits you like a fucking bulldozer, like a speeding train, like a bullet penetrating through your body, like a punch to the gut you’re sure will leave a bruise. You nearly choke on your ramen.
You’re falling for him. You’re falling for your best friend.
No, scratch that. You’ve already fallen. Hard. For God knows how long. Fuck.
And the worst part? He doesn’t even know. You’re utterly screwed.
You were at the cusp of middle school and high school when you met Lee Chan. Even though you’re only a year ahead of him, the eighth graders at your school seemed to have a superiority complex bigger than their egos could contain. Back then, he was just another scrawny seventh grader running around with wild passions, and you were just trying to survive through these awful years of awkwardness, or just middle school in general.
It was during one of those ridiculous dares that you met. Some eighth grader had dared him to steal a soda can from the teacher’s lounge fridge, and he’d been caught red-handed𑁋by you, unsurprisingly, as you were sent to pick up some paperwork for your office aide duties. And instead of being embarrassed or causing a ruckus in the middle of the hallway, he had grinned at you like he threw the most disastrous prank in history.
“You won’t snitch, right?” he had asked, while holding the can of soda behind his back.
“Well, I’m an office aide after all,” You had responded sarcastically, crossing your arms together. “I could totally report you to the principal.”
But your words hardly phased him. Didn’t phase him at all. In fact, he’d just looked at you like one of those geeky kids confident in winning their Pokémon Go battles.
“Let me give you a reason not to then,” he had said, revealing the soda can from behind his back and offering it to you. You had stared at him in disbelief, and after a short while, you’d finally taken it. He had just shot you a smile and shuffled past you, as if nothing had happened, but not before adding, “Come to the playground after school. I’ll show you something cool.”
By something cool, he showed you something called a kickflip. You had no idea what a kickflip was at the time, but Chan was way too eager to show you as he grabbed hold of a skateboard that was once used by his father. You had watched him try and fail repeatedly, but never once had he looked embarrassed or frustrated. It was that lighthearted attitude of his that drew you in, something you admired even then. And so, you stayed after school, watching him persist until he finally nailed the trick, his smile wide and victorious. Maybe the world felt lighter in those moments too𑁋that maybe going to high school wouldn’t be an absolute shitshow.
That as young and dumb that you were, maybe life had good things for you.
Because it was with him.
You didn’t call it a crush though, because all the eighth graders who were stuck in their heads all mentioned how crushing on seventh graders was disgusting and gross, that going after the hot high schoolers was cooler. Thus, you ignored the small flutter in your chest whenever he made you laugh after nearly face-planting while practicing, turned a blind eye to the way your heart skipped when he gave that ungodly smile after nailing another trick.
You told yourself it was nothing. You were just friends. Best friends, even.
“I think I have a crush on my best friend,” You downright admit in the middle of the cafeteria, unconsciously stabbing your salad in front of you with a plastic fork.
Jeonghan peers at you while slurping up his banana milk. “Eat your ugly salad.”
You glare at him but take a begrudging bite of your salad anyway, chewing slowly as if it might somehow alleviate the embarrassment swirling in your chest. It’s been almost a week since you’ve come to terms with your feelings for your best friend. Jeonghan sets his banana milk down and leans forward, propping his chin on the palm of his hand with the kind of smug expression that tells you he’s about to make this conversation even worse.
“Well, you could𑁋”
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” Jeonghan raises his hands in the air like he’s surrendering, letting out a scoff. “How inconsiderate of you.”
“Just𑁋Don’t you get it, Jeonghan?” You ask after stuffing a piece of cold lettuce in your mouth. “This is medical school. The pressure’s insane, and everything is a goddamn mess. I can’t just throw everything away over a stupid crush. And it’s not like Chan would feel the same way. We’ve been friends for so long… and it’s just stupid to think about anything more. I’m stupid for even falling for him in the first place.”
Jeonghan watches you carefully while mulling over your words, then his lips curl into a slight smirk, yet a hint of softness to his eyes.
“You know,” he starts, leaning back in his chair, swirling the banana milk in his cup. “It’s not stupid to have feelings. It’s natural. What’s stupid is throwing those feelings under the rug and leaving them to the dust mites.”
“But I just…” Your voice trails away as you struggle to find the right words. “I already have a lot on my plate right now, and it almost feels wrong to think of him that way. As someone more than a friend. I feel like a pervert or something𑁋I don’t know.”
“A pervert?” Jeonghan questions with a raised brow. “Aw, do you dream of giving him a little smooch on the lips?”
You choke on the next bite of your salad, coughing and trying to hide your face in your hands as Jeonghan just snickers, completely pleased at your reaction.
“You’re actually the devil’s worst nightmare personified,” You mutter under your breath, but there’s no anger behind it.
“Ah, well, that’s a new one,” Jeonghan remarks amusedly. “Better than the devil’s knight in shining armour, I suppose.”
You sigh, dropping your fork and slouching in your seat. You don’t think you have the energy to think about all of this right now. There’s a certain heaviness that settles in your chest as you reluctantly chew your way through the rest of your salad. You have other things to worry about right now, such as the mountain of schoolwork on your desk, your pathology exam on Friday, and having to impress your grumpy fifty-year-old attending tomorrow.
“Come on, let’s get through pharmacology.” You start to pack up your belongings, sealing off the remains of your unfinished salad and stuffing the container inside your backpack. Jeonghan watches you knowingly with a sigh as he gathers his own things.
“You’re avoiding the conversation,” he points out, standing up and tossing his empty drink into the trash bin.
“I know,” You admit, standing up to join him. “I just don’t have the mental space for it right now. I have so much to do, and thinking about Chan and... whatever this is... it’s not helping.”
Jeonghan doesn’t say anything after that, and you appreciate the quiet while shoving your laptop and notebook inside your backpack before flinging it over your shoulder. He doesn’t want to apply more pressure on the wound than needed.
One day, he thinks, you’ll have to face it, and that it’ll come to bite you in the ass sooner or later.
You could really use a shower right now.
After an entire day of clinicals and back-to-back lectures, all you want to do is melt in your bed and let the world fade away. But instead, you find yourself trudging towards the skatepark, because you promised to meet up with Chan for God knows why. By all means you’re definitely late, and you aren’t even sure if Chan would be at the skatepark as he’d have to wait almost an hour for you to show up, yet the thought of disappointing him somehow hurts more than the aching fatigue in your legs.
You spot him instantly. He’s mid-trick when you approach, his skateboard spinning in the air before he lands effortlessly with a triumphant grin. You see him fan himself, wiping his sweat off with his shirt he retrieves from the ground, catching sight of his exposed form and the tattoos that run up and down his skin. His back is turned towards you as well, and you catch a glimpse of another tattoo that he has: a series of Japanese letters that trail down his spine, spelling out his zodiac sign, Aquarius.
After a mere pause, he turns his head and spots you, his face lighting up like it always does, and you feel that familiar flip in your stomach again.
“You’re late,” he calls out, kicking the skateboard up into his hands and jogging over to meet you.
You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Blame my neuro attending. That man has the stamina of a marathon runner and the patience of a saint. Could rival Derek Shepherd, to be honest. I think I aged ten years today.” You set your bag down on the floor next to a nearby bench. “You didn’t wait long, did you?”
“Nah, not that long. You actually came after Vernon left𑁋idiot left his vape here,” Chan says while fishing the vape out of his pocket and taking a shameless hit from it, a cloud of vapour floating into the air when he exhales, before offering it to you with a teasing grin. “Want a hit?”
You scrunch your nose, shaking your head with a laugh. “Offering me, a med student, that shit is crazy. My lungs are precious thank you, unlike you and Vernon.”
“Tell that to those bozos.” He points to the noisy teenagers at the other side of the park, before sitting right next to you on the bench. “Can’t even roll over there without getting smacked in the face with weed.”
Your smile falters just slightly as you watch him lean back, his face tilting towards the darkening sky. The dim light of the streetlamps catches on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the relaxed purse of his lips, and highlights the sleek dragon tattoo that snakes up his arm. He looks... peaceful. Content. Like the world isn’t asking too much from him tonight, like there’s no ginormous weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, unlike you.
“I messed up today during clinicals,” You randomly confess, making Chan turn toward you. “There was this patient today… a girl. Seventeen years old, has a tumour that’s basically about to split her brain in half. I kept arguing with my attending about treatments, and I was so sure I was right𑁋that we could do something more about it𑁋but in the end, I just... made it worse. I felt like such an idiot, because… because there wasn’t anything we could do. She only has one chance with surgery, and she took it, despite her low chances of surviving.”
Chan listens to you, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, understanding but not pitying. It’s the same way he used to listen when you were venting back in high school, always patient, never rushing you to fix yourself or your emotions.
“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, but his tone is nothing like a scold. “You care. That’s the difference. Not everyone would have fought that hard for her, even if you didn’t win. You’ve got a heart the size of the ocean, dude, you know?”
You smile faintly, chest tightening a little to his words. “The mother-fucking ocean?”
Chan grins at your lightheartedness, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, the mother-fucking ocean. You’re stubborn as hell, but you’ve got that heart. And that’s what makes you good at what you do. It’s what makes you you.”
You look down almost in guilt from his words, unconsciously playing with your fingers in your lap. You don’t know why, but it hits harder than usual tonight, and for a second, the rush of everything you’ve been holding back hits you𑁋the exhaustion, the worry, the feeling that you’ve been carrying more than your fair share of burdens these days. They almost threaten to burst out of you, but right now, they don’t. Not yet at least.
“You’re gonna be a good doctor,” Chan continues. “I don’t even have to be a doctor to know that. You just… you get it. You’re going to go out there and do great things. Maybe even better things than me.”
You almost want to laugh at that, almost want to tell Chan just how much shit he’s done that is far greater than what you could ever dream of. You’re not sure if he realises it himself𑁋how great he is, how much you admire him, love him𑁋but you think you could spend more than a lifetime telling him just that if you could.
Maybe you’ve been avoiding these feelings for too long, but the truth is, they’ve been there for as long as you can remember. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment these feelings shifted from friendship, to admiration, to something more𑁋maybe it was when he helped you get through the first few years of high school, or when he held your hand during a school dance, not in some romantic gesture but because you were scared of your anxiety acting up𑁋but it’s always been there. He’s always been there.
“I… Thank you, Chan,” You say softly. Then you tilt your head back, looking at the same sky he is, the heaviness in your chest easing just a little. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that? But you’re also... you’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.”
Chan just chuckles at that. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head slightly to look at you. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit from you.”
“Wow, okay. Forget all that I said then,” You retort back playfully, shaking your head and crossing your arms together. “You’re the worst person alive, actually.”
When you’re busy gazing up at the sky above, Chan turns to you. His eyes flit over you, basking how your eyelashes slowly bat together from tiredness, how your lips are slightly curled up in relaxation, how your features glow from the singular street lamp illuminating the skatepark. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and glances away, his thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with.
“You meant it though, right?” he asks.
“What?” You question, turning towards him.
“About me being great or whatever.” You can tell he’s trying to brush off the hesitation, but you sense the uncertainty in his voice. “You meant it?”
Out of all times, you wonder why he’s questioning it right now, at almost midnight in the middle of the skatepark. You’ve told him countless times how great he is, always hyping him up for skate competitions and giving him comfort on the times he’s down himself. Why… is he suddenly asking if you meant it?
“Well, I… Of course, I meant it,” You respond, catching his eye. “Why wouldn’t I?”
For a short period, there’s just silence, comfortable, a pinch of awkward𑁋a word you can pretty much never associate with your interactions together𑁋yet heavy. The way Chan’s features soften on his face from your words seem more important than the stars blinking up in the sky right now.
Then all it takes is a tiny giggle from him, and you can’t help but groan.
“Oh no,” You grumble pesteringly, shooting him an exasperated glance, but your tone is light, teasing. “I fueled your ego now, didn’t I?”
“Yep. I can walk around like I’m the best thing since sliced bread,” Chan jokes, puffing out his chest with pride. “My greatness has been confirmed by a certified medical professional.”
“Whatever, big head,” You sneer back playfully.
Chan stretches out a bit more on the bench, his legs extending and his arms behind his head. You can tell he’s getting more comfortable too, probably ready to call it a night, just like you, and you can’t help but let yourself soften a little.
Without thinking, you shift your body and lean your head down to gently rest it in Chan’s lap. His body stiffens for a few seconds as if he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you settle, and after a beat, his hand comes to gently rest in your hair, and something tugs at your heartstrings from the feeling. Your eyes slowly flutter to a close.
“You okay?”
Those words almost make you want to cry.
“Yeah,” You reply quietly. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
When you open your eyes back up, Chan is looking down at you, studying you, his thumb tenderly tapping the top of your head as he waits for an answer.
“Alright.” You let out a deep inhale, blinking back up at him. “I’m not.”
Then his hand stops moving, and you nearly regret even telling him that.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks cautiously.
The corners of your lips tug up slightly, another sigh leaving you. All you can do is shake your head.
“Not really.”
Chan just pulls away, not entirely, but enough to give you a little space. His hand stays near, though, and he’s still watching you, his expression soft.
“Okay.”
For now, the two of you let your gazes drift back up to the sky, and you think𑁋maybe falling for your best friend isn’t the worst thing in the world.
The number 87 is scratched at the top of the page of your medical jurisprudence exam.
“Thanks for letting me cheat off you, by the way,” Jeonghan chimes in jokingly over your shoulder, nudging you in the arm before walking past you and out the door.
You roll your eyes at his comment but remain standing right where you are at your seat, and you don’t know why you can’t get yourself to move. Your fellow classmates𑁋all dressed in their finest set of scrubs𑁋brush past you and out of the classroom, but you could only clench your first around the paper in your hand.
An 87 isn’t bad; if anything, it’s great. Hell, it’s probably better than some of the other people in your class. You should be happy about it. But for some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off. It’s the fact that you’re standing here, staring at a number that’s supposed to represent your hard work, your achievements, yet it feels empty, hollow, even.
You don’t feel proud of yourself.
All you can think about are the countless nights you’ve spent studying for something that doesn’t even feel fulfilling anymore. Your mind wanders over the sleepless nights, the skipped meals, the times you could hardly breathe because rotations had you stuck in the hospital𑁋what was it all for? A number? A stupid grade on a piece of paper?
You take a deep breath, trying to push the thought away.
“You’re doing fine,” You remind yourself, quietly, under your breath. But somehow, it doesn’t sound as convincing as you need it to. “You did good. You’re fine.”
Yet, there’s a voice that echoes off the walls of your head: you can do better.
You meet Jeonghan and your other mutual friend Joshua in the hallway after managing to finally leave the large lecture hall. The two of them are chatting enthusiastically amongst each other, comparing their exams and the questions they received credit for along with the ones they got wrong.
You force a smile to slip across your face when you approach, though it merely feels like a mask you’re getting tired of wearing.
“If I manage to survive this program, then I better be gifted with twenty years worth of coffee,” Jeonghan says while stuffing the exam paper inside his backpack. On the other hand, Joshua seems to be way more organised than you and Jeonghan combined, slipping his paper into a colour–coordinated folder before holding it under his arm.
“What did you want to go into again? Pediatrics? Can’t imagine you with children for the life of me,” Joshua comments playfully.
“Alright, mister, you’re the one who wanted to go into plastics,” Jeonghan retorts with a smirk, nudging Joshua in the ribs. “I can totally see you standing in front of a mirror practicing how to say, ‘Oh, ma’am, you’ll look amazing after this rhinoplasty.’”
Joshua rolls his eyes but laughs. “At least I’ll make my patients happy. I’m not sure kids would survive under your care without learning sarcasm as their first language.”
“Sarcasm builds character, my friend,” Jeonghan states matter-of-factly, wiggling a finger up in the air as if to emphasise the point. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach those little demons how to get through life in the correct way.”
You give in a chuckle at their banter, clumsily folding your exam paper in half and stuffing it deep inside your bag, hoping you’d probably forget all about it by the end of the day. Though the tension inside you doesn’t seem to want to disappear quite easily. You should feel happy to be surrounded by friends who’ve stuck with you through this hellish journey, but instead, you’re just... floating.
It’s like you’re suspended between reality and expectation, unsure of where you really fit into either world. You try to push it down, but the feeling keeps creeping back, making your chest feel tight.
“Now I think this calls for a celebratory shot of champagne, or Iced Americano, whatever you want to call it,” Jeonghan announces to you and Joshua as all of you are walking outside.
The time has nearly reached evening by this point, the warm hues of the sky painting the sunset that’s illuminating the campus. It’s a sight that would normally give you a sense of peace, an opportunity to relax, but it doesn’t give you that feeling right now. Far from it. You should be happy, you remind yourself again and again. You’ve been working towards this for your entire life, yet here you are, dragging yourself through the motions like a robot programmed to survive but never to live.
And maybe that’s what hurts the most𑁋the thought that you’ve lost yourself somewhere along the way. You can’t remember the last time you felt truly at ease, or when you last let yourself just... breathe.
Your steps don’t fall in rhythm with Jeonghan and Joshua as you trail behind them. All of your energy feels like it’s been drained out of your body, and that you’d much rather be in the comfort of your apartment to study and distract yourself.
“You guys can go ahead,” You say to Jeonghan and Joshua with a soft, yet tired smile. “I think I’m just going to head home and get some rest. Catch up later?”
Joshua frowns, noticing the tension in your voice. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” You reply nimbly with a half-shrug, even though the word feels like a lie when it leaves your lips. “Just… tired. You know how it is. You two deserve to celebrate, though. Go and enjoy yourselves.”
Before you could give Jeonghan or Joshua any chance to respond, you give them a half-hearted wave before hiking off in another direction. You blink away the heat that was threatening to form in your eyes, keeping your gaze focused on the ugly, cracked pavement ahead as you hurriedly make your way back to your apartment. Every step feels heavier than the last, and you swear you feel yourself sinking with each one you take. You tell yourself it’s fine𑁋that you’ll feel better once you’re home, but you can’t tell if you’re just trying to convince yourself that.
By the time you arrive at your apartment building, perhaps more time has gone by than you expected. The sun has nearly set at this time, making way for the moon to take over with its nightly duties, casting its pale glow over the world around you. But it doesn’t seem to paint its glow on you.
When you start trudging your way towards the entrance to your building, a voice freezes you in your path.
“Y/N! Wait up!”
Your heart sinks in your chest at the voice, almost urging you to step inside your place before that particular gnaw of guilt could grab you, but you freeze nonetheless. You reluctantly turn around to none other than Chan jogging up to you, his skateboard nearly falling from his grip as he lands right in front of you. He’s breathing a bit heavier than usual, as if he’d been running to catch up.
“You haven’t texted me all day,” he tells you breathlessly.
You lift a brow at that, a corner of your lip lifting up at his clinginess. “And you ran all the way here to tell me that?”
“Well, duh, I have to make sure you’re alive.” He wipes off some sweat from his forehead. You could tell he just rolled here all the way from the skatepark.
As you let your eyes scan over him, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly cool he looks with his messy fair falling in front of eyes, and the way he still seems to be trying to catch his breath from the exertion of running up to you. There’s a softness in his expression that makes your chest tighten, and it’s enough to make you lose focus on everything else. The exhaustion, the doubt, the ache in your chest𑁋all of it vanishes when you look at him.
Truthfully, you missed him too. You always do.
“You’re such a dork,” You prod, trying to suppress the soft warmth that spreads through your chest. You know he’s only teasing, but his concern still cuts deeper than you expect. “See? I'm alive and breathing.”
Chan eyes you suspiciously, before grabbing ahold of his skateboard from under his arm. “Alright, if you say so…”
Before he could place the skateboard on the ground, you stop him.
“Wait, Chan.”
Chan shoots his attention back to you, and perhaps that’s enough to make your legs feel like jelly and your throat to go dry. You hesitate, biting back the emotions threatening to spill out of your mouth, but something about the softness in Chan’s gaze makes it feel like this is the right time to let it out. Even if it’s just a little bit.
Without thinking, you take a step forward, then another, and another, before leaning in to gently let your head fall on his shoulder. Chan freezes, his body tensing at the sudden contact. For a second, you wonder if you’ve done something wrong, but then he exhales, his warmth radiating against your temple. You don’t notice the way his hand hovers uncertainly over your back, contemplating, before he ultimately brings it back to his side.
“I got my results for an exam today,” You admit quietly.
Chan thinks he knows where this is going, breathing out a defeated, “Oh. Did it… I mean, did you𑁋”
“I passed,” You mutter with a slight chuckle. “With flying colours.”
Chan doesn’t respond immediately, the only sound being the gentle rustling of the evening breeze. You can feel his shoulder shift slightly under your head, not out of discomfort, but then you feel his arm gently slide over your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to him. Maybe you’re close enough to the point he can feel your heartbeat.
“Then why do you sound so down?” he asks. “If you passed, you should… you should be celebrating, right? That’s a big deal.”
“I am celebrating.” You huff out a breath. “Now that you’re here, I-I could celebrate.”
Chan tenses at that, like your words rendered him speechless. “Because… because I’m here?”
You nod lightly against his shoulder. “It’s… easier to breathe when you’re here, I guess.” And then you smile faintly, even Chan can feel it. “Don’t let that get to your head, though.”
But it does. It does go to Chan’s head in more ways than one as he feels that familiar heat crawl up his neck from how those words fall naturally off your lips, like it was such a normal thing to say. And no, it doesn’t fuel the prideful ego he claims he has, doesn’t make him smug or self-assured; no, it goes straight directly to his heart, as your words always do. He’s glad the dim evening light hides the full extent of his reaction, but he knows his heart isn’t probably nearly as subtle.
And when you lift your head off his shoulder and pull away slightly, he can’t help but stare at you. You don’t say anything either, the words sitting in the air between you. But then you smile𑁋tiredly, genuinely, not forced or hiding anything𑁋and the first thought that comes to his head is that… you’re beautiful.
“You reek of sweat,” You suddenly point out teasingly, scrunching your nose. “How many hours did you stay at the damn park?”
“Oh, you know, only a good seven hours,” Chan replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus I did go to the gym with Soonyoung too…”
“And let me guess, no knee pads or helmet?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.
Chan opens his mouth in defense. “Well, I𑁋”
“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” You cut him off playfully, rolling your eyes dramatically.
Then Chan lightly nudges you with the skateboard. “At least you’ll be there to patch me up, yeah?”
“Nope, sorry, I’m leaving you at the mercy of the cranky ER nurses,” You tell him, wiggling a dismissive finger toward his face.
Chan just steps back up to you, a twinkle of mischief that you capture in his eyes, before he grabs hold of the skateboard under his arm and shoves it in your hold, a low oof escaping out of your mouth. Then you watch with a scoff as he brushes past you and into your apartment building, and you jog to catch up with him.
“What the hell are you doing, Chan?” You call out after him, trying to juggle the weight of the skateboard in your hands. Chan glances over his shoulder with that signature grin of his𑁋half playful, half smug𑁋and it’s enough to make you want to smack him with the board. “And take this thing back, I’m not carrying it! Lee Chan!”
Chan looks back at you with his tongue sticking out, before disappearing around the corner. “Sorry, I’m going to use your shower!”
And for the first time the entire day, the laugh that leaves you is real. A real, genuine laugh that comes from deep in your chest, bubbling up before you can stop it.
“Hey, Lee Dino! You’re up!”
Chan picks his head up from where he sat on the bench, scrunching the empty water bottle and aimlessly tossing it in the trash bin beside him. He stands up, tugging his shirt off that was nearly drenched in sweat and throwing it aside near his belongings. The cool air of the afternoon hits his skin, caressing over the tattoos that paint his skin.
His muscles flex as he stretches his arms above his head, relieving whatever tension was flowing through his body. The key factor to skateboarding is balance, but it’s also about rhythm𑁋finding the flow between body and board, and Chan knows it all too well.
He inhales deeply, eyes scanning the open park in front of him, full of potential for the next challenge.
“Let’s see what you got today, Lee Dino,” Chan mutters to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Dino. A self-proclaimed nickname that was at first given to him by his father when he was just a kid and fascinated by the strength and coolness of dinosaurs in those silly comic books. His dad had joked that he wanted his son to dominate the world like the dinosaurs once did, and that nickname stuck ever since. It felt fitting to Chan, even now.
He strides confidently toward the half-pipe, his worn-out skateboard tucked under his arm. Placing the skateboard on the ground, he pushes it back and forth a few times with his foot, the wheels scraping the pavement below. He eyes the ramp ahead, its steep curve teasing him, almost daring him to take it head-on.
Chan doesn’t hesitate.
In one singular, fluid motion, he plants one foot on the board and pushes forward, flying off with a burst of energy that propels him toward the ramp. The world around him blurs for a split second as his focus narrows entirely on the slope ahead. His heart races, not out of fear but exhilaration. The crowd that had gathered around the park watches, a mix of awe and excitement in their eyes.
He hits the curve of the ramp, leaning into it just the right amount, and in one smooth motion, he launches himself into the air. The adrenaline kicks in, but it’s all muscle memory that fills him𑁋he knows exactly how to control his body.
Time seems to pause and the world around goes on mute as he floats above the ground. The board twists under his feet with the familiar flick of his ankle. His body moves effortlessly, adjusting for the perfect landing, and searching for the right second to take in a deep breath.
He lands back on the pavement with the grace of a dancer, his knees absorbing the shock of the landing, and the cheers of his friends and his fellow skaters power up to full volume right to his ears when the world comes back to him. But as he rolls around the bowl, his focused eyes are already scanning for the next trick he’s about to perform.
One trick after another, he continues, smoothly flowing from one move to the next. A quick Ollie here, a grind on the edge there, his body dancing on the board with a sense of freedom following right after him. He can feel the eyes of the crowd who have curiously gathered around the park to watch, but right now, it’s just him and the board.
One last run, he tells himself. Chan rolls again, more faster this time, building up speed as the seconds of anticipation pass. As he nears the highest point of the ramp, he shifts his weight and takes in one last deep breath. He’s going for a bigger one this time. A heelflip, followed by a 360-degree spin mid-air.
The muscle memory kicks in again as he pushes off for one final time. He feels the rush, the levity to his bones that make him fly, the thrill as the world spins around him. But as he spins, something doesn’t quite feel right, and he could sense it right away. A rush of cold wind catches him off-balance, and for a split second, he hesitates mid-air, yet he’s just a millisecond too late.
It’s a tiny moment𑁋one probably wouldn’t be able to notice it from how fast he was going𑁋but it’s enough to throw him off. His body is barely in the perfect alignment it needs to be. Panic flashes through his eyes.
And his heart sinks as he realises he’s not going to stick the landing.
Chan manages to land the board, but it’s far from the smooth he was expecting, slamming harshly that his body doesn’t fully absorb the shock. His right foot misses the edge of the deck just slightly, and the board wobbles beneath him. He tries to adjust quickly, but the momentum carries him a bit too far, and before he knows it, he’s stumbling off the side and onto the rocky ground, the skateboard shooting out from under him and skidding into one of the nearby flatrails.
“Shit,” he mutters to himself.
Collective gasps ripple through the air as he finds himself laying flat on the ground, his breathing heavy. Chan rolls onto his side, groaning in frustration.
“Man, you good?” Vernon’s voice pops in, the boy picking up Chan’s skateboard and jogging towards him. “That looked like a bad fall.”
Chan pushes himself up from the ground, shaking his head and laughing lightly, wiping his palms against the asphalt and feeling the sting of scraped skin. The fall had been harsh, his body aching slightly from the impact, but the sting is nothing compared to the frustration burning in his chest. He’s taken worse falls before, but this one felt different. This time, he knew he should’ve nailed it.
Maybe he was a bit too cocky. A bit too confident than he needed to be.
“Yeah, I’m good, dude.” He grabs hold of Vernon’s outstretched hand and stands back up on his feet with a grimace. “Guess I miscalculated that a bit, huh?”
“You sure about that?” Vernon asks skeptically, handing Chan back his skateboard. “You look like you’ve taken a hit.”
Chan just chuckles, downplaying himself playfully. “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe just a little bit of a bruised ego.”
But even with that, his mind races, still replaying the trick, analysing the split-second mistakes he made. Why had he hesitated? Was he not focused enough? Was it the wind? Or maybe, was it that nagging feeling of doubt that had crept in when he least expected it?
“You’ve been pushing yourself harder lately,” Vernon says, eyeing him knowingly. “You’re going to burn out if you keep going like this.”
But Chan only shakes his head dismissively.
“It’s just a slip-up.” Then he pats Vernon on the shoulder. “It’s all good, man.”
But deep down, he’s unsettled. He’s used to pushing through challenges, always looking ahead and striving for the next trick. But now, he feels like something’s holding him back, and it’s not just the fall.
He can’t help but think about you. A while ago when you’d reassured him, telling him he was great and making his heart do flips more than it should. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed it then, but now, with the fall still fresh like a wound, the words hold more poundage than ever. The words he told himself about his worth, the words you told him about his greatness… they don’t seem to line up with the failure he feels now. Maybe you were just saying it to make him feel better.
Or maybe he really isn’t as great as everyone thinks.
Because if you𑁋the one person who knew him best𑁋saw something in him, then maybe it was real. Maybe his greatness wasn’t just an illusion he crafted to keep himself from falling apart.
Later that evening, Chan finds himself taking a mindless hit of his vape. The skatepark has cleared away at this point, leaving only him and Vernon sitting on the edge of the half-pipe, the cool night air settling over the empty ramps and rails. The rush of adrenaline from earlier is now long gone, replaced by a quiet hum of exhaustion and contemplation.
Chan exhales slowly, watching the vapour dissipate into the dead of night, the faint flavour of Sour Fucking Fab coating his tongue. The nicotine buzzes in his veins, a distraction𑁋temporary, but enough.
His fingers absentmindedly tap against his skateboard, the frustration from earlier still simmering beneath his skin. Vernon leans back on his elbows, glancing at him with that same knowing look he always has when Chan is overthinking.
“You wanna talk about it now?” Vernon finally asks after exhaling a cloud of vapour of his own, leaning back on his palms.
Chan lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not really.”
Vernon doesn’t push. He never does, seemingly having the unbotheredness that could rival a rock. The boy just nods, stretching his legs out in front of him, letting the silence do the talking instead. They sit there for a while, watching the overhead lamps flicker across the park, and the occasional car passing by.
Chan lets his legs dangle over the edge of the ramp, his skateboard resting beside him, scuffed and worn from years of practice. He takes another slow drag of his vape and drops his back down on the cool pavement below, sealing his eyes shut.
“You good?” Vernon asks again, his voice cutting through the silence.
Chan blinks, shaking himself out of it. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About your fall?”
Chan hums noncommittally. “Among other things.”
Vernon leans back against the rail, watching him closely. “You’ve been weird lately.”
Chan only lets out a breathy chuckle, yet doesn’t respond right away. It’s funny how one fall is enough to mess with his head. He just blankly stares up ahead at the night sky. He doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one he’s ready to say out loud. But Chan knows Vernon, and Vernon knows him, and he’s not going to let this go that easily.
“Do you think I’m actually good at this?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than before.
Vernon turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “At skating?”
“Yeah.” Chan swallows the lump in his throat. “Or at anything, really.”
Vernon frowns puzzledly, sitting up properly. “Dude, what are you talking about? You’re literally one of the best skaters here."
“Yeah, but what if I’m just… I don’t know, pretending?” The words come out before Chan can stop them. “What if I’m just tricking myself into thinking I’m great when I’m really just average?”
Vernon studies him for a long while before letting out a slow breath. “Man, if that were true, you wouldn’t be out here busting your ass every day till the crack of dawn. You wouldn’t get back up after a fall. You wouldn’t care this much.”
Chan doesn’t respond right away, only pushing himself back off the ground. Then his mind drifts again, back to you𑁋your head resting in his lap, the way you looked up at him with something unreadable in your gaze. The impact of your words still lingers. You’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.
“Have you ever thought that… maybe people see you as something more than you really are?”
Vernon lifts up a brow. “You’re speaking hieroglyphics.”
Chan scoffs annoyedly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Like, they think you’re this… great person, right? Someone who’s got it all figured out or whatever. But then, you screw up. And suddenly, you don’t know if you’re actually that person, or if they just convinced themselves you were.”
Vernon eyes him conspicuously. “Dude. That’s just imposter syndrome.”
A dry laugh leaves Chan. “Well, shit.”
“Okay, so you mess up one fall and suddenly you’re questioning your entire existence?”
Chan snorts, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Maybe.”
Vernon stares at him a little longer, a little harder, then sighs.
“It isn’t just about the fall, is it?”
Chan hesitates, his fingers tightening around his vape. He wants to say yes𑁋that it’s just about the fall, just about that one pivotal mistake𑁋but he knows it’s not. He knows Vernon is right.
Because if it were just about the fall, he wouldn’t feel this restless. He wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to all the questions buzzing in his head.
And the thought of you wouldn’t keep creeping into his mind, either.
He smiles faintly at the thought of you, and he swears he could almost feel the warmth of your body when you laid your head on his shoulder the other day.
Maybe falling𑁋on the board, for you, for everything𑁋wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Maybe he just had to figure out how to land.
“You ever think that maybe no one’s expecting you to be perfect except yourself?” Vernon questions suddenly.
Chan turns to look at him in surprise.
“Think about it.” Then the boy breathes out a cloud of vapour, hitting Chan square in the face, accusingly pointing at him with the mouth of his vape. “And wipe that disgusting lovesick shit off your face.”
Chan chokes from his words.
“Chan?”
“...hm?”
You lightly flick the tip of your pencil on his head, causing him to stir in front of you. The two of you were in the library of your campus, and Chan for some reason voluntarily wanted to come with you, despite it being one of your boring study sessions. He’s sitting in the chair right across from you, hoodie over his face and face buried in his arms on the table, clearly dozing off.
“You’re sleeping,” You say, raising a brow. “Why did you even come if you were just gonna pass out on me?”
Chan slowly lifts his head, eyes heavy with drowsiness. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd angles, and his face is creased from where he had pressed it against his arms. He blinks sluggishly at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s something else there𑁋something softer, something warm.
“Mmm… moral support?” Then he shoots a glance towards your opened textbook and computer screen. “I barely understand any of the shit you’re studying anyway.”
You roll your eyes, fighting the smile threatening to spread across your face. “You could’ve just stayed home and slept, you know.”
“That’s boring,” he groans, rubbing his eyes before propping his chin on his palm. He studies your bare face𑁋tired eyes, a bit of breakout to your cheek, the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re frustrated. “Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Anything. I don’t know𑁋your shitty commute to school or if that one shitty nurse bothered you today. Just talk to me.”
You sigh, stretching your arms above your head before setting your pencil on top of your textbook. You could feel Chan’s eyes waiting for you as you try to rack your brain for anything to talk about. Anything that didn’t revolve around you practically moping through your coursework the entire day.
And then your face lights up.
“A baby held onto my finger last night,” You say, eyes softening from the memory. “Her name is Nabi, and she was sooo tiny, Chan, you have no idea. She wasn’t even my patient, so I had to sneak inside the nursery to see her, but…” You lean back in the chair, glancing down at your calloused fingertips from all the times you’ve practiced sutures. “I don’t know. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, then all I felt… was peace. It was relaxing. I haven’t felt peace like that in a long time.”
Now that’s an image that comes to Chan's head.
For a moment, like a spell, he’s lost in it. His mind wanders, as it always does when he lets himself think about you too much. He can imagine you there, looking down at Nabi with that quiet wonder in your eyes, watching you care for this tiny life. He pictures you cradling a baby of your own with the same peaceful look on your face as you guide them gently through the world.
And the thought hits him like a tidal wave: You’d be an incredible mother.
It’s not something he’s imagined before, not something he’s consciously thought of. But now that you’ve said it, now that you single-handedly planted the concept in his head, he can’t push it away. He’s seen it when you did volunteer work for young children back in high school, seen it when you showed him pictures of you cradling the newborn baby of your cousin with the fondest look on your face. He can see it so clearly.
“You’d be a great mom,” he blurts out suddenly, and he hardly processes the words until after they’ve left his mouth.
You blink at him, dazed. “What?”
Chan clears his throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I-I just think you’d be really good at it. You’ve always been great with kids, so…”
You blink at him again, unsure of what to say, and he can’t quite tell what you’re thinking in your head. But in reality, his words seem to hit you more than you expected. Perhaps you’ve been too caught up in your studies that it’s hard to imagine that kind of future for you right now. Yet, if somehow, life gave you that kind of situation, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe this would all be worth it in the end.
And so, you smile. It’s a small, just barely noticeable quirk of your lips, but it’s soft, and for some reason, it makes Chan’s heart skip.
“Yeah,” You murmur quietly. “Maybe.”
“Nabi was lucky to have you there, though,” Chan adds in. “Maybe she also felt peace too.”
You peer at him with an amused look. “Are you getting a soft spot for babies now?” Then you scoff sarcastically. “I guess the tough-looking skater boy can get soft, after all.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he jokes, trying to brush off the warmth spreading across his chest. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
You could only roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep your secret, buttercup.”
Chan just chuckles. He doesn’t mind being the soft version of himself with you. He doesn’t have to wear the hard exterior that everyone expects from him: the reckless skater with tough edges who never cracks under pressure. It’s easy, he thinks, to be soft around you. It’s easy for you to make him soft in the first place, with just a single glance, a smile, just you.
The room grows quiet now, other students filing their way out of the library for the night, leaving only the two of you. You glance down at your work, but your thoughts drift, still lingering on the conversation, and on Chan. You notice how his gaze has relaxed, lips curled like he’s trying to hide a smile. You don’t mind it𑁋this side of him. The one that feels less like a skating rebel and more like a person you’re learning to understand more every day.
He watches you as you get back to your work, highlighting parts of your textbook with that quiet concentration that he admires. It’s occasions like these when he finds himself noticing even the smallest details about you.
Yet his mind keeps repeating about the peace you mentioned, and there’s a sudden urge in him to bring it back to you.
“Come on.” He rises from the seat, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing his skateboard from where it rests against the table. “Let’s get out of here for a bit.”
You blink at him, confused. “What?”
“You need a break,” he states simply. “And I need to clear my head too. Let’s go do something𑁋anything but this.” He gestures at your pile of notes and textbooks like they personally offended him.
You stare at him like he’s proposed the most ridiculous thing in the world, hesitation making you stiffen. You glance between your opened textbook and unfinished papers. You still have a lot to study, and it looms over you like a cloud. But then you meet Chan’s eyes, and your heart gets lodged in your throat.
It’s tempting. More tempting than you want to admit. You bite your lip, considering.
“Chan.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice right now.”
“Oh, come on,” he coaxes, tiling his head amusedly as if he knows he’s getting under your skin. “Just for a little bit, please?”
You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “You’re a bad influence.”
“I’m a wondrous influence, thank you,” he corrects smugly, already swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Now come on. Pack all that gross knowledge up.”
“Just so you’re aware, one day all this shit could help me find some revolutionary cure in the future,” You point out while stuffing all your belongings in your backpack. “Catch me on the front page of the New York Times.”
Chan smiles at that. Honestly, with already knowing how smart and studious you are, he wouldn’t even be surprised if that someday were to happen. He’s never once doubted your abilities, never once doubted that you’ll potentially save the world in some way, shape, or form, never once doubted that you’ll accomplish great things.
“Alright, whatever, as long as you don’t forget about me,” Chan says as you pack the last of your belongings.
You hit him gently on the shoulder. “I’d never do that to you.”
Chan’s heart does the familiar jump once again.
The two of you make your way out of the library, the cool night air hitting your skin as soon as you step outside. Campus is quieter at this hour, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. Chan hops onto his skateboard with ease, gliding a few feet ahead before spinning back around to face you, rolling backwards.
“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” You ask him.
He pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “We could get ice cream.”
“It’s freezing, idiot.”
“Or we could break into the football field and stare at the sky like we’re in some coming-of-age movie.”
You scoff airily. “We’re not breaking into anything, Chan.”
“Ugh, you’re boringgggg,” he exaggerates teasingly, but there’s no real disappointment in his voice. He kicks off again, rolling beside you as you walk. Then, as if something clicks in his head, his expression shifts and his face brightens up. “I know what we’re doing.”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Chan merely grins, and you know you have to give in. “You’ll love it, trust me.”
That’s exactly what someone who is about to get you in trouble would say.
Chan’s place has always been so… Chan. He shares it with another roommate𑁋a chill guy named Vernon who you’ve interacted a few times when you would visit the skatepark. The apartment is dimly lit, a shelf at the corner of the slightly unkempt living room containing a collection of vinyls and old CDs.
Posters of old rock bands and underground artists fill the walls. There’s another skateboard propped up by the door right next to a disorganised row of shoes and a stand propping up an electric guitar. The living room table is littered with books about sports you aren’t familiar with, loose papers, and a bong sitting casually beside an ashtray that contained some old rolled-up joints.
It’s been a while since you’ve visited his place personally as you’re used to him visiting you instead. It looks a bit different this time, some new furniture and decorations added that you haven’t seen before, but it still oozes the familiar comfort rightfully belonging to Chan.
“Bro, can you turn it down a little?” You hear Chan knocking a few times on Vernon’s door.
A voice is muffled on the other side, then the door swings open, and Vernon’s head pops out from the room. The two of them exchange a few words before Vernon turns his head to shoot you an acknowledgement.
“Yo, Y/N,” he greets you casually.
“Hey, Vernon,” You respond back with a quick smile.
Vernon faces back to Chan, glancing between the two of you, before poking him in the chest and muttering quietly, “Don’t fuck this up with her, man.”
Chan just swats Vernon’s hand away with a scowl, feeling the heat spread up to his ears. “Shut up.”
Vernon just shoots a knowing smirk before heading back into his room. You hear the music from inside lower slightly, yet still audible through the walls. Chan turns back to you, and you catch him fiddling lightly with one of his ears, but you don’t question it.
“Want something to drink?” he asks, slipping past you to head into the small kitchen area.
You give a nod. “Sure.”
You watch as he rummages through the refrigerator, half-expecting for him to pull out two bottles of beer or even just plain water. But instead, he fishes out two small juice boxes, sending you back to old memories of your middle school lunches and lazy summer days at the skatepark, and you bite back a chuckle.
He throws one to you, and you catch it mid-air.
“Seriously?” You question while stabbing the straw through the carton.
Chan only shrugs. “They’re Vernon’s. He bought them in bulk last time he got shit-faced high. Said they were ‘the peak of human invention’ or whatever.”
You roll your eyes, but when you take a sip, Chan watches in amusement as you dive in for more.
“Told you. Peak of human invention,” he muses while taking a sip of his own. “Our middle school has to take notes.”
“For sure,” You agree wistfully, sitting yourself down at the arm of the couch. “Alright, so what’s this grand plan of yours?”
A mischievous glint flickers in Chan’s eyes, and he disappears for a few minutes inside his room. When he comes back out, he has a few blankets hung over his shoulder.
“Rooftop,” he chimes eagerly with a grin.
You lift up a brow, eyeing him with skepticism. “I… Are we even allowed up there?”
Chan merely shakes his head, already walking toward the window where the fire escape is. “Nope.”
You groan but follow him anyway because, despite everything, you trust him. He’s always been the reckless one, the one who always takes risks, the one who hardly thinks before acting, but somehow, whenever you’re with him, you never feel unsafe.
The climb up the fire escape is easy, and soon, the two of you are on the rooftop, looking out over the other unappealing suburban apartment buildings beneath your feet. There’s a slight inkling of fear that you’ll get caught up here, but at this point, would it be the worst thing in the world? The answer is quite easy.
The night air is cool, a minor breeze driving through the air, blending with the soft music Chan plays from his phone. He spreads out the blankets, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh before patting the space next to him.
You settle down beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest. The streetlights ahead cast golden halos to the ground below, and for a few moments, neither of you decide to speak. But it isn’t uncomfortable per se𑁋far from it, honestly. It’s just a simple silence where words aren’t necessary to fill it.
“Junior year, Christmas break,” Chan says after a long pause, glancing toward you with a fixed look. “Senior year for you.”
You take a contemplative sip of your juice box. “The time you gaslighted me into running away with you for a night? Right before that embarrassing Christmas party at my house?”
“I was a pretty bad kid back then, wasn’t I?” Chan chuckles softly at the thought.
“Yeah, dude, what the hell happened to you? You used to be this scrawny little kid who spread rumours about snakes being at the playground so that other classes wouldn’t come.” You lean back on the blanket with him, exhaling a deep sigh. “Now you’re all… responsible and weirdly philosophical.”
Chan eyes you with a raised brow. “You haven’t changed.”
“I haven’t?”
“Nope. You’re still the same stubborn smartass girl who’d rather kill themselves in textbooks than touch grass once in a while.”
“Okay. Rude, first of all.” Then you lift your gaze up towards stars, and something in your chest aches. “But I guess some things never change, yeah?”
Chan stares up towards the sky as well, watching the same stars as you. “Yeah, I guess not.”
The two of you sit in another pit of comfortable silence for a while. You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he adjusts himself on the blanket, and for a brief second, your breath catches. It’s such a small thing𑁋his warmth seeping into your skin, his presence right beside you𑁋but it makes your stomach flutter in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.
You turn your head slightly to catch a glance of him. The sleeves of his hoodie have ridden up, revealing the large tattoo on his arm. You could tell how intricately designed the ink is on his skin, lines and shapes weaving together in patterns you can’t quite decipher but are distinctly, undeniably Chan.
“You ever think about it?”
“Huh?” You utter out.
“The future.”
You blink at him with surprise. Chan isn’t usually the type to dwell on these things. He lives in the moment, takes on whatever the hell life throws at him. If anything, you were usually the one to think about the future. You were always known for having a plan for everything, knowing exactly the kind of path you’ll take. But now, it seems more unclear than ever.
“I… don’t know,” You admit unsurely. “I think about what I want to do, who I want to be. But when I think about it now, with everything going on, I…” You find your voice trailing away, guilt slithering up your spine. “It’s hard to imagine it now.”
The only response you hear from Chan is a low hum, before he clears his throat.
“I think you’d be happy.”
Your breath catches. “What?”
He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft even under the night sky. “I think that no matter where you end up, no matter what you do… you’ll be happy. You deserve to be.”
Something warm unfurls in your chest, like a flower coming in full bloom. You don’t know what to say to that, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to let it out. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your hands clammy, and you force yourself to look away in a flash to blink back some heat in your eyes.
Chan notices the pensive look to your face, but doesn’t push for anything more. He sits himself up on the blanket, taking a quick hit of his vape before exhaling a thin cloud of vapour into the night air. You fix your eyes on him, the dim light casting shadows over his face as he exhales.
His gaze drifts out to the neighbourhood of buildings ahead, but he seems to be lost in thought, withdrawn, like he’s fighting with himself about something he doesn’t know how to voice. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s heavier, different𑁋more intimate than you’re used to.
Then, you clear your throat. “We should probably head back soon.”
Chan doesn’t move from his spot on the blanket. “Yeah. Probably.”
But neither of you make an effort to actually get up. He wordlessly offers you his vape without looking, and you hesitate momentarily before shamelessly taking it from him, inhaling a little too deeply, but not caring enough to stop𑁋just to feel something other than this. The taste is odd at first, unfamiliar, but it quickly becomes something soothing in the cool night air as you breathe it out. You pass it back to him, your fingers brushing over the warm skin of his hand.
“Y/N?”
Your heart stutters when he calls your name. “Yeah?”
Hesitation lingers in the air. Chan sucks in a deep breath.
“You’re my favourite person, you know?”
Your breath gets caught in your throat at that, but you quickly mask it by giving him a playful shove in the arm, probably ruining the sentimental moment.
“I know, idiot,” You retort playfully, hoping it would be enough to hide the way your heart is racing. “You’ve told me that many times already.”
Chan just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “I mean it.”
Your fingers nervously knead at the fabric of the blanket pooling around you. You can’t get yourself to look at him. You can’t.
Because you know. You know exactly what he’s saying.
And you don’t know what to do about it.
So instead, you swallow hard, keeping your gaze ahead. “You’re mine too, Chan.”
Chan doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t catch the faint smile that was beginning to bloom across his face. There’s a sigh that leaves his lips, almost one of relief, and he leans back on the palm of his hands, his eyes glued to your side profile.
“Yeah,” he mutters softly. “I know.”
Neither of you say anything more.
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“Okay, listen, here’s the catch. She’s like… really great. Like… she spoils me and all that. It’s so overwhelming,” Soonyoung huffs out after dropping his deadlift and standing up. “I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend for her! I’ve never dated anyone before! How the hell do I ask her to go to the movies with me?”
Chan is listening. Well, not entirely𑁋Soonyoung’s words seems to be going in one ear and flowing out the other. He’s been listening to the older boy’s rant about this sudden new addition to his dry love life, the best part being that it’s his older sister’s best friend. Chan nods along anyway, keeping his gaze fixed on the gym floor as he absently rolls his water bottle between his palms.
Soonyoung only continues to ramble, pacing a little in front of him with his hands to his hips. “Like, what if I mess it up? What if she realises I have no idea what I’m doing and decides I’m not worth it? Or what if I’m too much?”
Chan hums, taking a long drawl of his water. “If she’s with you, she probably already thinks you’re too much, bro.”
The older boy shoots him a measly glare, popping down on the bench right next to him. “Wow, thanks, genius. You’re sooo encouraging. You’ve never been in love before, anyway.”
When Soonyoung snatches his water bottle, a few beats of silence fills the air. Chan continues to stare down at the gym floor like it contains all the answers in the world, all the answers he’ll never have, and Soonyoung gives him a few curious looks. And then, it clicks in his head.
“Wait a damn minute.” Soonyoung fixes his posture right away as his eyes widen, sitting up straighter. “Chan𑁋”
“Man, you really are blind are you?” Chan retorts with an amused click of his tongue. “No wonder you suck at being a boyfriend.”
“Shut up!” Soonyoung shoves him in the arm, before grabbing him by the shoulders like he’s just made the greatest discovery in history. “No way, is it Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”
Chan’s reaction is immediate, the sound of your name already sending those familiar flutters to the pit of his stomach. This only makes Soonyoung beam up even more, and Chan already knows that the older boy will take this right into his damn grave.
He tries to pry Soonyoung off him, but he only relents.
Soonyoung is practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, wow, didn’t you used to tell me you were going to marry her or something?’
“Why the hell do you still remember that?” Chan groans and rubs a defeated, embarrassed hand over his face. “I was, like, fifteen. A dumb, didn’t know their right-from-left kid. She was way out of my league at the time.”
“But not anymore.”
Chan rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“Come on, look at you! You’re hot, like a total eye-catcher and mouth-drooler material. Of course she’d be into you,” Soonyoung persists, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Literally anybody would swoon over you.”
Chan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s different now, though. Med school is swallowing her whole, and she barely has time to breathe anymore. Besides, it’s just… complicated, you know?”
“You’re each other’s person,” Soonyoung affirms with confidence. “Don’t forget that.”
Chan’s heart thrums loudly at that. Now, the only thing he could think about was his conversation with you the other night. He can still feel the soft brush of your shoulder against his, the comfort of your presence beside him. You’re my favourite person, he had said; You’re mine too, you had said. It echoes in his mind like a tenacious virus infecting his thoughts. It’s true, he knows it is. You’re his person.
The big question is, though, how the hell does he gain the courage to finally face it?
Chan had never been the one to overthink things. He’s always been the careless kind. But with you, he finds himself replaying every single little memory with you, and it makes him almost want to combust.
Running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Chan grimaces, tapping his foot out of unease.
“Love really is a piece of shit,” he mutters.
Soonyoung leans back on the bench with a reflective sigh. “Yeah, it really is.”
Chan side-eyes the older boy for a second, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “Let me give you a piece of advice then.”
Soonyoung turns to face him with a puzzled look.
Chan just smirks, shoving Soonyoung in the forehead with his index finger.
“Stop being a pussy and your girlfriend𑁋do I need to spell it out for you? Your girlfriend𑁋to the damn movies already, you loser.”
No, this is not happening.
A tear squeezes past your eye and lands somewhere by your feet as you stare at the bold, unforgiving letters of the word FAIL written at the very top of an exam you took the other day. You will yourself to blink as if it would miraculously make the words change, for some mistake to have been made. But nothing changes. The numbers don’t rearrange themselves, the percentage doesn’t miraculously rise above the passing threshold. It stays there𑁋permanent, irreversible, mocking like a goddamn clown.
No, no, no, no.
Your throat tightens.
This is the fourth exam you failed in a row. You had studied until your eyes dried up and burned, pushed yourself past the brink of exhaustion, drained every last drop of energy you had left into preparing for this exam, hoping to make up for the list of others you scored below average on. You sacrificed sleep, skipped meals, ignored texts from friends. And for what? For fucking what?
For this shit?
Your vision swims.
Your pulse hammers loudly right to your ears, loud enough you’re sure it could drown out any kind of sound. Your knuckles tighten its grip around the paper until they turn white, nails digging into the palm of your hand.
Your breath hitches, and suddenly, it feels like the walls around you are closing, eager to shut you in. The room suddenly shrinks into a confined space that’s hard to properly breathe, the air too thick, your own skin too suffocating to be in. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, and a cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck.
You had been barely holding it together as it was, restrained by the threats of burnout. Long nights, endless studying, the constant weariness sitting heavily on your bones. And now? Now you have proof that none of it was enough. That none of it was worth it. That you weren’t enough.
A ding from your phone startles you out of your thoughts for a split second. You barely manage to catch the notification that jumps at you.
[10:37pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n?? are you okay? i don’t know what’s happening, but your friend jeonghan ran into me saying about how you ran away crying??
A choked sob escapes you before you’re able to stop it. You can feel the anxiety creeping its way from down your feet and up through your bones. You hardly realise how much you’re trembling from your hardened grip on your phone.
[10:39pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n answer me please i know you’re not okay
A cold panic grips your chest achingly𑁋you’re sure there’s a bruise there forming in some disgusting mental form.
What does this mean for you?
Your future?
Your dream?
[10:43pm | dumbass 🛹] y/n please i’m worried about you. i care for you so so much
There’s a tug at your heartstring at his text, but then you feel another tug, one that’s more stronger, more desperate. It’s almost as if the final nail to the coffin had been hammered. You crumple the piece of paper in your hand aggressively before flailing it somewhere across your apartment. There’s a darkness that seems to loom right over you, goosebumps dancing up and down your skin as you sit yourself down at the edge of your bed.
One last ding from your phone.
[10:47pm | dumbass 🛹] i’m coming over, okay? stay there for me, y/n i’ll be there in 5 mins
You stare at the screen of your phone, the words blurry through the tears that won’t stop raging down your face. You can barely process Chan’s messages. You know he’s worried. You know he’s trying to be there for you, but the weight of failure seems to crush your body like a boulder, and you aren’t even sure if you have the willpower to face him.
You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t allow him to see this weak, vulnerable, and ugly part of you. You can’t.
Time seems to tick by slowly as you pace around your room, but at every angle, all you can see is your scattered textbooks, the countless notes you’ve taken that never seemed to stick into your brain like it was meant to. All you see is the so-called effort that kicked you right back to this point. Your mind races with a million thoughts, each one a reminder of how much you’ve failed, how much you’ve fallen short of the finish line. The clock ticks mercilessly, and before you even realise it, Chan is at your door.
You freeze.
The knocks are insistent. Suddenly, the thought of Chan allows you to exhale a deep breath; the first, real one.
“Y/N? Open the door, please,” Chan urges, voice muffled through the door.
You could only stand there, staring at the door as if it could open by itself. Your heart is pounding even faster, your mind screaming at you to do something. You can just yell back that you’re fine𑁋that there’s nothing to worry about, but the truth is that you don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you.
“Y/N, please… I’m not going anywhere. Just… let me in.”
The pure softness to his voice seeps through the door and hits you square in the chest, and something inside your cracks. You know you should let him in, but your failure feels so raw, so final, that it’s hard to imagine someone, especially someone like Chan, still wanting to be around you.
And yet, he’s here, attempting to reach you.
Taking a deep breath, you wipe away your tears, and against every thought in your mind telling you to retreat, you reach out and open the door.
On the other side, Chan stands with an arm leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair tousled and messy from the wind, his breathing rapid and fast like he’s just run from the other side of the world just to get to you. The thought only deepens the cut even farther.
“Y/N…” His voice falters immediately at the sight of your face: puffy, reddened eyes, your body shaking like the world is crumbling right at your feet.
His heart lurches at the sight, jaw tightening slightly as his instincts to protect you, to lash out at whatever did this to you, flare up. He doesn't even hesitate. Without another word, Chan steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest. You don’t do anything but fall right into his grasp, and it’s almost as if you fit perfectly in his hold. Like the space was always meant for you.
You allow yourself to believe it for just a moment.
“Shit, you’re cold and shaking,” Chan mutters under his breath, tightening his hold around you a little bit more, but you already know the chill comes from somewhere else𑁋somewhere deeper that you know he can’t fix just like that.
For the first time in what feels like forever, you exhale a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s cutting you from the inside out, your fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his hoodie. You feel the heat radiating off him, the comfort of being in his arms, but a sinking feeling grows heavier in your chest. You don’t deserve this. Not his warmth, not his care, not his worry. You can’t let him in, not like this.
But for a moment, just for a moment, you do.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his breath hitting the temple of your head. “I’ve got you.”
You swallow a breath at that.
You shouldn’t let him do this. You shouldn’t let yourself melt into him like this, shouldn’t let yourself believe that this is where you belong. Because it isn’t.
Because you know better.
Because you know this warmth is only temporary.
Because you know the second you let yourself rely on him, really rely on him, it’ll all come crashing down.
Slowly, the grip you have on his hoodie loosens, and you start to push yourself off him.
At first, Chan doesn’t notice. His hold on you remains firm, as if he thinks you’re just shifting, adjusting. But then your hands push against his chest𑁋just barely at first; it’s a hesitant, silent plea for distance.
He stiffens.
His hold loosens, just slightly, but his arms don’t drop completely.
“Y/N?” The way he calls out your name comes out in a mere echo, like his presence is far away, even when it isn’t. Even when he’s just right there in front of you.
You don’t answer. You just push a little harder. I can’t let myself love you like this.
And that’s when he lets go. The cold is swift to settle back over your skin, the safety of his warmth disappearing in an instant. Chan looks like he wants to reach for you again, a twitch to his arms that doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t. He waits.
And that’s somehow worse.
You take a step back, putting more distance where there shouldn’t be any. “You should go.”
Chan flinches like you’ve slapped him, his eyes widening at your words, clearly taken aback, his expression completely faltering. He stays completely still in his spot.
“What?” He croaks out, his voice cracking weakly. “You can’t just𑁋”
“You don’t have to do this,” You say, forcing the words out even as they feel like shards of glass in your throat. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“Why won’t you just𑁋” He stops himself, exhaling sharply before lowering his voice. “Why won’t you just let me be here for you?”
“Because it’s not fucking fair, Chan.”
“Bullshit,” he hisses out, but his voice is not angry, just desperate, hurt. “I don’t give a damn about fairness, Y/N. What’s not fair? That I care for you? That I want to be here when you need me? That I…”
“I’m not your responsibility!”
“...I’ve loved you for so fucking long it’s physically killing me inside?”
The truth spills from his lips like a flood he can no longer hold back. Silence swallows the room entirely, your feet sinking into the floor like quicksand. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you comes to a halt. The tension stirring in the air has enough power to crush you all at once.
You shut your eyes, willing yourself to feel nothing, willing yourself to pretend like his words didn’t just stab you straight through the heart.
But they do.
Because you love him. God, you love him so much.
But you can’t give in.
Because if you do, you’ll shatter. And if you shatter, he’ll be the one trying to pick up the pieces.
“You need to leave,” You deadpan, forcing the words out even if they cut through your throat like a knife.
But Chan only stands his ground, and takes a few steps towards you until he’s close enough that you could feel his familiar warmth again. Your hands twitch at your sides as he stands right before you, and for a singular second, you steal a glance down at his lips.
“Don’t do that,” he urges, leaning in a little more, the edge of your bed from behind pressing into the back of your knees. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”
Maybe he’s close enough to catch the subtle shakiness to your breath, to see the way your eyelashes imperceptibility flutter, to see the way your lips part ever so slightly. And maybe, just maybe, he’s close enough to make you forget𑁋for a fleeting, dizzying moment𑁋why you’ve spent so long trying to push him away.
If you gave the world one more second, his mouth would be on yours. One more second, and you’d finally know what it feels like to kiss the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.
Yet like a punch to the gut, reality slams into you.
You swallow hard. “It doesn’t.”
The lie tastes like poison on your tongue.
Chan lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” His voice comes out hoarse and rough. “You can tell me whatever the hell you want, but I know you, Y/N. I know… I know that you feel something, too.”
You bite down on your lip so hard you swear you could taste blood. You don’t respond. You can’t.
“So just say it,” he presses on desperately, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Say it, and I’ll go. Say it, and I’ll stay. Look at me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t love me. God dammit, just give me something, Y/N, please.”
The way his voice becomes soft and pleading breaks something in you. Right now, you’re staring at the boy who has always been there for you, who has always known you better than you know yourself. The boy who is giving you a chance. A singular chance to pull him back. A singular chance to confess that you’ve loved him since before you knew what the hell the word love even meant.
And that same boy is staring at you like you’re his whole world, like you’re the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. You want to tell him the truth. You want to throw yourself into his arms and let him hold you together into eternity when you feel like you’re crumbling apart. But you can’t.
Because one day, he’ll wake up and realise that loving you is exhausting. That being around you is suffocating. That he deserves someone who isn’t this broken, utter mess of a failure.
So you do the only thing you can. You force yourself to break him before he can break you.
“Go home, Chan.”
“No,” he resists firmly, yet a pinch of shakiness to his voice. “Not until you say it… Not until you tell me that you love me too.”
“I don’t love you, Chan.”
Lie.
Lie.
Lie.
Silence.
You see the exact second the words hit. The exact moment his heart breaks.
You catch the way his body visibly deflates, the way the colour drains out of his face. Every fibre of his form tenses, and Chan swears to himself that he can’t breathe, as if your words completely knocked the wind out of him, tearing his heart out of his chest and right down to the ground. He’s still staring at you, searching your rigid face𑁋for hope, for any hint of regret, for something at this fucking point𑁋but he doesn’t find anything. His lips part slightly as if he was about to say something, but nothing comes out.
And then slowly, finally, he gives a nod.
“Right,” Chan says quietly, and his words are barren, empty. “Okay.”
He takes a slow step back, then another. And you almost call out to him, almost take it all back, almost tell him the truth𑁋that you love him more than anything, that you’ve loved him since you were kids, that pushing him away is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.
But you just clench your fists at your side. Chan stands at your doorway.
Then he turns back to look at you, his hand right on your doorknob, and you can’t read his face, yet you feel the way his eyes are piercing right through you. He pauses. He’s waiting.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” is the last thing he tells you before crossing onto the other side.
The second the door clicks shut behind him, your legs give out beneath you. Your entire body trembles as you press a cold hand to your mouth, a loud sob spilling out of you before you could stop the dam from breaking.
Because you love him.
And you just let him go.
The burning sensation of alcohol runs down Chan’s throat, the bitter taste of beer stinging his tongue.
He finds himself out of breath, standing at the very edge of the half-pipe with his skateboard gripped tightly in his hands. He’s been here for what feels like hours, but the night air is still too cold to shake off the sting in his chest. Skating is the only way he could cope with all the pain, the confusion, the longing, with everything that’s been lingering on his mind every night.
“Dude, are you just going to skate until you die?” Vernon’s voice punches through his thoughts, the boy sitting splat on the pavement, an unlit joint at the tip of his mouth.
Chan doesn’t even acknowledge the question at first, his eyes boring holes through the concrete beneath his feet. Then, with a leap of faith, he places a foot on the skateboard and pushes himself down the ramp. The evening breeze catches in his hair as he concentrates on getting to the other side of the half-pipe, the wheels screeching loudly against the pavement as he flies through the air.
Just for a few seconds, he wills himself to not think about you, but when he lands on the other side of the ramp with a hard thud, the feelings all come rushing back. He slows down, rolling in a few mindless circles before strolling back up to where Vernon is. He flicks his skateboard on his foot, letting it rest against his knee as he takes another deep breath.
“Chan𑁋”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Vernon pesters, concern edging his voice. “You can’t just keep skating away from this, man.”
“I’ve been in love with her for years, don’t you get it?” Chan jabs his skateboard into the ground, frustrating coating his words. “She’s everything to me and she just… she just let me go. I left because that’s what she wanted. It fucking sucks.”
Vernon lights the joint between his lips and leans back on his palms, exhaling a trail of smoke into the air that disappears into the dead of night. He watches as Chan swallows another swig of beer and clumsily plops himself down on the ground right next to him, letting his skateboard roll away a few inches before pulling it back with his foot. The only sounds that interrupt the heavy silence are the nearby chirps of crickets and the clicks from Vernon absentmindedly fiddling with the lighter between his fingers.
I don’t love you, Chan, are the words that have been replaying like a broken record in Chan’s mind ever since that night. And now here he is, at the fucking skatepark in the dead of night, trying to outskate a heartbreak that clings to him like a second skin.
Chan’s eyes drift up towards the darkened sky, a contemplative sigh leaving him.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, you know?”
Vernon lifts a brow. “Stop what?”
“Loving her,” Chan finishes, tapping his fingers against the can of beer. “It’s crazy how it’s always been easy to love her. Maybe even easier than breathing sometimes.”
Vernon’s eyes flicker from the glowing tip of his joint to Chan’s solemn face. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”
This earns a bitter laugh from Chan. “You’re not helping, dude.”
“Don’t stop loving her then,” Vernon mutters like it was the most simple thing in the world. “But don’t let it eat you alive either.”
Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Listen, when I first started skating, I used to wipe out all the time. Like, bad. I’d eat shit and bust my ass so hard I thought I’d never get back up again.” Vernon pauses, taking another long-winded drag. “But I did, because that’s just how it works, man. You fall, you get hurt, you get back up.”
Briefly, Chan casts a glance down to his hands, taking note of the fading scars on his knuckles from all the times he’s taken falls throughout his life, all the times he’s hit the pavement and gotten back up again.
And he thinks about you.
And he thinks about you, wondering: how many times have you fallen without anyone there to catch you?
He thinks about the way your hands trembled that night, the way you practically crumbled in his hold, the way your eyes looked so exhausted, so defeated. He thinks about the way your voice cracked when you told him to go, how you looked at him like he was both the thing you wanted most and the thing you couldn’t bear to hold onto.
Chan swirls the can of beer in his hands, taking one last swig before slamming the can on the pavement with a loud clink, the lingering metallic taste mixing in with his bittersweet thoughts.
He should have stayed. Should have fought harder. Should have told you that even if you pushed him away, even if you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him, he wasn’t going anywhere, because no matter which direction he goes, the path always leads back to you.
Because that’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s staying even when someone tells you to leave. It’s holding on even when they don’t have the strength to do it themselves.
He thinks about you again. About how you looked at him with that same damn expression you had the night your parents got into this big fight back during your freshman year of high school, the night you broke up with your first boyfriend during junior year who was an absolute dickhead to you, the night you first told him you didn’t believe in happy endings.
“Shit,” Chan breathes out frustratingly. “What the hell do I do now?”
Vernon shrugs, flicking the ash off his joint onto the ground until it dissolves into nothing. “Figure out if you’re willing to fall again.”
Chan lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what if I hit the pavement even harder this time?”
“Then you’ll get back up,” Vernon says casually, with his cool, calm, and collected demeanour that’s almost irritating, even if the younger boy knows that he’s right. “Just like you always do.”
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A plastic-wrapped sandwich is placed on the bedside table beside you, but you don't make a move to even acknowledge it. You know you should eat, you know you should do a lot of things, but your limbs feel like lead, and the thought of food makes you want to gag.
“Y/N? You need to eat.”
The worried tone of Jeonghan’s voice rings out from behind you, yet you could only find yourself sprawled atop one of the beds in the on-call room, your back turned towards the door and your eyes staring hazily into the dull, sterile hideous walls of the hospital.
There’s a defeated sigh that you hear come from Jeonghan, the noise of the hospital fading away when the door closes shut. Another presence enters into the room𑁋Joshua𑁋and you could only shut your tired eyes close as you mentally prepare yourself for them to attempt to dig you out of your hole once again.
But you’re beyond caring at this point. You can’t remember the last time you had a full night of sleep or felt anything other than the overwhelming deadweight of exhaustion and isolation pressing down on you. The only thing that seems to matter now is just getting through the damn day, making it to the next hour, then the next, until the cycle starts all over again.
The faint shuffle of footsteps signals Joshua’s approach, and despite how worn out you are, you can’t help but tense up slightly. You don’t want to explain yourself anymore. You don’t have the energy to.
“Y/N, at least drink some water,” Joshua assures, and you hear the snap of a water bottle opening and being placed on the bedside table right next to you.
You don’t reply at first, your gaze still fixed on the blank wall. You’re so tired, but somehow, sleep feels impossible. You feel your chest tighten, the heaviness of everything pressing down on you. The hospital. The clinical hours. The endless patient charts. The constant rush to keep up, to not fall behind. But beneath it all, another thing has been gnawing at you𑁋the night you pushed away the only person who could keep you from completely drowning.
Chan.
Thinking of his name alone is enough to send a wave of guilt crashing over the dam in your mind, and you bury your body even further within the sheets of the bed, willing yourself not to think about the way his face fell that night, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you.
You hurt him. You told him to leave. You told him you didn’t want him. You saw it in his eyes. And perhaps that’s what makes it worse𑁋knowing that you did it on purpose.
For a few minutes, Jeonghan and Joshua don’t say anything else. They’re not leaving; of course, they aren’t. The two of them have been hovering around you like ghosts for the past two weeks just watching, waiting for you to crack open enough to let them in. But some wounds don’t heal with a sandwich and a bottle of water. Some wounds don’t heal at all.
Then finally, a voice cuts through the thick silence.
“This isn’t healthy, Y/N. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jeonghan rebukes, sitting himself at the edge of the bed.
Your jaw tightens, flipping your body on the bed to finally face them. “Doing what?”
“This,” Jeonghan points out. “Locking yourself away, pretending like you’re fine when you’re not.”
“I don’t need a lecture,” You mumble flatly.
Joshua exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he leans against the bedside table. “We’re not here to lecture you. We’re here because we care. And you can’t keep wasting yourself away like this. It’s not healthy.”
Something inside you flinches, but you swallow it down, forcing yourself to remain still. You’ve gotten good at that lately. They’re right, of course. You know that they’re right.
A bitter laugh leaves you. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Joshua’s face softens, and he crouches down so that he’s level with you. “Being here and actually living are two different things.”
His words make you pull the sheets tighter around yourself, as if that will somehow shield you from their concern, from the way they’re looking at you like you’re slipping right through their fingers. You catch a glimpse of the unopened sandwich and water bottle standing on the bedside table, the sight making your stomach twist, and for a brief second, you consider reaching for it𑁋just to ease the worry etched into their faces.
But before you could make any decision, the overhead intercom jolts you to life.
“Code blue, third floor east wing. Code blue, third floor east wing.”
The words send a chill down your spine, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. In an instant, you’re throwing the sheets off, shoving past Joshua and Jeonghan as you bolt out the door.
A patient is crashing. There’s no room for hesitation. No room for exhaustion.
Your feet pound relentlessly against the linoleum floor as you barrel down the hall, your body moving on autopilot as you dash down the hallway. The rush of adrenaline keeps pushing you forward. A part of you senses that Joshua and Jeonghan are right behind you, but you barely register their presence as you weave past other nurses and patients, making a beeline toward the east wing.
And then𑁋just as you round the corner, just as nurses and doctors rush in from all different directions, the sound of their voices mixing with the frantic beeping of monitors𑁋the world tilts.
Your vision blurs, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes, parts of your body growing numb.
And then… nothing.
The last thing you hear before the world fades to black is the sound of Jeonghan frantically calling out your name. Your knees buckle, and suddenly, the cold, unforgiving hospital floor is rushing up to meet you.
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“Is this like, what, our second time meeting ever?”
Chan shoots his gaze over to Jeonghan, who was still dressed in his scrubs and walking towards him with his arms crossed together. Chan leans his back against the wall behind him, his skateboard tucked securely under his arm. He steals a quick glance at the closed door right in front of him, and his chest aches knowing that you’re right behind it.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tightens his grip on his skateboard when Jeonghan stands right next to him. He barely knows the guy, but there’s something in Jeonghan’s gaze that makes it feel like he’s already sized Chan up.
His jaw tightens at the urge to barge into your room. But what would that accomplish? What would he even say? Would you even want to see him?
“Third,” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the door. “If we count the time we had a staring contest last week in the parking lot.”
Jeonghan scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”
Chan exhales sharply through his nose, the faintest hint of a laugh escaping before his expression hardens again. He wants to be angry at Jeonghan, at Joshua, at anyone who’s been standing between him and you these past few weeks. But the hard truth is that he’s not angry at them. He’s angry at himself, specifically. Because while they were there𑁋staying, fighting for you𑁋he wasn’t.
“Did she ever tell you?” he asks Jeonghan.
Jeonghan lets out a contemplative hum. “Tell me what?”
“If she ever wants to see me again.”
Jeonghan stares at the younger boy for a moment. He leans against the wall as well, letting his uncrossed arms fall back to his side, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his scrubs.
“Do you really need her to say it?” Jeonghan asks, the question hanging in the air. “I think you already know the answer.”
And fuck, that stings.
Chan swallows at that. He feels restless, like his body is demanding him to move, to do something, anything𑁋kickflip down the hallway, punch a hole through a wall, slap reality into himself, burst into your room to shake you awake and demand to know why the hell you keep doing this to yourself. But he knows none of those things will change anything.
Minutes later, the door to your room opens, and out comes a disheveled-looking Joshua.
“She’s knocked out,” he says while stepping up to Chan and Jeonghan. “Got a minor concussion from the collapse, but the doctor says she should be okay once she rests for a little while.”
Guilt gnaws at Chan even more. Taking a leap of faith, he takes a step up.
“Can I go in?” he hesitantly asks.
Joshua’s eyes flicker towards Jeonghan, the two of them exchanging a knowing look between one another.
“Make it quick,” Jeonghan tells him. “We’ll cover you.”
Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He brushes past Jeonghan and Joshua, pushing open the door to your room with a bit too much force, the quiet click of the latch echoing throughout the quietness. His grip tightens around his skateboard, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lays his eyes on you for the first time in weeks.
And God, you look wrecked.
He’s greeted with the steady beep of the heart monitor. The hospital blanket is draped up to your chest, your body curled within like you’re trying to disappear. Even in sleep, you don’t look anywhere close to peaceful. Your brows are furrowed, lips parted like you’re caught in some action-packed dream you can’t escape from.
Chan rests his skateboard down against the wall, silently pulling up a chair beside your bed and sinking into it. He doesn’t reach for your hand, at least not yet, even though he wants to. He doesn’t dare.
Because what right does he have?
His fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, resisting the urge to grab onto your hand. You look so much different from the last time he saw you. Your face looks drained of colour, the hollows beneath your eyes painted dark from exhaustion. Your chest rises and falls steadily, and an IV stands intimidatingly at the side supplying fluids into your body.
For weeks, he’s been running through every possible scenario in his head𑁋what he would say, how he would say it, what he would do if you push him away again. But now that he’s here, staring at the way your fingers weakly clutch at the sheets, all those words fall apart in his throat.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he leans a bit forward, forearms braced against his thigh.
“You really know how to scare the shit out of people, huh?”
A humourless chuckle leaves him, but it’s quick to fade away when he catches sight of your fragile form again.
Silence. You don’t stir or react. But Chan keeps talking anyway, because gosh, he doesn’t know what else to do.
“I wanted to be mad at you,” he admits quietly, gaze flitting down to the floor for a moment before he forces himself to look back up. “I wanted to be so fucking mad because you told me to leave, and I…” His voice falters, shaking slightly as his breath hitches. “I actually listened. I’m so fucking stupid.”
Still no response from you.
“You don’t even know, do you?” he mutters. “How much everyone’s been losing their minds over you. Jeonghan has been glaring at me like he wants to kill me, which, to be fair, he might actually want.” A scoff leaves his mouth, shaking his head. “Your other friend Joshua won’t even look at me half the time. Vernon is probably done with my shit. Soonyoung is having his own existential crisis. And me? I’ve… I’ve just been trying to figure out if you meant it that night. When you told me to leave.”
His hands clench themselves into fists against his lap, the same way they had that very night. Memories hit him like a wave as he remembers the harsh adamancy to your voice, the way you stood there like you had already made peace with hurting him.
But then his eyes drift over to your hand and his breath catches in his throat. Without thinking, he reaches over to brush his hand over yours. His heart skips at the subtle warmth of connection, even through your cold skin. The pulse in his neck quickens at the touch. You still don’t move.
Slowly, he closes his fingers around yours, not expecting much. It’s tentative, almost apologetic, and it hits him at how much he’s wanted to do this𑁋to hold your hand and feel the comfort that came solely from you.
“You’re not invincible,” Chan whispers under his breath. “No one is. It’s not a weakness to let someone love you. To let me love you.”
A small, helpless laugh escapes him at the sudden confession, but it’s not like he could go about his days without telling you at least. He shifts in the chair, but his hand refuses to leave yours; if only, they tighten just a little bit more, his thumb gently caressing over your knuckle.
“Fuck,” he murmurs as his gaze rakes over you once more, the corners of his lips quivering upwards. “I could love you for the rest of my life.”
The room returns to its deathly quietness. Nothing to let him know that you’re hearing him. Nothing that would assure him that he isn’t just speaking into the void. Nothing but the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the hospital outside your room. Chan simply stays like that, his fingers resting lightly against yours, waiting. Hoping. Promising to stay here for as long as he can.
And then𑁋so slight he almost misses it𑁋your fingers twitch against his.
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You find yourself running.
It’s three in the morning, you’re dressed in your sleep clothes and stumbling out of your apartment with a pair of slippers. You were given very specific instructions by Jeonghan, Joshua, and your clinical instructors to rest for a few days after your collapse, but after being spammed with messages from Vernon that Chan had injured himself from an accident while skateboarding, your feet seemed to make the decision before your mind could process it.
So now, here you are, pushing open the door to your building and bolting out into the quiet, empty streets like a woman possessed out of her damn mind. Your frantic breaths fog into the air, the cold nipping at your skin as you dash off in a desperate sprint all the way to Chan’s apartment.
Vernon’s texts had been frustratingly vague𑁋just a series of frantic messages about Chan taking a bad fall at the skatepark, about blood and bruises and the possibility of a broken wrist. The words had been enough to send your already fragile heart spiraling, and now, the only thing driving you forward is the need to see him. Why would Chan do something so reckless?
But deep down, you already know the answer, don’t you? Chan has always been reckless, not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. Too much.
You hardly remember the last time you ran this fast, and your lungs burn as you push forward out of pure desperation, slipper-clad feet slapping against the pavement. Every breath you take feels suffocating, an aching pressure squeezing into your ribs, but you can’t stop. Not until you see him. Not until you know he’s okay.
By the time you reach Chan’s apartment complex, you don’t even hesitate to burst through the doors. For a minute, you contemplate taking the elevator, but that would mean wasting the few extra seconds you could use to head straight to his place.
One flight of stairs. Two flights of stairs. Three flights of stairs. You nearly trip on the last step as you shove open the door to his floor and make a straight beeline toward his place. When you land at the doorstep, you lift a fist and pound a few times on the door.
The seconds pass torturously long before the door swings open, and you’re greeted with Vernon.
“Where is he?” You ask him demandingly, letting out breathless pants.
Vernon appears almost shocked at your presence before he steps aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. I got a first-aid kit on the kitchen count𑁋”
You don’t waste anymore time than that, pushing past Vernon and into the apartment. Stomping all the way to Chan’s door, you raise another fist up and pound against the wood, loud and insistently.
“Chan!”
Silence.
You knock again, harder this time. “Chan, open the door!”
Still nothing.
Frustration and worry boil over all your thoughts, and without thinking, you hectically twist the doorknob. Locked still. Of course.
“Lee Chan, if you don’t open this goddamn door right now, I swear to𑁋”
The lock clicks.
Your breath catches when the door slowly opens, revealing Chan standing under the dim lighting of his room, and your gaze sweeps over him closely. His right wrist is wrapped in some sort of sloppy, rushed, makeshift plaster, a bruise painted at the corner of his jaw, and there’s a nasty scrape running down his forearm. His skateboard sits abandoned against the frame of his bed, and from the looks of it, one of the wheels is barely hanging on.
He looks tired. More than that𑁋he looks completely shocked to see you. Something tightens in your chest.
Chan opens his mouth. “What are you𑁋”
“Are you insane?” The words spill out before you can stop them, your voice shaking. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Chan’s eyes widen at your words, startled. “I-It’s just a sprain, it’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” You goad, motioning over his figure. “Vernon made it seem like you broke half your bones!”
Chan shoots a glare over your shoulder to where Vernon was looming idly in the background. The boy only shrugs with his arms hanging in the air innocently.
“I panicked, alright? Sue me,” Vernon admits shamelessly, before disappearing around the corner and back into his room.
You release a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand through your hair. You head back into the kitchen area to retrieve the first-aid kit before storming past Chan and into his bedroom.
Before Chan could say anything, you point to his bed. “Sit down.”
Chan doesn’t budge.
Your expression darkens. “Chan.”
When he catches sight of the desperate look on your face, he knows that resisting even more would be basically useless. He finally relents, placing himself at the edge of the bed as you quietly begin to rummage through the first-aid kit for antiseptic wipes and bandages.
The silence that follows is thick and heavy, tense in a way neither of you have the courage break and instead just let settle awkwardly. You bend down in front of him, carefully unwrapping his poorly done plaster. The scrape on his forearm is worse than you thought𑁋angry and red, still oozing slightly at the edges.
“You’re an idiot,” You mumble while carefully dabbing the antiseptic wipe against his warm skin, causing him to jerk slightly, a hiss leaving his lips. “Stay still.”
Chan silently watches as you clean his scrape, gazing over the worried lines etched on your features as you lean in closer, his muscles twitching from your gentle touch. For some time, neither of you speak, and you cautiously grab his hand. It’s only when you start wrapping the fresh plaster around his wrist that he finally breaks the silence. You definitely need to take him to the hospital after this to get a proper splint.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he states quietly. “You literally got a concussion, like, three days ago.”
You purse your lips together into a thin line as you glance over the bandage to make sure it’s secure and firm. “I know.”
When you step back from him slightly, your eyes land on the bruise to the corner of his jaw, and one of your eyebrows shoots up suspiciously. The bruise doesn’t appear that fresh. Chan can tell that you caught onto him.
“Where else are you hurt?” You ask with a pointed look.
At first, Chan hesitates, yet he could only shrink like a snail seeking into its shell under the serious expression painted on your face. His eyes drop down to the floor in guilt, and you watch as he shifts cautiously, reaching with one hand to clutch the ends of his wrinkled shirt before pulling up over his head.
Your heart stutters at the sight, and you can’t help but drink in his bare, topless form. You capture the entirety of the dragon tattoo that’s snaking up his arm and curling over his shoulder, the head of the dragon resting at the base of his neck, beneath the line of his trapezius muscle. The dark and bold lines making up the scales and claws are almost glistening under the faint lighting, contrasting heavily with his pale skin. You’ve never had the chance to appreciate the beauty of the art painted over his skin, at least not this up close. His toned chest and visible lines of his abs causes your throat to dry up and sends heat creeping up your neck.
But your admiration is quick to diminish when his muscles flex under the strain of the movement, and you spot another glimpse of a scrape to his collarbone, as well as a small cut on the superficial skin of his shoulder that’s hidden quite well from his tattoo. Without thinking, you let a finger delicately caress around the area of the one on his shoulder, and Chan visibly tenses up from that.
All you can do is simply stare, your heart clutching inside your chest.
“Chan…” You call his name so softly.
Chan bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
You lightly shove him in the shoulder. “That’s a load of bullshit.”
A wry chuckle leaves him, and it seems to lift a bit of tension in the room. “Yeah, maybe.”
Only giving a shake of your head, you reach out hesitantly, letting your fingers caress over his skin before you can stop yourself. Chan flinches from your touch, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, he traces your every movement as you carefully inspect the minor wounds painted over his body. Anytime your fingertips ghost over his skin, shivers run up and down his spine, but he forces himself to remain still. Just for you.
You’re being impossibly gentle as you grab another antiseptic wipe to clean the scrape to his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing from your tenderness. He has to suck in a breath when you lean in even closer, swearing he could feel your warmth radiating onto him𑁋it’s comforting and terrifying all at once.
There’s something different in the way you look at him, as if you’re trying to commit to memory every new mark on his body, as if you’re desperately searching for more wounds he might be hiding from you. And maybe he is.
“You ran all the way here, didn’t you?” he asks, cutting through the silence.
Your fingers still for a second before you wearily sigh, firmly pressing down a band-aid over the scrape on his collarbone. “Yeah.”
His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but then he just laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot too, you know that?”
You roll your eyes, snatching another band-aid and routinely moving onto the cut on his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”
This time, you stand up from the floor and sit down right next to him on the bed, undoing the wrapping from the band-aid and carefully applying it over the cut to his shoulder. You can’t get yourself to look at him as you press a tiny bit of pressure over his skin to ensure the band-aid sticks, but you feel his own gaze lingering on you, burning a hole right through your heart. It’s almost like a touch itself from him.
As you pull away from him, you lift your eyes to meet his, and for a singular millisecond, his focus drops down to your mouth before looking back up to your face again. Then, all he gives you is a faint, almost teasing smile. You nearly give in from just that.
“High school, freshman year. Sophomore year for you,” he suddenly says. “Last week of school. Friday.”
You lift a puzzled brow. “What?”
An almost dreamy look crosses his features. “That’s when I first knew I started having a stupid crush on you.”
Your stomach lurches from his words. Time seems to come to a halt as a wave of memories wash over you from that particular day.
“Remember? It was my very first skateboarding competition, and I was an absolute nervous wreck after fucking up my boardslide. You were there, cheering me on even though you had no idea what you were watching.” He laughs faintly to the memory, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his uninjured hand. “But then you smiled at me, and somehow, everything felt okay.”
You do remember. You remember that day very well. You remember being late to his competition because you had to attend the last student council of the year meeting back at school, yet you caught him just in the middle of his performance𑁋a performance that didn’t go entirely well. He had fallen, just like now, and you recall the way his face was flushed with embarrassment when he struggled to stand back up. But then he shot a quick glance your way, and you couldn’t help but loudly cheer him on, despite the pensive looks on other people in the crowd, and his face lit up immediately just from that alone.
Then the thought harshly slams into you. Lee Chan has been in love with you for more than ten years.
Chan shifts awkwardly in his position, his injured hand resting in his lap as he continues to hold a steady gaze on you.
“Kinda embarrassing, right?” he mutters with an uneasy chuckle, shaking his head. “Holding onto something like that for so long. Even when I tried to tell myself that it was all stupid hormonal shit, I could never get you out of my head.”
You still don’t respond, only the pounding of your heart answering for you that you’re sure as hell Chan could hear. For the past many years, you knew that you’ve been holding onto something for him too. But ever since you’ve indebted yourself to the consequences of medical school, with the burnout, the pressure, the exhaustion𑁋it made you feel like you had no right to hold onto love.
So you pushed those feelings away; the same way you had pushed him away.
But now, here he is. Still here. Looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
And it breaks you.
You turn away, staring down at the floor, curling your fingers against the sheets of his bed. “I’m a mess, Chan.”
“I don’t care.” His response is immediate, firm.
Your breath stutters. “I pushed you away.”
“I know.”
“I hurt you.”
“I know that, too.”
“So why…” Your voice trails off curtly as you regain your thoughts. “So why are you still here?”
“Because I’m stubborn,” he says with a shameless smirk, a glint of fondness in his eyes, before his face softens once again. “Because you’re my best friend, my favourite person; because I’ve loved you since we were kids; because I’ve always known your heart was the one I wanted to carry, even if it’s heavy. Your pain is mine to hold, too. It doesn’t scare me.”
Your mouth falls open, but the words get stuck in your throat, like they’re too fragile to speak, too big to fit. You don’t even realise how close Chan is to you until you feel his warm breath fan against your cheek, his presence so close you could almost taste it.
His face hovers near yours, and your pulse quickens in response. His gaze flickers down to your lips, just mere inches from yours, the softness of his features tugging at your heartstrings. The world seems to slow down, and your mind races𑁋why is it so hard to just breathe?
And yet, you don’t pull away.
Then, just as he leans in a tiny bit more, his lips barely a breath away from yours, he pauses, and it’s almost as if your beauty punches him in the gut for the very first time again. He sees everything𑁋the weariness that plagues your face, the glassiness to your eyes, the way you sneak a glance down to his mouth as well. He forces himself to swallow a lump in his throat.
You still don’t pull away.
“God,” he mutters softly under his breath, voice full of pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re beautiful.”
Your stomach twists violently at his words, completely knocking the wind out of your lungs.
“Chan?”
He blinks up at you, waiting.
“Have you ever been scared of… crossing that line?”
Chan blinks at your question, and for a minute or two, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he searches over your face, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.
“Terrified out of my goddamn mind, actually,” he corrects with amusement. “But now… I do know that when I cross that line, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to go back.”
Amongst the heaviness in the air, those words almost single-handedly dissolve the barrier between you. Before you can second-guess yourself, before doubt can sink its claws into you again, you shoot one last sure glance down at his lips and lean in to finally close the distance between the two of you.
Chan lets out a groan at the sudden contact, your mouth bumping against his lip ring, but he throws that discomfort out the window.
It’s barely anything at first. Your breath catches against his warm and slightly chapped lips, but it’s enough. Enough for him to take it as permission, enough for him to finally cross that line with you. His lips meet yours softly and tentatively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t𑁋when you press just a little closer, letting your fingers curl against his bare shoulder𑁋he deepens the kiss, exhaling shakily into your mouth, his uninjured hand coming to pull you closer by your waist.
He tastes like something sweet and a little dangerous, like honey laced with fire.
Chan kisses you like he’s been waiting for this opportunity his entire life, and to be fair, he did wait that long. His eyes flutter to a close as he lets nothing but feeling take over, as if he’s memorised the shape of your lips in his head a million times over but only now gets to experience how soft and perfect they really are. How much he wants to kiss you even more.
Your fingertips drag lightly, carefully, over his bare skin, tracing the markings of the large dragon tattoo down his arm. He shivers and his muscles tense under your touch, a quiet, barely audible groan slipping from him, making his grip on your waist tighten. His thumb brushes over the fabric of your shirt, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He has to fight his restraint to fully consume you, like he wants to brand this moment down into his very bones.
“Fuck,” he curses, voice muffled against your mouth. “I knew it.”
Your body burns at his touch. A second hardly passes as you could breathe out, “Knew what?”
“That if I ever kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop,” he rasps hoarsely, his breath shallow as his lips brush against yours again like he’s not quite ready to pull away, merely determined to make up for all the lost time and finally taste what he’s been holding back. “I’m so weak for you, baby.”
Chan has waited ten years for this. He isn’t going to waste a single second.
A shudder runs through you from the pet name and the way his voice sounds so low and full of longing. His hands slowly yet delicately drift under the hem of your shirt, and he inhales the little noises you can’t quite hold back. You feel his calloused fingertips from all his years of skateboarding meet the skin of your waist𑁋not pushing, just touching, worshipping. Your hand drifts to caress the contours of his back, drawing over the smooth, defined lines of his muscles beneath the ink of where his Aquarius tattoo is imprinted on his spine.
“I’m addicted to you,” he says in between kisses, his weight pressing down on you as your back falls against the bed. “I should’ve kissed you years ago.”
His lips move against yours sweetly, intoxicatingly. There’s a quiet moan that leaves your mouth, barely audible yet enough for Chan to feel it, and it sends a rush of desire coursing through him. But he doesn’t rush it. He knows how long he’s waited for this moment, how long he’s dreamt of it. And now that it’s finally happening, he’s cherishing every second like it’s his last day on earth, willing himself to memorise every subtle shift of your facial expression, every breathless sound you make, every brief contact of your skin on his.
You.
That’s all his mind is screaming at him.
You, you, you.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, but his grip on your waist tightens like he’s begging you won’t.
You don’t.
Your fingers dig desperately into his shoulders, feeling the rising tension in his muscles, and you’re suddenly aware of the effect you have over him, the effect you’ve always had over him. He’s practically losing himself in you. His injured hand twitches at his side, somewhat frustrated at the thought that he can’t hold you in the way he wants to. But his other hand drifts a tiny bit more under your shirt.
You sigh into his mouth, and Chan swears he’s never heard a sound more intoxicating than that.
“You’re not real,” he mumbles, and you feel him smile against you. “You can’t be real.”
The chuckle you let out at that quickly dissipates when you feel his mouth trail to the corner of your jaw. Then his breath meets the pulse point by your ears, and he plants a soft, affectionate kiss at that spot. You melt into the bed just by that.
“For years,” he continues breathlessly, lips slowly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’ve been patient. So fucking patient. I swear to God, baby, I’ll give you everything.”
His words make you dizzy, like you’re floating𑁋weightless, like your body has been set ablaze from the inside and out.
When he pulls away after some time, his breathing uneven and heavy, his half-lidded gaze meets yours.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, worriedly, studying over your nervous expression.
You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat, still feeling the tingle at your lips from the kiss or kisses. You sit up in his bed slightly.
“Yeah, I’m…” You lower your eyes in a pit of shyness. “I’m okay. Are you?”
A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Oh, I’m good. I’m grand. Half-busted clearly still, but…”
You lightly flick him on the head. “You’re supposed to be resting, dummy.”
“And you’re supposed to be resting too, idiot,” he retorts playfully, but then his face falls into nothing but affection. “And kissing me.”
The two of you let out a series of giggles at that. Your hands rests unsurely on bare skin of his chest and shoulder𑁋hardly realising how they got there in the first place. You’re both tangled in this delicate new dynamic, and yet, in a way, it feels so natural. Everything has changed, and now you find yourself standing right at the edge of something beautiful and uncertain, but still worth falling for.
Then, before you could kiss him again, a cough interrupts the two of you. You both look towards the doorway, and there’s Vernon standing there with his arms crossed.
“Alright, not to kill the mood, but before y’all start breaking the bed or whatever, at least close the door first,” he says with an impish smirk.
Chan grumbles annoyingly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Seriously, dude?”
“Hey, I just wanted to check if you two needed anything,” Vernon shrugs innocently. “Didn’t mean to walk on y’all eating each other’s faces. But for the record, fucking finally.”
“Whatever, bye, Vernon!” Chan staggers off the bed to shut the door in the boy’s face, groaning something under his breath before plopping down right beside you.
The laugh you’ve been suppressing tumbles out of you all at once, a sense of relief and giddiness taking over. Chan looks over at you with a sheepish grin, chuckling along with you, his fingers gently brushing against the lines of your palm as you both try to calm your laughter.
“Chan?”
“Yeah?” His face lights up when you call his name. Cute.
“I love you.”
The utter vulnerability in the crack of your voice makes his heart lurch. Chan stares at you, as if he’s afraid that you might vanish if he blinks. But when he does blink, you’re still here in front of him. And when you blink, he’s simply smiling at you. It’s the same smile he wore when you were kids, the kind that could outshine all the stars in the sky, the one that made you feel like you could take on the world. Only now, it feels different. It feels like home.
He’s been knocking on this door for years, and you’ve finally let him in.
“I love you too,” he mumbles quietly, leaning back to tenderly press his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”
That line between friendship and love? Yeah. Erased.
There’s no going back, it seems. But for the first time in a long time, you’re beginning to look forward.
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Tea Parties - Steve Harrington X Female Reader
Title: Tea Parties
Steve Harrington X Female Reader
Additional Characters: Astrid, and Reader's mother (Mentioned)
| Part 1 |
WC: 2,234
Warnings: Post-Season 4 events, italics, Reader is a single mother, cursing, nicknames, flirting, banter, teasing, Reader mentioned wearing heels very briefly, and fluff
Pulling into the driveway, you let out a slow sigh, the weight of the day settling in your bones. It hadn’t been the worst day, but it had dragged on, leaving you drained. Working in retail was not your dream job, but it paid alright, enough for you to get the essentials for your daughter. With a tired hand, you turned down the radio that was previously blasting Cyndi Lauper, grabbed your bag from the passenger seat, and stepped out. The evening air was cool against your skin as you dug into your bag for your keys.
Unlocking the front door, you pushed it open, stepping inside and shutting it softly behind you. You kicked off your heels with a relieved sigh, letting them fall haphazardly by the door before dropping your bag onto the small entryway table. The familiar sound of giggles carried from the living room, instantly melting away some of your exhaustion.
Your lips curled into a smile as you followed the sound, leaning against the doorway once you reached the living room. The sight before you made your heart swell and melt all at once. Steve sat on the floor at Astrid’s tiny play table, his long legs awkwardly bent to fit in the small space, while your daughter sat across from him in her favorite princess dress.
But it wasn’t just their tea party that had you grinning. No, it was Steve - your Steve - sporting a bright pink tutu over his jeans, no doubt at Astrid’s insistence. His usually perfect hair was gathered into two messy pigtails, sticking up at odd angles, and his cheeks were dusted with sparkly pink play makeup that made them unnaturally rosy.
Astrid delicately lifted her tiny plastic teacup and took a pretend sip, her expression comically serious. “Would you like more tea, Sir Steeb?” She asked, tilting her head in a regal fashion. You bit your lip to stay quiet, Astrid still couldn’t quite say Steve’s name correctly, so ‘Steeb’ was close enough.
And Steve, bless him, played along flawlessly. He lifted his own cup with his pinky out, nodding gravely. “Why, yes, Princess Astrid. A little more, please. It’s simply divine.”
Ah, bless him, he was even trying to do a terrible posh accent.
Your smile widened, warmth spreading through your chest as you watched them. It had been a year since your first date with Steve - the night he found out that Astrid was your daughter. It felt like just yesterday, but so much had changed since then.
In that time, Steve had become an irreplaceable part of your life. He was incredible with Astrid, always patient and kind, making sure she felt loved and safe. He’d spent hours building blanket forts, watching princess movies, playing dress-up, and having tea parties. It was true that he was one hell of a babysitter - and you knew that he would be a great father someday, which was a secret thought of yours that you were not going to say out loud.
Astrid, in turn, adored him. You couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t light up at the sound of his name. She loved spending time with him, and it warmed your heart to see the two of them together. You never could have imagined this life - a life where the two people you loved most in the world got along so perfectly. It was better than you ever hoped, and every day, you found yourself falling a little more in love with Steve. It was impossible not to.
You leaned back slightly, content, watching them for a moment longer, letting the peacefulness of the moment settle over you. You didn’t need anything more than this.
You hadn’t even stepped fully into the room yet, but Steve’s eyes flickered up, locking onto yours. His face softened, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips despite the ridiculous makeup.
“Rough day?” He asked gently.
You nodded, unable to stop smiling. “Yeah, but I think it just got a whole lot better.”
Astrid turned excitedly in her seat, her face lighting up when she saw you. “Mommy! You’re just in time for tea!”
And just like that, the exhaustion of the day faded into the background.
Smiling, you stepped further into the room, slipping down onto the floor beside them. The plush rug softened the weight of the day as you crossed your legs, settling in. Gently, you reached out, brushing your fingers through Astrid’s soft curls before pressing a tender kiss to her temple. She giggled, leaning into the touch before turning back to her tea set with serious concentration.
“Here, time for tea!” She chirped, handing you a tiny pink teacup before carefully ‘pouring’ you some imaginary tea from her plastic teapot.
You accepted it with an exaggerated air of importance, lifting the cup delicately, pinky out, just as Steve had done. Bringing it to your lips, you took a slow, thoughtful sip before humming in approval.
“Oh my, is this Earl Grey?” You asked, raising a brow as if deeply impressed.
Astrid beamed with pride, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! It’s the best in the kingdom!”
Steve grinned, shooting you a playful wink over the rim of his own teacup. “Only the finest for royalty.”
You chuckled, taking another ‘sip’ and sighing dramatically. “Well then, I must say, this is exactly what I needed after such a long day.”
Astrid clapped her hands together, delighted, while Steve nudged your knee under the table, his voice dropping to something softer. “Good. You deserve a little royal treatment.”
You shook your head, your smile growing.
For the next twenty minutes or so, the three of you remained in your little tea party kingdom, sipping on imaginary tea, discussing royal matters, and bestowing grand titles upon each other. Astrid, of course, was the reigning princess, while Steve was dubbed "Sir Steeb the Brave," and you were the "Queen Mommy of Cozy Cuddles."
But eventually, a tiny yawn slipped past Astrid’s lips, her eyelids growing heavier by the second. Steve glanced down at his watch, eyebrows lifting. “Whoa, it’s past your bedtime, kiddo,” He announced.
Astrid sat up straighter, shaking her head. “I’m not tired,” She insisted, even as another yawn betrayed her.
You chuckled, standing up and reaching for her. “Mmm, you always say that,” You teased, lifting her effortlessly into your arms. “And then two minutes later, you’re snoring in my ear.”
She huffed in protest but didn’t fight it, instead letting her arms drape sleepily around your neck as she snuggled her face into your shoulder. You swayed gently as you carried her up the stairs, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.
Meanwhile, Steve stayed behind, gathering up the tea party set and moving it out of the middle of the living room to be put away in the morning. With a groan, he flopped onto the couch, pulling the scrunchies out and running a hand through his now very-much-ruined hair, remnants of glitter still clinging to his cheeks. A few moments later, you padded back down the stairs in your pajamas, letting out a deep sigh as you joined him on the couch, sinking into the cushions beside him.
Steve draped his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers lazily brushing through your hair, nails grazing your scalp in slow, delicious strokes. A content hum slipped from your lips, your body instinctively relaxing under his touch. Without a second thought, you tossed your legs over his lap, and his free hand immediately found its way to your calf, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin.
“Thanks for watching Astrid again,” You murmured, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze. “My mom would’ve watched her, but she really wanted to go to bridge-night.”
Steve smirked, his fingers still threading through your hair. “Anytime. Though, I gotta say, your kid has a serious knack for persuasion. I don’t think I’ve ever voluntarily worn this much glitter in my life.”
You laughed softly, reaching up to brush a stray speck of pink shimmer from his cheek. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll still be there next week.”
He groaned dramatically, shaking his head. “Great. Just what I always wanted - permanent fairy dust.”
Smiling, you gave his cheek a lingering poke. “Well, I think you wear it pretty well.”
Steve rolled his eyes but grinned, his fingers continuing their slow, soothing motions through your hair. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell Robin. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
You chuckled mischievously, tilting your head in faux innocence. “Oh, I don’t know… I think she’d love to see you all dolled up.”
Reaching up, you tried to fix his hair - well, what was left of the mess Astrid had made of it. But before you could do much, Steve just stared at you, his expression softening. His hand slipped from your hair to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin in slow, warm strokes.
“How was your day?” He asked, voice quieter now. “Aside from it being exhausting.”
You sighed, leaning slightly into his touch. “Oh, you know. The usual,” You started. “Had this lady come in, tried to return a dress, but I couldn’t give her money back because the return date had passed - like, a week ago. She wasn’t happy about it, blew up at me, and asked for the manager.” You rolled your eyes. “So I went and got my manager, and that was basically it.”
Steve hummed thoughtfully, his thumb still tracing along your cheek. “Well,” He said after a beat, “She sounds like a bitch.”
Your mouth fell open, eyes wide as you smacked his chest. “Steve!”
He grinned unapologetically, shrugging. “What? I call it like I see it.”
You tried to glare at him, but your laughter betrayed you, bubbling out as you buried your face in his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his midsection, shaking your head. “You’re terrible,” You mumbled between giggles.
“Nah,” He said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I’m just honest.”
You let out a content sigh, your body growing heavier against him as your eyes started to droop. “Mmm… Tell me about your day with Astrid,” You murmured sleepily.
Steve smiled, his fingers still tracing soft patterns against the skin of your arm. “Well, after you left, I tried to make dinner,” He started, “Ended up going with spaghetti. Not my best work, but Astrid liked it, so I’m calling it a win.” You hummed in approval, your head shifting slightly against his shoulder as he continued. “Then we watched “The Last Unicorn” - which, by the way, is way weirder than I remembered,” He said, shaking his head. “But she was totally into it. And after that, she decided it was dress-up and tea party time. Obviously, I had no choice in the matter.”
You let out a soft giggle, barely keeping your eyes open as sleep threatened to pull you under. Steve kept talking, his voice turning more affectionate.
“She was gossiping about some imaginary kingdom - called Ovebredora, I think - anyway, she was gossiping about this strict but benevolent queen and her army. Honestly? The kid’s got a pretty impressive imagination.” He hesitated for a moment before adding with a quiet chuckle, “She probably gets that from you.”
Steve glanced down then, ready to tease you a little more, only to find you completely still against him, your breathing deep and even. His chest warmed as he took in the sight of you, fast asleep, curled against his side. With a loving sigh, he leaned down, nuzzling his nose gently into your hair before shifting carefully. Slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.
Carrying you bridal-style, he made his way up the stairs, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead before whispering, “C’mon, your Highness. Let’s get you to bed.”
With a gentle nudge, he pushed your bedroom door open with his foot, stepping inside before carefully laying you down on the bed. You barely stirred as he tucked the blankets around you, making sure you were warm and comfortable. With one last glance at your peaceful face, he shut the bedroom door quietly behind him before heading to your dresser. Grabbing a pair of his pajama sweats, he made his way into the adjoining bathroom, flicking on the light.
Steve groaned lightly at his reflection, shaking his head at the mess Astrid had made of him. His cheeks were still dusted with glittery play makeup, a shimmery pink hue lingering along his cheekbones. Chuckling to himself, he grabbed a washcloth, scrubbing away the evidence of his tea party transformation.
After a few minutes, he emerged from the bathroom, now shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Running a hand through his hair, he made his way back to the bed, slipping under the covers beside you. Almost instantly, as if it were second nature, you shifted in your sleep, subconsciously moving into his arms. Steve smiled to himself, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you in closer.
“Yeah, yeah,” He murmured sleepily to himself more than to you, pressing a lazy kiss to your hair. “Just can’t resist me, huh?”
He didn’t expect an answer, but the way you sighed softly, snuggling against his chest, was more than enough.
~~~
Taglist: @bookkeeperlove
Let me know if you want to be added.
~~~
Main Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist
#cute#fluff#x reader#fanfiction#x you#x y/n#fanfic#x female reader#stranger things#stranger things season 4#stranger things season four#stranger things s4#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x female reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things steve#steve stranger things#chapter 2
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COD Fic Rec #3
Okay look. I know I'm mostly screaming into the void here anymore. I know that the majority of followers found me for fandoms I only lurk in these days. And that's not to say I don't lurk in this fandom as well. I don't know the lore and I don't play the game. But I love good fic and I love to tell you about it, so here we go again. #fww redux
I made a few recs a month ago and then threw myself down the masterlist of @the-californicationist over on Ao3 and, I don't know guys. I may never find my way out for several reasons.
A. It's huge. Over a hundred works to wade through. And while the majority are Capt. John Price, not the least of which is Ursa Major, just an incredibly crafted tale that I gushed about here and still has a little way to go before it's over and you should totally go check it out and then just hibernate until the next update, or go check out Gunslinger to keep you company for a bit, some of the masterlist belongs to
2. Soap. Johhny MacTavish. Wee Scottish Weapon. Man of my dreams. Star player in at least two fics I cannot stop re-reading. Hence why I may never escape the masterlist above.
Do you want to be Johhny's secret girlfriend? Best friend to his sister who has sworn you to celibacy around the man? Yes. Yes you do. You want to love this man with all your heart. You want to try your best to keep your promise to your friend, who has created a home for you so far away from the States, and you want to find yourself breaking that promise despite all your best intentions because Johnny is your man. I mean, he's my man, but I'll share. Along with this little playlist I created by mashing up the songs from the chapters with few of my own favorites inspired by this fuckin' story that will never let me go. You could fit this into cannon, I bet.
Oh, and then. AND then!!! You absolutely want to try starring in your very first porn. Because Johnny "Danger" MacTavish wants to star in it with you. i come back to this one time and again also. There are these scenes that just, grab me. These little snippets of who Johnny is, deep down, that just beg for attention. The way he prompts you to let your true feelings shine through in the first scene. The way he confesses he thinks you're his glass slipper. The way he fights for your honor when the studio tries to do you dirty. They way he provides a truly safe space for all his friends to cut loose. (Cali, I swear there was a record scratch in my head when he stopped in that hallway and asked if I saw any cameras. It was so pure, so right, so perfect.) The way he makes you beg for him and turns your head to the camera so you can declare to the world who you belong to. He is absolute goddamn perfection.
There are more. You'll find Ghost and Gaz and a variety of other combinations, too. Check it out.
It's been a while. I may not have a solid foundation to keep these up for this fandom but I'll sure try to let you know when I find a gem and maybe, if you aren't already into it, you'll find yourself drawn to these men and the fanfic writers (or fan artists!) who bring them alive for you outside of the game. And if you do, be sure to let them know. Hit like/kudos. Leave a comment when you can. Reblog a story/image or two and get the word out yourself. It's what makes this place magical and it's the fuel that feeds the engine whether you like it or not.
#fanfic writer wednesday#fww#toss la petite mort to your fanfic author#cod fanfic#cod fandom#the californicationist#fic rec#not mine
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I think one of my favorite things about Gladiator is how little it relies on dialogue. when the characters speak, it’s to say something genuinely important or insightful. no cheesy dialogues, no unnecessary quips, no forced one-liners. 90% of the exposition in the film is achieved through facial expression, visual aids, and music / direction. there’s a reason it’s considered one of the best films of all time
#no shade to modern movies but. a little shade to modern movies#one of my favorite examples is the final duel between maximus and commodus#not a word of dialogue between them no taunting no quipping no boasting#and there’s like a 30 minute stretch of film time where maximus does not say a single word#it’s incredible how little maximus speaks#commodus and lucilla have most of the dialogue because they’re the politicians#it fits their roles#and you don’t even notice how little most of the characters speak! because every time they open their mouths it’s to deliver a banger line#which is astonishing to me considering the script was kinda written on the fly#how do you make a perfect movie by accident#anyway i’m just always impressed by how much goes unsaid but how much is understood#love maximus as a silent communicator#it adds so much to his character#gladiator#maximus#maximus decimus meridius#gladiator 2000#russell crowe#text posts
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Unfortunately relatable. I grew up in the church and have a lot of Christian trauma from that. I show up for special occasions for my parents… sometimes. But it’s uncomfortable from the moment I step through the door. Bigoted pastor, the self-righteousness disguising the prejudice, the political comments from the altar. Shots at young people left right and center as if the hell on earth wasn’t caused by the same older generation 90% of the congregation belongs to..
I miss being young in the choir and the youth groups and not struggling with it. It’s wild to look back at the younger version of me who was unshakeable in his faith and honestly just saddening.
I was texting my sister today about it and she said
“I 100% think ALL of us have a ton of religious trauma and everyone else in the family just doesn’t realize it cause they’re still drinking the kool-aid.”
I ran out of tag room and didn’t want to delete any 😭 seriously not lying I could write a book about all my thoughts and experiences
#I relate to all of this so much#and it’s so sad how many people truly have religious trauma#I still find myself lucky and privileged cause I know there are stories MUCH worse than mine#it’s really hard cause my parents still think I’m a Christian#honestly at this point I have no clue what i am#even if I end up still being a Christian that doesn’t help or heal all of the years of church trauma#but the hard part is still acting the part for my parents#growing up I always tried to fit into the good Christian girl mold#cause I know that’s what my parents wanted and I didn’t want to disappoint them#but once I started smoking weed and they found out? it went all downhill from there#their perfect angel fell from heaven#and I feel like ever since I haven’t been really their daughter…. I’ve just been living on the outside looking in to everything#it hurts looking back at all the years I spent brainwashed into believing that was the ONLY faith#it genuinely makes me sick to my stomach thinking about the fact that I went to a pro life rally#the thing I was talking to my sister about was how mental health was never talked about in the church#when I started dealing with it and went to my parents or the pastors or any adult really and told them what I was dealing with#wanna know what the first thing they would ALWAYS say? well have you prayed about it? the way they treated mental illness was that it was#YOUR fault cause God is punishing you for something…. that you need to pray or go to church so then God will eventually take it away#and the thing is I don’t necessarily blame my parents (which kinda sucks cause I want to blame someone)#but honestly it’s just the environment they grew up in too… like I’m 99% sure my dad has dealt with depression his entire life#but won’t get diagnosed or anything cause they always believe faith has something to do with it#which makes me incredibly sad cause I just think about how much my dad has suffered and how he didn’t need to#^^ I was typing this out when I was late to my family gathering hahaha but then I think my sister called or something so I had to stop#sorry this post is all over the place - I swear I could write a book about religious trauma#yesterday went ok surprisingly but today? TODAY is going to be so much worse#sure I’ll make a post about it later but I guessssss I should go to bed now? it’s 2am and I have to get up at 5:45 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃#and I have a fuuuuull day of fun Christian festivities while I’m dealing with all of this bottled up and unresolved crap from my past#please don’t get me wrong I love my parents and like I said I don’t blame them - they did their best#it just really sucks wondering what my life would have been like if I didn’t grow up in the church or in a super religious family#I wonder if when I told my parents I was depressed if they would have instantly brought me in to get help
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lovesick — ryomen sukuna.
"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is." "I see, I see." Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway. “Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"
Genre: Alternate Universe — College! AU;
Warning/s: Short Fic, General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Swearing, Teasing, Volleyball, Volleyball Captain! Sukuna, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;
Words: 3.8k words.
Note: i wanted to see ryomen sukuna be someone that is pathetically in love with his lover, because i needed a break from my pattern of being angsty with sukuna, so here you go. that being said, i'm sorry this is shorter than what i usually write. i'm prepping a lot of things because im going to be back in uni soon and i need to make sure i fix the queue!!! that being said, i'll post tomorrow about the valentines special!!! thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3
masterlist
if you want to, tip! <3
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IF THERE WAS ONE THING ABOUT HIM, ITS THE FACT THAT HE IS A STRONG PERSONALLY. He knew that too well, everyone knew that just as much. Ryomen Sukuna was just easily the most incredible force to be reckoned with. Whether that be meeting him personally or whether that be hearing baout him in passing.
Everyone would say the same thing about him — it's hard to find out what to say about him without going on a tangent for hours on end. And that was just the easiest thing to do, rather than finding anything definite to say.
The one and only captain of the top ranking college varsity volleyball team in all of Japan, Ryomen Sukuna dominated the court like it was his personal kingdom with that iron fist. He has such a stellar record of existence, that was to be sure, wearing the crown.
All his opponents could only quiver at the sight of his one of a kind powerful line spike. All the teammates he'd have since junior high could only respect and fear him with almost military reverence, like he was their general.
Of course, all his coaches over the years swore he could crush concrete if he so much as clenched his fists mid-serve. That perhaps, it would be good to gentle parent him as much as possible, knowing he's already quite the fire cracker of a man.
Or that he could end up cussing out everyone at the court as easily as one does breathing. That's of course, why the coaches would find him to be the "Cursed King." It was an intimidating title that had followed him since junior high school.
One moment he's someone that you curse because you lost a game because of him, another time you curse him because your team got fined because he ended up causing a fight. And with a name like that, Sukuna relished the air of invincibility it gave him.
Everyone had a box for Sukuna to fit in, of course. That continued over time, to be something that people couldn't avoid making for him and only him. That was just how it was, when you have someone as enigmatic as him.
To some of his teammates, he was "Cap"—the iron-willed leader who demanded nothing less than perfection. The one that would force them to run miles on end until they fell from exhaustion. The one who forced them to do hundreds of spikes until it took out the bottles he prepared on the other side of the court.
The rival schools referred to him as "Demon Spike" but this was mostly because he left a trail of destruction (and bruises) every time he stepped onto the court. One moment that's from the fact that his serves were just dangerously low and one moment it's because he heard someone bad mouth his underclassman.
Of course, even his many teachers and now his college professors had their own opinions for him one at a time over the many years. One of the most known nicknames for him by the professors in the college halls is “The GPA Crusher”.
To the younger underclassmen, who unfortunately still looked at him with bright eyes under those filtered glasses on — he was a mix of "Sensei of True Discipline" and "Volleyball God".
He was to them, a figure of unadulterated awe and of course, that desire to hope, that perhaps they would end up like him too. After all, he was always a star in the court. But in a different way, in the good way. That's how they think.
But this was because Ryomen Sukuna spent more time perfecting his jump serves against his opponent than ever having effort in writing essays for submission. Ironically, even though he was quite a smart young man. The fact that he shows up to exams more than classes and still passes with flying colors is quite certain proof.
But to you, his beloved girlfriend, Ryomen Sukuna was none of these things. He didn’t live in a box and he never wished to do so, no. Instead, he lived eternally, forever, even in the next life — in your heart.
Though he’d never say something that cheesy out loud. That part is not easy for him, but you didn't mind that. You liked to keep him to yourself most of the time. And he was satisfied with that.
The most you could hear from him about you is in passing. Sometimes practice would finish and he, still full of sweat, would immediately pack his things into his gym bag, almost suddenly becoming ignorant of everything else.
His underclassman would invite him to eat something like yakuniku and he would say with a straight face — "I can't. My girfriend wants to cook some authentic pasta for me at her place. Bye."
He would leave almost instantly, much to the shock of the underclassman each year. But most of his teammates, who were also somehow his friends, were not surprised. He and you were dating early on during junior high school. And he would be the same way.
When he wasn't looking, people could only surmise what he looked like when he towered over your giddy figure at every practice, at every game — 'Ah, I see. He's lovesick. And in a good way.'
To Sukuna, you were perhaps the only thing that could triumph against volleyball. You were his number one. And he knew that you thought of him the same way too. And everyone knew that too.
That's why you only ever called him one thing: my love. And to Sukuna, that title was worth more than any championship trophy. But of course, no one knew that. It's not like you don't call him that in public. It's just that no one asks, what that nickname is.
The look in your eyes was more than enough when he makes a wink for you at each serve was enough, the smile on your lips when he comes to greet you at the bleachers was more than enough. No one needed to hear the nickname to know that there was something loving between the two of you.
He knew this truth as well as he knew how to spike a ball with a precise edge. He knew this as much as he knew what would get him a championship. But of course, that doesn't stop curiosity at times. At times he humors them, at times he does not. It was a hit and miss.
That’s why, during a post-practice break, when the Vice Captain of the Volleyball team, Gojo Satoru, decided to start stirring the pot as usual with his antics. And somehow, today, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t mind it. There was something in the air. They could feel it.
(He won't tell anyone about this, but he has very happy about something.
He was after all happy that his girlfriend was staying at his dorm tonight to spoon on his bed after your finals kept you apart for nearly two weeks —
But no one needs to know that.
Otherwise, they'd use it against him.
And he can't have that right now.
It will spoil these bastards and make them too relaxed before championships again.)
Gojo leaned against the bleachers with that signature cocky grin. “Hey, Sukuna.” he drawled, as he watched the captain drink from his water bottle. "You’ve got about a million nicknames floating around. But what are you to your girlfriend?”
Ryomen Sukuna didn’t miss a beat.
He put down his water bottle swiftly.
He glared at Gojo Satoru with a passion.
He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded with that calm arrogance he wore so well. “Huh? My girl can only call me my love or nothing.” he said, his voice practically dripping with pride.
"Hehhhhh, really?"
“If she calls me anything else, I’ll disappear and leave no trace. Hell, I'll jump off a cliff and make sure I drown into the ocean and never be seen again."
Gojo barked out a laugh, his hands clapping together as if Sukuna had just told the world’s funniest joke. “Wow. Our captain sure is seriously whipped. Actually, that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is."
"I see, I see."
Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway.
“Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"
Ryomen Sukuna turned slowly, his earlier bravado evaporating the second he saw you standing at the gym door. Your arms were crossed, your eyes sharp, and your posture practically screamed, You’re in trouble.
“Sukuna.” you called out, your tone cutting through the gym like a whistle signaling the end of a game.
His entire body could only stiffen. He didn’t just flinch—he practically short-circuited. The other players and members, the entire volleyball staff, sensing the shift in the air, immediately stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfold. All of their eyes were glued on this moment, more than anything.
“Ryomen Sukuna!” you said again, each syllable landing like the sound of a referee’s whistle before a penalty.
Sukuna’s brain scrambled for an escape route. “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath, frozen in place.
“Ryomen Sukuna, come here.”
“No.” His voice cracked as he stood up so fast he nearly knocked over a water bottle.
His scarlet eyes were shaking as much as his body was. No one has ever seen this before. No one had ever seen the panic on his face before. Not even in a hard game to win. This was the very first time their formidable captain looked so defeated and horrified.
“No, no, my name is my love! It’s my love! What did I do?” he asked, practically sprinting toward you like a volleyball rolling out of bounds.
Gojo Satoru, thoroughly entertained, cackled so hard he nearly fell off the bleachers. “Man, even the Cursed King has a leash!” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "This is how he is with her. That's interesting, isn't it?"
"He doesn't look like who he actually is in the moment, huh." Nanami Kento whispered under his breath, wiping the sweat with the towel over his shoulder. "We should have used this card when he refused to stop practice during last year's finals."
"Well now we can." Geto Suguru snickers, lounging on the floor as he watched the scene with mirth in his purple gaze. "Does anyone have objections?"
"None here!" The chorus of seniors and juniors retorted back at him.
"Someone save her phone number for speed dial!" Gojo said, pointing to one of the managers who nodded.
By the time Ryomen Sukuna reached you, he was a completely different man. The fearsome captain who dominated courts and crushed spirits was reduced to a panicked, apologetic mess. You continued to stand before him, rolling your eyes, his towering figure in tatters at what you called him.
“I swear I didn’t do anything! There's no girls or even guys! There isn't anything else. You can check my phone. Or you can ask everyone here too!"
"Sukuna—"
"Whatever it was, I’ll do everything fix it and make it right, babe—just don’t call me that again. Please!” he begged, his voice low enough that only you could hear the desperation in it.
"Calm down." You raised an eyebrow, letting him stew for a moment before finally speaking. “You forgot to text me that practice was running late. And I was concerned. I thought we were going to meet up at the cafe nearby so we can go to your dorm together!”
Sukuna blinked. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” you said, though your tone suggested you might have a few more grievances stored up for later. "Well, I'm also hungry."
Sukuna exhaled so dramatically it was a wonder he didn’t collapse on the spot. “I’ll never forget again, okay?” he promised, his voice full of sincerity. “Babe, I’ll set an alarm—no, two alarms—just for you. And don't worry, we're gonna eat. Actually, take my card and buy something in the cafe while you wait for me.”
As he continued to rattle off promises, you couldn’t help but smile at him. Cursed King or not, to you, Sukuna was just your dorky loving boyfriend, forever trying to live up to his title of my love in your life. And if the rest of the gym wanted to watch him grovel? Well, that was just an added bonus. By the gods, you love him.
"I love you, my love." You whispered to him, taking his hand into yours. "I'm sorry I scared you like that."
"No, no, that was my fault." He grumbled under his breathe, taking a moment to settle in the warmth of your eyes, reserved just for him. "I should have noticed the time. I will never forget about it again, I promise."
"Hm, that's all that matters, my love."
"I'll make us dessert tonight as an apology." He says, moving closer to kiss your temple.
"That would be good, my love."
As Sukuna continued his frantic apologies, the rest of the gym erupted into poorly stifled snickers. Gojo Satoru, of course, was the loudest, slapping his knee like he’d just witnessed the greatest comedy set of the century.
“My love, huh? Big, bad Cursed King reduced to a golden retriever!” he teased, practically howling. “Hey, did you hear that, boys? If she calls him Ryomen Sukuna one more time, he might just cry.”
“Should we start calling him my love too, senpai? Y’know, in solidarity?” chimed Underclassman Itadori Yuuji, grinning as he leaned on his volleyball. The suggestion earned a chorus of laughs and a few enthusiastic nods.
“Yeah, Cap! Don’t worry, my love, we’ve got your back!” Underclassman Fushiguro Megumi deadpanned from the sidelines, his usual stoic face cracking into a rare smirk.
One of the first year underclassman, emboldened by the chaos, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “We love you, my love! You’re our MVP for all seasons! With so much love, my love!”
Sukuna whipped his head around, his scarlet glare promising death, destruction, and possibly laps for everyone involved. “If anyone other than my girlfriend calls me that, I swear.” he growled, “I will personally make sure you regret it.”
“Sure, my love!” Gojo crowed, leaning back against the bleachers with a devilish grin. “Ooooh, should we get it printed on the back of your jersey? Cursed King on the front, My Love on the back—perfect balance, don’t you think?"
Geto laughs loudly. "You know what, I think we can make this happen. Coach! We got the budget for that, right?"
“Or maybe embroider it on the team banner!” someone else chimed in, sending the gym into another fit of laughter.
You couldn’t hold back anymore, doubling over as Sukuna turned a deeper shade of red than the volleyballs on the court. His sharp retorts and death glares only fueled the chaos, the once-commanding presence of the Cursed King now utterly eclipsed by the sheer hilarity of the moment.
Finally, Sukuna turned back to you, his expression a mix of betrayal and exasperation. “You’re supposed to defend me, babe.” he muttered, his voice low but desperate.
You reached up to pat his cheek, your grin as sweet as honey. “Oh, my love, I am defending you. I’m making sure they never forget how cute you are to me."
For the rest of practice, you sat down and watched everything unfold before you as you ate your croissant and drank your coffee from the cafe which you bought using your boyfriend's card, of course.
For a while, the gym echoed with the sound of volleyballs, laughter, and the occasional teasing chorus of “My love!” — especially when Sukuna found himself scoring a point, which of course led to him missing the next hit.
Every time someone said it later on, Ryomen Sukuna looked seconds away from snapping a net in half, but deep down, though he’d never admit it, he wouldn’t have traded his nickname or the teasing for anything in the world. Not when you were there, cheering it for him with that adorable voice of yours, loving him completely.
Maybe it wasn't so bad to be lovesick like that.
Not when it was you who loved him just like that.
That's just how he loved you too.
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epilogue
After what felt like the longest practice of his life, one that was just peppered with relentless teasing from his teammates and the volleyball team staff — Ryomen Sukuna was finally free to leave with you, to enjoy the weekend together.
He barely said goodbye to the others, grumbling something about “making them run that suicidal hill again on Monday” before grabbing his bag and leading you out of the gym.
“Unbelievable.” he muttered under his breath as you walked side by side. “Gojo’s gonna be insufferable for weeks.”
You stifled a laugh. “Weeks? You mean forever.”
He shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. Instead, he sighed and draped an arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to his car. “You’re lucky I love you, y’know. Otherwise, I might’ve disappeared on the spot after what you pulled, babe.”
“Oh, come on, my love.” you teased, leaning into him. “It was worth it to see the great Cursed King turn into a puddle in front of everyone. Especially because he loves me.”
“You’re cruel, babe." he grumbled, but there was a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can't believe I've loved you since we were in junior high."
You winked at him, smile on your lips growing wider. "And for forever too! You'll have to deal with it."
By the time you got back to Sukuna’s place, you immediately made the move to cook while he got into the shower. Soon enough, the air was thick with the scent of miso broth bubbling on the stove.
You’d planned this hotpot night earlier, since he was supposed to have gone home much earlier. But after the chaos at the gym and his long grueling practice, you just felt like it was even more well-earned.
Sukuna, finally emerging from the bedroom, rolled up his sleeves and helped you set the table, his mood softening with each step of the ritual as you hummed along the song playing on the radio.
“You got everything, babe?” he asked, peering over your shoulder as you arranged plates of thinly sliced meat, tofu, and an assortment of vegetables.
“Yup.” you replied, popping a piece of bok choy into your mouth. “And don’t even think about hogging all the meat this time.”
“Me? Hog it?” He snorted, grabbing the chopsticks and pointing them at you in mock accusation. “You’re the one who fishes out all the good stuff when I’m not looking.”
“That’s called strategy, my love.” you said, grinning as you threw his words from earlier back at him.
Sukuna groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Not you too…”
You waved your chopsticks at him. "Well, I say it more lovingly. You like it like that, you know!"
He grumbles under his breath, red appearing on his cheek. "You're lucky I love you like that."
"Hm, that's why I'm shameless!"
But any complaints were quickly forgotten as the two of you settled down around the simmering hotpot. The warmth of the broth, the crackling of the stove, and the quiet clink of chopsticks filled the room. Sukuna started to relax, his earlier frustrations melting away as he watched you happily dunk mushrooms and noodles into the pot.
“Okay, babe.” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve decided.”
You raised an eyebrow, chewing on a piece of tofu. “Decided what?”
“Next time Gojo calls me ‘my love’ in front of everyone, instead of just you, it’s on sight,” Sukuna said, leaning forward with a wicked grin that promised destruction.
He jabbed his chopsticks into a slice of tofu like it was Gojo’s face. “I’m spiking a volleyball straight at his stupid face.”
You burst out laughing, nearly choking on the piece of fish cake you’d been chewing. “Good luck with that. He’ll just dodge it and make fun of you even more. You know how he is—Gojo thrives on chaos. The man’s immune to consequences.”
Sukuna rolled his eyes, stabbing another piece of tofu with unnecessary aggression. “Then I’ll spike two balls. One after the other. And if that doesn’t work…”
You looked at him curiously, mirth in your eyes. "What will you do?"
He paused, his brow furrowing in mock concentration. “I’ll add laps. So many laps. He’ll be running until graduation.”
You snorted, wiping a tear from your eye. “Right, because Gojo would totally listen to your orders. He’d just turn it into a race and leave everyone else in the dust.”
Sukuna grumbled under his breath, his scowl deepening—but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “Fine. If volleyball and laps don’t work, I’ll come up with something else. Something evil.”
“Evil?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What, like stealing his Bottega Veneta sunglasses?”
“Too easy. He’s got like fifty pairs, babe.” Sukuna muttered, resting his chin on his hand as he considered his options. “Maybe I’ll prank him during practice. Replace his water with vinegar. Or set his alarms an hour early every day.”
"I forgot he makes his password too easy for people to guess." You murmured, drinking from your cup. You sigh. "Well, I suppose that would work."
"Right? Fool-proof!"
You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm, as solid as that is, what if he gets revenge? Gojo’s the type to double down, you would know best."
He hummed. "I'm way better at being stubborn than he is."
"I know that. But he might start serenading you in the middle of practice. Like, full-on ‘My Love’ with a guitar and everything on campus like it's 10 Things I Hate About You."
Sukuna froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “He wouldn’t.”
“Oh, he absolutely would.” you said, grinning. “And you’d never live it down. The Cursed King getting serenaded in front of the entire team? In front of the whole university? They’d be talking about it for years.”
He groaned, dropping his chopsticks and leaning back against the chair like he’d just been defeated in battle. “Why do I even put up with him? Or any of you, for that matter.”
“Because deep down, you love us.” you said, smiling sweetly as you plopped another piece of meat into the hotpot. “Even Gojo.”
“I do not love Gojo,” Sukuna snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Sure, sure, my love!” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “But admit it—you’d miss him if he wasn’t around to drive you insane.”
Sukuna gave you a flat look, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him again. “I’d miss you more.” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip.
“Aww, my love.” you cooed, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re stuck with me.”
“Good to know, babe.” he said, turning back to the hotpot with a satisfied grunt. “At least you don’t call me my love in front of the team like that.”
You smirked, swirling your chopsticks through the broth. “Not yet, anyway.”
Sukuna froze mid-bite, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
“No promises!” you said with a mischievous grin, earning a groan from him that was half exasperation, half affection.
"You're such a menace."
"Well, that's how you know I love you, my love!" You grinned, moving forward to steal his tonkatsu.
"Babe!" He groans, as he watches you eat the tonkatsu happily.
"I love you!"
Sukuna sighs, his eyes softening, watching you happily eat. "I love you too......"
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#ryoumen sukuna x reader#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#sukuna ryoumen x reader#sukuna ryoumen x you#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen x you#ryomen x reader#ryomen x you#ryomen x y/n#sukuna jujutsu kaisen#sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna#jjk sukuna#jujutsu sukuna#ryomen sukuna fluff#sukuna fluff#jjk fluff#kayu writes ! ! !
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HAVE YOU TRIED THIS ONE?
their favorite position!
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S. GOJO
yab yum.
Sue him. Gojo is a loud man, and a freaky one too, but God forbid he enjoy a little bit of intimacy. It’s a bit awkward when you first try it; his legs are so long that even criss-cross, there’s a little too much room in between each thigh, once you have yours around his waist and your arms around his neck it’s awkward trying to even get it in, and the rocking is a rough start. But when you perfect it? Gojo is through the fucking roof. Satoru’s eyes hurt like hell, but he loves eye contact during sex and there’s no better time for it than in yab yum. He lets himself go; the closeness between you two, the way he can feel every inch of you, the fact for once he’s not in control. He’s vulnerable, he’s connected, and it feels so fucking good. When he cums, his legs tense a little bit more, making it easier for you to keep up with your pace. He falls apart under you, grabbing your face weakly as his head falls back. Literally perfect position for him.
T. FUSHIGURO
full nelson.
The motherfucker. Toji is strong. He’s a big guy, it doesn’t matter how tall you are or how much you weigh, he can support it. Part of the appeal is how defenseless you are, how much he gets to show off, the fact you’re like prey to him basically. It never goes too particularly deep, so if he’s itching to bruise you, he’ll let go of your legs and have you put your feet on the bed while you lie on him so he can fucking hammer you. But, in the real full nelson, he keeps it up for as long as he can. He knows just how to hit your g-spot with it, he curves to where you clench on him just right in that cute little way you do, he’s mean in the shortness of each stroke. He loves feeling your body go limp on him, he loves watching your head struggle to fall with his arms behind your neck, he loves feeling your ass move perfect against him. He’s got good stamina, too. If you begged and pleaded, Toji could cum quick— but he never would. He likes to torture you with his dick. He likes to make it hurt, make you weak, make it to where you can’t walk for days after, and the full nelson gets you sore fast.
C. KAMO
the hook.
Another intimacy lover. Choso worships you. He loves everything about making love to you. He loves your noises, the way your body folds on itself when he contorts you, how wet you get for him. The hook is perfect. It’s deep and, above all else, he thinks it’s the position you feel most good in. Whenever he can, Choso has each of your legs up on top of each of his shoulders, angled up perfect with you. He likes looking down at you, seeing your face all scrunched up and beautiful. He likes the way you beg for him. He likes how simultaneously close yet far he is from you. And when it gets all too much, he throws his head back and you get to look up at him and watch him fall apart above you. Your moans intertwine, he strokes perfect, and when he’s about to cum, he’ll break position and lower your legs just to wrap his arms around you and pull you incredibly closer.
R. SUKUNA
hands behind the ankles.
The fucking freak. No, seriously, the fucking freak. It doesn’t take him long to suggest— demand— the position to you. Obviously, Sukuna likes control. There’s never been a moment he hasn’t liked control and there’s never been a moment he’s had to worry about not having it. So that’s hardly been any different in your sex life. But when he first pulled out a pair of police grade handcuffs, you laughed— albeit a little anxiously. It’s a fucking workout for you, honestly, to hold yourself up with your legs in the air and your hands cuffed behind them. Sukuna lives for how you’re even more at his expense than you already were. He fits snug in the place between your legs, balls slapping against your lower ass every time he thrusts, pelvic bone meshing with your plush. You’re weak like this, defenseless, a perfect little toy for Sukuna to fuck, and he’d be damned if he weren’t obsessed with it.
#like tmi but the hook will do it like no other#had to give it to choso#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#satoru smut#toji x reader#toji smut#toji fushigro x reader#toji fushiguro smut#gojo satoru x reader#choso smut#choso x reader#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo smut#sukuna smut#sukuna x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader
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fittings; drew starkey x victoria’ssecret!model!reader; mdni
the atmosphere in the fitting room was electric. a mix of bustling excitement and high stakes surrounded you as you stood in front of the mirror, admiring the intricate details of the lingerie you were trying on. it was one of the final fittings for the victoria’s secret fashion show, and you were set to take the stage in a few days. the excitement was palpable, but your thoughts were elsewhere today.
today, drew was here.
the reflection in the mirror showcased your figure, adorned in lace and delicate silks that clung perfectly to your body. the soft lighting accentuated every curve, and the sight alone made you feel powerful and confident. you adjusted the straps of the bra, feeling the softness of the fabric against your skin as you glanced toward the door.
drew stood leaning against the doorframe, his gaze locked on you with a mixture of admiration and something darker, more intense. his eyes roamed over your body, lingering on every exposed inch of skin as you shifted under his gaze. you had invited him to this fitting for a reason—his presence made you feel something extra, something exciting, and today felt like the perfect day to indulge in that energy.
“you look incredible,” drew murmured, his voice low and husky. he moved toward you, his hands sliding up your sides before resting on your hips, fingers grazing the edge of the sheer panties you wore. his touch was light, teasing, but it sent shivers down your spine. “i can’t believe you’re mine.”
a playful smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. “you’re going to have to behave yourself,” you teased, your voice soft but carrying a hint of mischief. “i’ve still got to practice walking the stage after this.”
drew’s grin widened as he leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear. “i don’t think i’m capable of behaving right now,” he whispered, the heat in his voice unmistakable.
your breath hitched as he kissed the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing his lips down your collarbone, each kiss slow and deliberate. you knew you should stop him, tell him to wait until after the fitting, but the way his hands explored your body, skimming the curves of your waist, made it impossible to focus on anything else. his touch was intoxicating, and every nerve in your body was alive, sensitive to his every move.
drew’s hands traveled lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, pulling them down just enough to expose more of you. his fingers brushed against your core, teasing you with feather-light strokes that made your legs weak. you closed your eyes, biting your lip as a soft moan escaped you. he knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you melt under his touch.
“you’re so perfect,” drew breathed, his voice filled with awe as he kneeled in front of you. his eyes never left yours as he slowly dragged your panties down, leaving you completely exposed before him. “so beautiful.”
you gasped as his lips pressed against your inner thigh, slowly kissing his way up. each touch sent waves of pleasure through you, your body trembling with anticipation. drew’s hands held your hips firmly, his mouth inching closer to where you needed him most. he paused, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin, making you squirm in his grasp.
“you taste even better than you look,” drew murmured before finally diving in. his tongue flicked over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body. you gasped, your hands gripping the edge of the fitting room table for support as he devoured you, his tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes that had you seeing stars.
he didn’t rush. drew took his time, savoring every second, his mouth moving expertly as he licked and sucked, his praises spilling from his lips between each movement.
“you’re so sweet, baby. god, i could do this all day,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your core as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. his tongue circled your clit with the perfect amount of pressure, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.
your breathing became ragged, every moan and whimper spilling from your lips growing louder. it was hard to stay quiet, especially when he was this good, but you had to remind yourself that the walls were thin and anyone could be passing by outside the fitting room. still, that sense of urgency only made the moment more thrilling, more forbidden.
you couldn’t hold back anymore as drew intensified his efforts, his tongue moving in rapid circles while his fingers slipped inside you, curling and hitting that perfect spot. the combination was enough to send you over the edge, your body shaking as the orgasm ripped through you.
you cried out his name, your grip on the table tightening as your legs trembled, barely able to support your weight. drew didn’t stop until you were completely spent, drawing every last bit of pleasure from your body before finally pulling back.
he looked up at you, his lips glistening with evidence of what he had just done, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you taste so good, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before standing up, pulling you into his arms.
your head was spinning, your body still humming from the intensity of it all. you leaned into drew, your breathing uneven as you tried to regain your composure.
“fuck, drew,” you whispered, your voice breathless. “i’m supposed to be practicing right now.”
he chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as he kissed you, his lips still tasting like you. “you can practice in a bit,” he murmured against your lips. “i just wanted a taste before you had to leave.”
you rolled your eyes playfully, pushing him away slightly as you stepped back to adjust the lingerie. the lace was still perfectly intact, though your legs felt a bit like jelly after what he had just done to you.
you caught your reflection in the mirror again and smoothed the fabric, still feeling drew’s eyes on you, hungry and full of desire. but you had work to do, even if you could feel the heat of his gaze burning into your skin.
“i need to go,” you said, giving him one last playful glance as you turned toward the door. but the way he looked at you, all hungry and satisfied, told you this wouldn’t be the last of his "distractions" before the show. and honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0
#drew starkey x y/n#drew starkey x you#drew obx#drew starkey imagine#drew x reader#drew venice#drew queer#drew#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey#drew starkey smut#drew starkey x younger!reader#drew starkey x female reader
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A Simple Analysis. | OT8 [SKZ]
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Warnings: I'm gonna be straight discussing these men and their pp sizes so if you don't want to read about that then just skip this post, no biggie.
Notes: I'm just theorizing what I think they're like 'n I included some good 'ol references. Please note - these references include pictures/videos of the boys AS WELL AS pictures that are NOT the boys but are references to what I picture in my head when I write smut for them. I also need to thank @skzms because I Lowkey could not find bulge pics/vids on my own and their post really helped me out w that.
Extra Warning: There are twitter links in this post, so you know what that means!! Watch at your own discretion losers, I don't want ppl in my inbox whining that I use refs that 'don't look like them' like obv jfc let me hop on bub quick to ask Chris for a dick pic smh.
Extra extra warning: I like slowly lost the ability to think the more I wrote this because all I was doing was looking at SKZ cock so I mean. forgive me.
Chris
HEA. VY.
Heavy Heavy Heavy !!!! I said what I said !!! And if you want to know why, you can simply look at this video!! If I'm being totally honest here, I don't think he's massive down below but I do think he's a little above average at least. Maybe -- mm... six and a half inches? Pretty sure it's pretty, pink, and always leaking pre because he gets hard so easily.
Also, pretty sure it's relatively thick. I mean, we've seen it a few times before in his pants/shorts, so... definitely enough to make you whimper when he's splitting you open. <3
I'm not even gonna like. explain why I think this bc I'm pretty sure we all know but it's veiny as fuck and you cannot argue w that.
And his favorite thing is when you mention during sex how full you feel just bc of how heavy he is. :]
In conclusion: Pretty pink fat cock that is more than enough to make you feel incredible each time you fuck. <3333
Minho
This man is... packing. p a c k i n g.
Packing like I'm pretty sure it's not like thick thick but it's thick enough and it's probably more on the purple side than the pink side, and it's so fucking long--
Not as heavy as Chan but definitely bigger. Bigger, longer, one pretty blue vein running up the side. Literally so perfect and just the right size for your hands to fit around. Also not too long to the point where it hurts to take it but definitely... big. Seven, at least. At. Least.
And his favorite thing is when you whine about how he's fucking you so good that you might die. Dunno why that comment specifically gets to him, but he makes sure to fuck you a little deeper after that.
In conclusion: pretty cock for a pretty man and so fucking yummy.
Changbin
Okay look people might disagree but I think Binnie's a lil on the smaller side !!
Now look. I'm not saying 'bah this bitch has a small cock' I'm just saying it's not a cervix-kisser like a few of the men on this list. It's just right!! It's the perfect size to be perfectly comfortable when fucking and he knows that 'n he's happy with it. (I'm thinking five, bc five is a comfy size.)
However.
He will ABSOLUTELY split you wide fucking open with how thick he is. This man has the chubbiest, pink, mouth-watering, pussy-dripping, eyes-rolling-back, tears running down your thighs, cock ever !!! He's gotta prep you for so fucking long and there is always soooo much foreplay to you two having sex because he's just so thick that if you don't prep lots it's gonna hurt a lil and Bin really really just wants to take care of you. :(((
And his favorite thing is seeing the way you struggle to take him in your mouth because of how thick he is. :]]]]]
In conclusion: best cock on this list. <3
Hyunjin
Hoh. My God.
Hyunjin,,,, ... Hyunjin's packing a fucking rod of a cock, I can't even lie to you. I'm like 90% sure it's at least eight inches and if it isn't then I'm dead. Y'all thought Minho was big? LAWD have mercy, Hyunjin's got a fucking PIPE on him. A third leg, if you will. Shit slaps his thigh when he walks if he don't wear briefs.
SO. PRETTY. I keep saying all their cocks are pretty BC THEY ARE I JUST KNOW IT but Hyunjin's cock is actually fucking gorgeous like it's the type where even if you're someone who's like "I don't like dick pics" and he sends you one?? you're like "omg y'know what I've had an epiphany"
Not like heavy or thick like the others but soooo long, soooo pretty, soooo mouth watering. The type of cock that has you actually drooling and getting fucked dumb every time he puts it in you.
And his favorite thing is when you do just that ^ and go all quiet n whimpery during sex because your brain is mushy.
In conclusion: Monster cock and no one can convince me otherwise !!
Jisung
Mm, okay. I think it's -- average?? But see I dunno why but I'm picturing a little on the thinner side. (AND NO THAT ISN'T MY SUB JI SUPREMACY MINDSET SPEAKING) but just bc it's a little thinner doesn't mean it's not heavy !!!
And even though it only might be like - five and a half, it's still so cute and so pretty and so fucking tasty!!!
Also like a firm believer that he jerks it at least twice a day, sorry not sorry.
And his favorite thing is when you blow him because you just take it so well and he loves seeing it all disappear down your throat <33 mm mm mmmm !!
In conclusion: Mmmm,,, cutest cock on the list <3
Felix
Y'all keep saying Felix has a little cock just bc you enjoy Twink Felix and look - I too enjoy Twink Felix but I also believe in frat boy Felix supremacy SO -
Big dick Felix in the building !!!
Pretty sure he's above average. Like, 6 or 6 and a half, maybe?? SO pretty, cut, pink, so so cute, so fucking yummy looking.
Easily like, the slickest cock on the list. And if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. if you don't that too bad ig.
The type of cock you wanna like. put in your mouth forever and just never stop giving him head fr.
And his favorite thing is when you jerk him because sometimes he just doesn't have the energy or care but he wants it. Plus your hands look so much better on it than his do. :ccc <333
In conclusion: Pretty, big, hefty cock that fills you up soooo good. Also constantly leaking cum n making a mess but you didn't hear that from me !!!!
Seungmin
Y'all,,, I'm not just saying this because I'm a Seungmin bias but,,,
This man has a fucking. rod. Not like Hyunjin-length rod but rod that's like at least seven inches and I refuse to believe otherwise because have you seen the,,,,
Fucking!!Monster!!Of!!A!!Cock!!!!
Thick! So thick! So heavy! Rivals Chris w how heavy he is !!
And his favorite thing is when you choke on it because raaahhh!!! (im not okay)
In conclusion: 2Min Monster Cock Squad
Jeongin
Holy God y'all.
Think I mentioned it once in a post where I was like, "P sure Jeongin has a big dick because as soon as he hit 21 he had this massive boom in confidence n I'm p sure it's bc his dick grew like 6 inches"
Sooooo,,, pretty sure he's also in the monster cock squad.
Like, at least seven inches, again. So big, so tasty. The type of cock that makes you pray to God it won't rip you apart because I just know he fucks hard, bro.
And his favorite thing is when you actually scream during sex because of how good he makes you feel. <3
In conclusion: Jeongin big dick supremacy, we all know he's packing a fucking log of summer sausage in his boxers.
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Taglist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie
#skz imagine#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz smut#bangchan smut#lee know smut#Changbin smut#Hyunjin smut#han smut#Felix smut#seungmin smut#Jeongin smut
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Hybrid AU with Ragdoll!Reader and Siberian-mix!Konig
Reader is a rescued cat hybrid that Laswell's sister in law has been taking care of for the last 3 months. When she meets this little ragdoll kitty, so bright and friendly and curious, she immediately thinks of the 141. Hybrids have a lot uses in the government. Sometimes combative, sometimes therapeutic. The 141 could use a companion animal, given the close call Soap recently had and the general trauma the whole squad has.
With the kitty's permission and cooperation, they assess her as a possible therapy placement. She tests so well and so high that Laswell (again, with consent) immediately starts paperwork to place her with the 141 before even bringing it up to Price.
He's a bit skeptical at first. Even without being a combat hybrid, their jobs are high stress, very dangerous, and not very stable. But Laswell convinces him to at least meet Ragdoll.
They do introductions at the sister-in-law's house, where the kitty will be most comfortable. Ragdoll takes one sniff of him and starts purring like a little engine. He's visibly surprised, and Laswell can barely hold back her grin as the kitty climbs into his lap. They spend the rest of the afternoon discussing arrangements while his new hybrid naps because obviously he can't say no now.
Price becomes her primary handler. They move her to his barrack and give her a week to settle in, but she's not a skittish thing by any means. Wants to follow him everywhere, curls up in his bed, meows sadly at the door when he leaves her alone. It becomes clear very quickly that the usual introduction manuals are too slow for her.
Kitty meets Kyle next. Again, instant purrs. She presses her cheek into his palms, then wriggles her way closer to brush up against his cheek. Lets out a little "mrrp!" when he stutters out a pleasantly surprised, "hello there." She nibbles at the brim of his hat and grins when he gently redirects her, chirping at this fun new friend.
Two for two, Price and Kyle decide to introduce her to Simon and Johnny. They let her explore the common room first, get comfortable, and then call the other two in. Kitty watches from behind Price as Simon and Johnny enter.
Johnny is a dog hybrid with Simon as his primary handler. Price has faith that his sergeant will behave well with the new kitty, but he's not sure of what her reaction will be. Johnny's obviously, visibly excited, tail wagging, but Simon gets him to sit and wait while she makes the first move.
It takes absolutely no time at all for her to pad out from behind Price and approach. Simon goes first, offering a hand. But she barely even sniffs him before cuddling up to him, pawing curiously at his mask. He lets her, clicking his tongue when she dislodges it a bit, but then he gently nudges her towards Johnny.
His ears are perked forwards, tail still swishing. Kitty's ears are twitching, eyes big and curious. But her tail is up and curved curiously, not even a little fluffed. She gets in real close to his face, sniffs, then bumps her forehead against his chin. Which is when he loses patience and licks a big stripe up her cheek. She mews indignantly, ears going airplane mode, but thankfully doesn't swat at him.
It literally couldn't go better. She's a perfect fit.
Over the next few months she settles in with them happily, an absolute dream of a hybrid. Not very verbal, at least through human speech, but perfectly communicative and incredibly friendly.
She chirps whenever one of the 141 enters a room, has a different tone for each of them. Purrs if one of them so much as looks at her, all slow blinks and little smiles. Chitters when she sees them running outside through the windows.
Even grooming is relatively easy. She lets them brush out her floofy tail without much fuss, only trying to retreat if they catch a tangle. Readily gives up her hands to trim her claws. Even opens her mouth for them to brush off her fangs after raw meals.
She curls up with Simon on bad days, warm and purring, breathing little puffs of air against his collarbone. Lounges with Kyle after hard missions, nuzzling against him while he pets her soft ears. She spends hours upon hours in Price's office, curled up on his lap while he does paperwork or talks over the phone, kneading biscuits into his stomach.
Her friendship with Johnny is maybe the most surprising. They play wrestle just about every night, rolling around on the rough carpets in the common room and nipping at each others ears. She'll pounce on him, little teeth flashing, but almost always get bodied by his larger stature. The others will let them play until one of them - usually Johnny - gets too excited and makes the other yelp. At that point, Price or Simon will usually scoop one of the hybrids up and tsk at them for getting rough.
She's the 141's precious kitty, sweet and friendly and outgoing. The whole base knows her, though she's never far from one of her boys. And they know what it means if Ragdoll doesn't like someone.
It's rare, which is why it raises neon red flags. The first time is a new recruit that reaches to pet her without introducing himself first. She twists around on him, but usually even that would be recoverable. Except when he keeps trying to touch her, she gets a whiff of him and hisses, scrambling away.
The guy doesn't last long.
It happens again a few weeks later with a nurse meant to be giving her checkup. She gets low to the table, tail poofing up, and growls low in her throat. When the nurse rolls her eyes and tells Price to just hold his hybrid still so they can get things over with, he knows instantly that his little ragdoll was right to react that way.
With that in mind, it's no surprise that no one trusts Philip Graves when he visits their base and she takes an instant dislike to him. He introduces himself correctly, but she still hard reverses away from him, nose scrunched up. Ears back, tail fluffing up, she slips behind Price and glares from around his arm.
Problem is, Graves is used to dog hybrids. He's great with them. Kitties... not so much, even with a manual. Ends his week at the base with a couple of proper bite marks and an itchy scratch on his hand.
Given her reaction, Simon and Johnny aren't too shocked when he betrays them in Las Almas.
When a team from KorTac is scheduled for a joint assignment, the 141 is bracing for a similar reaction. Especially because they have their own cat hybrid - some big mixed breed.
Kyle even suggests keeping Ragdoll inside for initial introductions on the tarmac, but they all know that's not actually viable. Their kitty wouldn't talk to them for the rest of the day if they left her out like that.
So Price double checks that her little bell-collar is on and brings her out to meet the KorTac team.
Their cat hybrid is even bigger than expected - no wonder he's a combat placement despite being a domestic breed. He keeps his face hidden behind a big black hood with cutouts for his ears, fluffy tail slightly tangled-looking.
Price hasn't even finished introductions with the KorTac team when she makes a rolling little chur noise, bright and curious. The bigger hybrid zeros in on her instantly, ears flicking. She pads out from behind the captain and slips away before he can catch her. Any calls for her to come back are fully ignored.
She trots right up to the Austrian and mrrps again, pausing mid-step, waiting for a response. The other hybrid doesn't respond - at least he doesn't seem to.
"Sorry, kitten, but he doesn't really do the cat noises," Declan tries to tell her. But he's also ignored, and no sooner has he spoken than she's getting into the other cat's space, continuously making little "brr" noises.
And then to everyone's shock, he's bending down to greet her in return, nuzzling her cheek and forehead through the hood. She starts to purr, pressing up close, tail swishing lazily. A noise erupts from him, deep and rough, rattling in his chest. Johnny jumps and snatches at her shirt, dragging her back to the safety of their team.
She mewls sadly, arms extended to reach for him.
"He's growling, Doll," Johnny corrects, arms curling around her middle. For the first time ever she starts to wriggle. "He's too big for you to mess with."
"I... wasn't growling," the Austrian pipes up. "I apologizes if I caused alarm."
Johnny shoots him an incredulous look.
"Then what was that?" Kyle asks, confused.
"I don't... often purr."
Price takes one look at their still-wiggly kitty and the Austrian leaning towards her, as if wanting to follow, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Shit."
#cod#thoughts™️#my writing#reader fic#fanfiction#hybrid au#ragdoll!reader#siberian-mix!Konig#konig#konig cod#konig x reader
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Random fic idea
Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.
Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.
One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.
But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.
Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.
Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"
Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.
First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.
The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.
Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.
Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.
Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.
The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.
Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.
#batman#batfam#tim drake#red robin#fic drabble#dick grayson#jason todd#damian wayne#crack fic#fanfiction#fic draft#brain fart
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book lovers ; park jongseong
pairing: booknerd/bf!jay x booknerd!afab!reader word count: 3.2k synopsis: when your book loving boyfriend has you read a specific part of the current book you’re reading out loud to him. warnings: book reading shenanigans, swearing, SMUT, marking, dry humping, praising, hair pulling, fingering, unprotected sex, finger sucking, cum eating, slight choking, lmk if I missed anything, MINORS DNI!! specially dt to: @niki-riki-nishimura-riki 🩵
Of course, it would be on the top shelf. Why wouldn’t it be?
You tucked your button lip between your teeth, glancing around the bookstore to see if any ladder or step stool was available, and to your dismay, there wasn’t.
And as much as you’d love the climb up these shelves like a fucking gremlin, you hold yourself back and instead stand on your tippy toes to reach as high as the length of your arm would let you. It's not your fault you’re a short queen.
Or that you already have a stack of books in your other arm tucked closely to your body that may or may not be another reason you can’t reach the top shelf.
Who are you kidding, it’s honestly just because you’re short.
You feel with another willpower and praying, your fingers will grab the spin of the book and pull it from the shelf. Once you can get a grip, it’s being pulled from the shelf—but not by you.
With confusion written on your face, you turn to grab the book, slowly placing both feet back firmly on the ground. The one who grabbed it was incredibly handsome. Dark hair and black glasses pushed up his nose, his hair falling over the frames as he looked at the cover of the book, blue button-up long-sleeved that was rolled up to his elbows, and black slacks. He finally looks up at you, a small smile curling up.
“You know, I was caught between if I should continue to watch you struggle—and laugh, or to help you,” you raised a brow at him, damn tall people, “I chose the ladder.”
“Obviously,” you mumble, reaching for the book as he extends it out to you, “But thank you for deciding to help me.”
He smiles more, eyes drifting to your book in the other arm, “Nice book haul you have there,” he points to the books and you all of a sudden forget what you even had in your arms.
You quickly glance down, seeing a few volumes of manga, a new fantasy book your best friend recommended, a popular fiction title, and lastly, the book you were having trouble reaching, “Uh thanks,” you say, looking back up at him, and noticing his own couple books in his arm, “You have good taste as well.”
“Ah! Thanks!” he glances down at the carpeted floor, “Not every day you meet someone with the same book interests as yourself.”
Now it was your turn to smile, “Yeah, really is hard to find nowadays.”
He made eye contact with you and you swore your heart stopped, lips parting slightly. His dark orbs really drew you in. Until he places his index finger on the book he grabbed for you, “Pretty cute covers like these always have the nastiest smut in them.”
Your face heats up. With a grin, he turns and starts to walk away, “You’d know, wouldn’t you!” You shout, loving the way he turns back around and gives you a wink.
“Obviously!” he shouts as he is further away, “We like the same genres.”
You don’t know what came over you, because the next you knew, you were shouting even more, “YN!”
“Jay!” he replies, tilting his head towards the check out, “Let me buy your books, YN.”
A year and a half later, you still get Jay’s heart racing just like when you two first met. He’s hooked on you. Absolutely fucking hooked. You were also completely hooked on him too. Not even hesitating to let him buy your books that day and even agreeing to get coffee with him afterward. Which obviously led to exchanging phone numbers, book recs, and eventually make-out sessions after meeting up a few times. The two of you just fit so well, two pieces of a perfect puzzle. Of course, it was meant to be and of course, you said yes when he asked you to be his girlfriend, how could you not when he showed up to your doorstep with a bag of books from your to-be-read list and a bouquet of your favorite flowers and your favorite coffee two months after meeting.
Jay just couldn’t get enough of you. You are his every waking and sleeping thought. So it only made sense for him to ask you to move into his studio apartment with him nine months into your relationship. It was the second easiest thing he’s ever done, the first being buying your books that first day.
The hardest thing though, was adding your book collection to his. You had to buy a second shelf just so all your books had a home. But Jay didn’t mind one bit. Honestly, it gave him a reason to not buy even more books and to just steal from your stack.
It’s the perfect relationship, truly.
You are lying comfortably on your stomach in bed, swinging your legs back and forth with your nose in your recent read. It’s a mixture of fantasy and romance with some HEAVY smut scenes. You truly had no idea this book had so much graphic sexual content, but hey! You’re not complaining!
The two main protagonists were starting to get steamy when the front door unlocked. You turn and glance over your shoulder, smiling up at your boyfriend as he walks in the door, “Welcome back home, Seongie.”
Jay gives you his loving smile, “Good to be back, baby,” he glances down to the book in your hands, kicking his shoes off as he closes the door behind him, “Did you make a trip to the bookstore today?”
You nod, turning back to your book, “I even got that new sci-fi book you were talking to Heeseung about the other day. I was fixing to head to the checkout when I noticed it on one of the new release tables. Thought you’d appreciate it.”
And oh god did he appreciate it more than words could express, “Thank you so much, baby,” he whispers, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to your forehead, “What are you reading anyway?” You didn’t stop him nor did you stop reading as he tilted the book to look at the cover, “You’re such a pervert.”
You roll your eyes and swat his hand away, “As if, do I need to remind you of all the smut books on your shelf?”
In any normal relationship, one would get embarrassed to be caught or find their partner reading something smutty, but thankfully your relationship with Jay isn’t normal. Both of you read sexual books all the time. Never once has it bothered either of you. Maybe it’s because your sex life was fucking fantastic and you both felt comfortable and secure with each other and sex that it wasn’t—nor ever will be—a problem.
Jay chuckles and you continue your read, the two protags are finally getting it on and you need to know how it ends.
Obviously, it piqued your boyfriend's interest on how good this sex scene has to be that you continued reading even though he just got home from a very long workday. So he leaned further into the bed, placing one hand on the other side of you and tilting his head against the top of yours.
Fuck.
His pants suddenly grew tighter against him. No wonder your interest was so attached to this book at the moment. He doesn’t blame you one bit.
But now he has a problem, and the idea that just slipped through his brain is too good to pass up.
Jay pulled your hair to the side, kissing from your temple and down to your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth, just like the male protagonist is currently doing in the book. You lean into him, knowing exactly what he is doing and still gripping the book in your hands.
“Jay,” you breathe.
“Read it out loud,” he whispers, flattening his tongue against the now purple mark he’s left on your skin and laying his body against yours. His hard length pressing to your ass, “Read out the steps to me, baby.”
With a shaky voice, you read out what the male protagonist is doing to the female protagonist. Jay’s hands move up and down your body like in the book. Squeezing your sides as he sucks more of your skin between his teeth on your neck. Leaving more and more love marks scattered around your skin.
You’re already dizzy by just his kisses and touch. You’ve only ever dreamed about recreating sexual acts from your books and the fact it’s happening right now, the exact way you’re reading out loud, how could you not be dizzy?
“Keep reading, baby,” he bites the shell of your ear, grinding his hips against your ass, his cock twitching between your perfect cheeks. His head spun knowing you aren’t wearing any panties under your shorts.
Jay, honestly, has been wanting to spice up your sex life for a while now. Not that sex with you wasn’t fantastic already, or even in need of changing. He personally just wants to find more ways to pleasure you. To fulfill your every fantasy. What better way than to create the acts in this book?
“H-he’s wrapping her hair in his fist,” you barely make out, feeling a shift in the bed as your boyfriend pulls your hair back, twisting it around his hand, his lips not leaving your body, “P-pull it.”
Jay hums against your neck, pulling your hair, forcing you to crank your head to the side, exposing your neck even more to him, sinking his teeth back into your skin.
You close your eyes, relishing how good this feels, dropping the book onto the pillow. But the feeling is short-lived once Jay catches wind of this, loosening his grip on your hair and removing his mouth from your neck, “Stop reading, and I stop too.”
“Take my clothes off,” you quickly mumble, picking the book back up and focusing on the words on the page, “He’s removing her clothing…please.”
Jay smirks, his warm fingertips brushing against your skin at your hips, moving up your body. Goosebumps rise on your skin from his touch, “Such a good girl, baby,” he praises you, your shirt now bunched just below your breasts, “What position are they in?”
You bite your tongue, skimming to the top of the page where you first saw it, “Her back is pressed to his chest.”
With a yank of your hair still in his fist, your back was now pressed tightly against his, his cock now gently grinding against your lower back. Jay dropped your hair to place both hands on you, slowly lifting your shirt above your breasts, fingers gently gliding over them, “My next step?”
Your hands tremble as you continue to read the page, giving him step by step on what is happening. Your shirt is now thrown across the room along with Jay’s shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers and bare chest to your back. Hands cupping your breast and squeezing them in motion of his hips grinding against you.
He did each step you read, leaving now your bare bodies touching, his teeth once again sinking into the skin of your neck just below your ear. One hand squeezed your breast while the other snaked down to your clit, rubbing soft circles. With shaky hands, you turned the page, barely being able to do that simple task as your boyfriend abused your swollen clit, and your nipple now being flicked and pinched between his thumb and index finger.
You honestly just wanted him to fuck you already. Your cunt clenching around nothing and your head going dizzy from the amount of moaning and heavy breathing you’re doing, trying so hard to keep yourself upright.
“Seongie, please,” you beg, “Please.”
Jay shifts his face to the other side of your neck, satisfied with all the red and purple marks on the other side and knowing damn well the male character is very much still marking up his female. Jay secretly has been reading along with you. How could he not? This was hot as fuck to him, “Please, what, baby?” He knows what you want. But you’re not getting it until it happens in the book, “Be a good girl and keep reading. You’ll get what you want, my sweet girl.”
Jay skimmed the next line on the page, “He slowly removes his finger from my clit,” Jay read out loud, “Continue it.”
You swallow, “And slide the middle and ring fingers into my—ahh!” You don’t even get to finish the sentence, feeling your boyfriend’s fingers pushing between your gummy walls and curling them up onto your spot. Pumping them quickly in and out.
To be honest, Jay was also starting to get impatient. His precum covered your lower back and left a string connecting each time he rutted against you. He’s already read far enough ahead on the page to know exactly when he gets to fuck you. And it’s so so close.
“Such a good girl, baby,” he moans into your ear, grinding against you faster in movement with his fingers. You fling your head back on his shoulder. He raised his shoulder to push your head back up, “Keep reading. What do I do to you next?”
With slightly blurry vision, you focus on the words on the page, “Fingering until my pussy is dripping cum down my thighs and your fingers, you picking up your pace.”
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, pressing your body tightly against him, shoving his digits in and out faster than before. Your whole body is squirming against him. Your moans fill the apartment along with strings of fuck and his name. Continuing his movements of abusing your hole until you once again fling your head back against his shoulder, dropping the book to the store and thighs squeezing his hand as you came unglued.
And sure enough, your cum dripped down both your thighs and covered his hand.
Jay slowly pulled his fingers from your soaked hole, collecting your essence and raising his two fingers to his lips, sticking his tongue out and wrapping it around them. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he sucks his own fingers, completely losing it at the taste of your cum.
Jay couldn’t wait anymore. The book was long pushed to the back of his mind. Not that he needed to read it anymore anyway, he knew exactly what to do.
And no longer had the patience to wait.
One moment you were pressed against your boyfriend, the next you were face first into the pillows, your hips hiked up and Jay’s legs spreading yours apart. Yessss, this was exactly what you wanted. What you’ve craved for since the moment he started touching you and reading out loud to him.
“Yes, babe,” you moaned into the pillows, turning your head just enough to look at his face, seeing the look of pure lust and want on him. His eyes burn with the desire to tear you apart and leave nothing left once he’s done with you. And oh good fucking god you want him to destroy you, “Fuck me to pieces, oh god Jay please!”
Oh was this music to his ears. Jay pressed his chest to your back, licking at the shell of your ear, his hand stroking himself slowly, “Yeah, YN? Do you want my cock that bad? Want me to split you open?”
You nod fiercely, gripping at the bedsheets. Rough sex with Jay always left you unable to walk after, but with how he is right now, you knew you’d barely be able to survive this time.
Not another second was wasted as he pushed his cock inside you. Both hands gripping your hips, fucking into you at a fast pace. You arch your back and press your ass as much as you could to him, his hip bones surely were going to leave bruises against your cheeks. Not that you cared, you welcomed any marks you received from him during sex.
“Fuck! Jay!” you whine, knuckles turning white from your grip on the sheets.
Jay knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, not from the amount of grinding he did on your back earlier and at his quick pace right now. But he can’t help it. You feel so fucking good and he loves how well his cock slides in and out of your cunt from how wet you are for him. He needed to cum. Now.
With a pull of your hair, your back is pressed to his chest. One hand slightly grips your neck while the other finds your clit again, “I’m fixing to cum, baby,” he breathes into your ear, sending chills down your body, “Can you cum for me again? Can you give me one more?”
You try your best to answer verbally but settle for another nod, taking a deep breath in the best way you can with your airways being slightly constricted but it still has your cunt clenching tightly around his cock, sucking him perfectly.
His tip kisses your cervix with each sloppy thrust and fingers aggressively circling your clit, the knot in your tummy ready to burst for the second time of the night.
“J-Jay,” you manage to push out, “Cu-cum..I’m cumming.”
Jay leans his head against yours, “Fuck me too, oh fuck me too baby girl.”
Your second organism releases at the same time his cum fills you whole. His hips slapped against your ass to a halt, making sure every last drop of cum spilled into your cunt. Jay moans out your name, slightly tightening his fingers around your neck until he comes down from his high and pulls out. With a shift motion, he collects the mixture of both your cum onto his fingers, “Can’t waste this, can we, YN?”
His fingers come into your vision and on instinct, you open your mouth wide and tongue hanging out, ready for the salty and sweet taste of his fingers and both your cum to fill your taste buds. And oh man does it have you reeling once the digits fill your mouth. Your lips close around him, tongue swirling around and between his fingers, sucking up every last drop.
You pout once his fingers are removed, and pout even more when the cold air touches your back from his disappearance.
You barely can drop to your knees and twist around to see the beautiful and sexy naked back half of your boyfriend standing at the bookshelf.
“Jay?” you call for him, swallowing your spit to soothe your now dry mouth, “Are you looking for something?”
He has a smirk on his face as he turns around, a new book in his hand, “This one has the nastiest fuck scene. You down for round two?”
Not even waiting for your answer, you’re being pulled to the edge of the bed, Jay now kneeling in front of you, the open book being shoved into your hands. You glance down to see the first line, the male character starting off eating his wife's pussy.
Jay spreads your shaking legs apart, leaving gentle love bites on your thigh, “Go ahead, YN. Read.”
—taglist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @jwnghyuns
@in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi
@eneiyri @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty
@ladyartemesia @criminalyun @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez
@jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @vixialuvs @onlyhyunjin
@enha-cafe @ppanghoon @sunpov @zeeloveshee @hxxsxxng
@moonrisearies @brownsugarbaybee @nshmrarki @vveebee @teddybeartaetae
@kookify @abysofsteel @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @hee-lvrr @1309zip
@moon0fthenight @jakeflvrz @021894s @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @surrik-i
@heeseungsbm @star-hoon
#jay bae#jongseong park#park jongseong#park jongseong smut#jay#jay park#park jay#par jay smut#enhypen#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen fanfic#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#enhypen smut#enhypen x reader#reader x enhypen#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hard thoughts#yeonzzzn writing
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dolce and gabbana
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pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)
genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot
summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.
w.c: 3.3k
warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, mainly!! praise and pet names, one instance of false praise, [ the following happens inside a crowded room of ppl and possiblyy in front of reader’s husband: groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping, one neck bite, san cums untouched, ] ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, oral (giving/receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)
a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33
song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover + peaches + nothing on me by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller
San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.
Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.
San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.
It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of figurative autofellatio the beautiful people around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.
“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.
San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”
“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”
“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”
Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”
San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.
“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”
And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.
Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.
San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.
-
The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands, to various vague acquaintances doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms. All of that chaos saught to entice you, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, instead focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.
He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”
“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”
Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink any more, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who all simply nodded along in agreement.
Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.
Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, his cheeks flushed red, haphazardly holding onto a half-empty champagne flute, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.
Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.
San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”
“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.
Just about spilling the rest of his bubbly onto his lap, San gulped, slowly spreading his thighs open wider and patting one of them, giving you a silent invitation to take things further.
Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”
San’s throat went dry. He must’ve done something truly benevolent in a past life to deserve this. “Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”
“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.
San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.
“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”
“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.
“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.
“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”
“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.
“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”
“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.
“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”
Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”
Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.
“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.
Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.
“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.
“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”
San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.
Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”
“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.
“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.
His cock now directly near your face, San smiled devilishly down at you, his dimples appearing. He lazily ran a closed hand along his curved, dripping length. “And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? Because Mommy’s a good little slut, huh?”
“What do you think?” you mused, just before running your tongue along the underside of San’s heavy cock up to the salty tip, a pleased chuckle vibrating from your throat.
“Yeah, get it wet for me…” he mumbled absentmindedly, pushing his fingers through your hair to move it out of the way. San pressed his thighs tightly against the side of the bed, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.
Just when San began getting worked up, you pulled yourself off of him and sat up to rid yourself of your useless, disheveled dress. Hearing a distinct groan of approval, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, you come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”
“Yeah? I’ll show you…” San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you. “In fact, I’ll make sure you never forget, baby.”
You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”
“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”
“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.
As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.
You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”
San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”
“Y-yes, San?”
San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”
Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.
“I’m not sure about that one…”
“Can I ask you one more question?”
“Hm?”
“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”
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© kitten4sannie, 2024.
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I loved the “when you have a baby with them” fic, could you do one where you feel insecure about your body post birth and they reassure you? I love your work!! 🤍
When You're Insecure About Your Body After Birth- The Love And DeepSpace Men
warnings: mentions of body insecurities
parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader
a/n: hihi anonnie!! im so happy to hear you loved that headcanon fic and my works! (´。• ᵕ •。`) it always makes my day to hear you guys love them <3 i hope you and everyone else enjoys this one!
any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!
⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆
Xavier:
He would notice every time he tried to get close to you, you would find an excuse or completely avoid him. Anytime you would try to wrap his arms around you at bedtime, you would roll away from him so you're out of his reach. Your sleepy lover would not be able to sleep anymore without you in his arms.
He would be so confused on why you tried to avoid his affection. He would look it up on his phone, his search history filled with questions of "Does my lover hate me?" "Why does my lover not want my affection" All the answers he read online made him more confused and sad.
It wasn't until he watches you stand in front of the mirror, tugging at your clothes and grimacing each time you realize the fabric doesn't sit on your body like it used to before. You wouldn't notice that he was watching you, thinking he was asleep the whole time.
He would grow concerned every second and every minute as you're still fixated on your clothes and by the time he gets up from your shared bed, you're on the verge of breaking down. You avoid eye contact with him before he can even ask what's wrong.
His arms reach around your waist and he pulls you firmly into his body, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Honey, I can’t stand seeing you like this. What’s making you upset? I want to support you and make everything better.” He would say, kissing your neck before nuzzling into you.
Although your lover warms your heart, it doesn't stop your tears. Instead, you start to ramble about how you don't look like how you used too before your pregnancy. How your clothes don't fit you like how they used too and how you felt like you started to hate your body.
He would listen silently, letting you let it all out while he's continuing to hold you so closely. You let out a deep sigh when you finished talking, melting into his touch.
He would pepper you with kisses and promises you that every inch and part of you is beautiful and deserves to be loved. He'll continue to love on you as much as it takes for you to see you as he sees you.
"You're my everything. Every change is proof to your incredible strength and the beautiful journey we've shared. To me you're more than perfect and I'll keep reminding you of that every single day."
Zayne:
Zayne has always been and will be extremely attentive to you and your family. He's remembered your medical record and has known the smallest detail about you so he's already noticed the change on your eating habits. He'll notice you checking the packages to check the calorie counts and at first he wouldn't think much of it. He would think at first, you were maybe keeping track of your energy but he wouldn't brush this off.
He'll notice this has been happening quite often every day. Every time you want too cook something or order something or even get a snack, you'll always check the calorie count. So he decided to finally talk to you about it during dinner and ordering your favorite takeout.
As you chat and set down the dinner together, feeding the baby first, he’ll notice you putting only a small amount of food on your plate. It’s your favorite dish, so this seems unusual to him. "Is that all you're going to eat, my love?" He would ask, his gaze on you. You would look at him anxiously and tell him it was enough for you because you were on a diet but he would tell you that it wasn't enough and that you didn't need to go on a diet at all.
Tears would threaten to spill from your eyes when you would explain to him that you need to lose weight. You'd open up about your insecurities, worried that he might not find you as attractive now because you feel your body has changed after the pregnancy compared to how you looked before.
Zayne would get up from the opposite side of the table where he sat and made his way to your side. He would sit back down on a chair closest to you, hold your hand tenderly, and gently rub soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.
“My love, you’ve only just welcomed a new life into the world and your body has done something remarkable. It’s proof of your strength and love, and its beauty goes far beyond just appearances.” He would say while pressing soft kisses on the back of your knuckles.
He hated to see you so upset like this, insecure and hating your body when to him you were the most beautiful thing in the world. He would do anything to show you how truly loved you really were.
"I promise you, you don't need to lose any weight. I think you're perfect the way you are. But if you don't feel confident in your body, then there are better ways to do it. I can help you and support you."
Rafayel:
He's called you a couple times to dinner but you didn't come down to the dining area. He's already fed the baby and put your baby down for a nap before he went off to find you. You stood in your shared bathroom mirror, poking and prodding at the pregnancy scar and imperfections on your body. Every single flaw became amplified in your mind the longer you looked at your figure contort in the mirror. You felt disgusted in your own body and wanted it all to disappear.
Tears would race down to your cheeks and you would feel strong arms wrap around your waist. You were met with Rafayel's reflection smiling right back at you until he saw the tears stain your face. He would gently turn you to face him, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist while using his free hand to wipe away your tears. "What's the matter princess?"
He patiently waited for you to talk as you tried to steady your breathing as he continued to wipe any more tears that came running down.
When you were ready to talk, you explained to him that you've been feeling insecure lately. The weight that you gained from pregnancy hasn't left your body. You haven't looked the same every since. A couple of your clothes don't fit the way they used too and it's all been upsetting you.
Hearing you talk so low of yourself broke Rafayel's heart. He hated that part of your brain. The brain that brings you down and makes you despise yourself. He desperately wished you could see yourself the way he saw you.
He began peppering your face with soft kisses, causing you to let out a laugh. He continued trailing kisses over your body and stopping at every area to tell you why he loved it. Your body was practically covered with kisses and praises from head to toe. Once he was finished, he brought himself back up and pulled you into a kiss.
"My love, you're like a breathtaking masterpiece to me. Every change tells the story of the journey we've been through together. You're still the same incredible woman I fell in love with, and you'll always be my beautiful, amazing wife. My one and only. I adore you more than ever."
He cups your cheeks gently and looks into your eyes with his warm gaze, "I love you, every part of you," He says softly. "If I could somehow transfer my thoughts and feelings into your mind so you could see yourself the way I do, I would do it in a heartbeat."
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Sylus:
He would notice the signs but he didn't want to jump to conclusions just yet. You two would shower often before you gave birth. It was one of the intimate times you both shared. After birth, he noticed that you wouldn't shower with him anymore. Usually you would excuse yourself to watch the baby or say you would have already showered. You also wouldn't go out that often with him to auctions or any dates even if he offered Luke and Kieran to watch the baby. He figured maybe it's because you didn't trust them with the baby just yet, which is valid.
It wasn't until he finally got to convince you to go out tonight to an auction. He picked out a dress for you so he could match with you.
You stared at the mirror completely lost in thought. You hum dismissively as continued to poke at your skin. You analyze every stretch mark that appeared on your skin out of the dress. You'd turn every few minutes to check out your other angles.
You were so caught up in thought that the footsteps of your lover didn't alert you that he was in the room. He was leaning against the door frame, watching you for a while. He approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "You look beautiful sweetie." He says, placing a kiss on your shoulders and then one at the top of your head.
You'd frown and protest, feeling that you're not as beautiful as he says. You'd start to ramble about how the changes from pregnancy have made you uncomfortable with your appearance, tears welling up in your eyes. Realizing that tonight might not be the best time to go out, you'd suggest that he should go by himself instead.
He'd spin you around so you were now facing him. His large hands cupping your face as one of his thumbs wipe any tears running down. A finger on your chin made you look up at his crimson eyes and you can see the concern and honesty in his eyes as he spoke.
"Sweetie, you are truly beautiful. Your beauty isn't just in how you look but in the love and resilience you've shown. I see you, not just as my wife but as this remarkable woman who has given a gift and something truly precious. You are stunning, inside and out."
He would gently intertwine his fingers with yours, holding together as he placed tender kisses on your knuckles. All the while, he'd keep his gaze locked on you, with one arm wrapped lovingly around your waist.
"I know every detail about your body and I know it's perfect. I will continue to love you, every inch of you. And I'll remind you that every single day."
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