#please I lose my mind when I think of him

[luv-lock]

# STRAWBERRY BABY .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥...

☆⁠ NOTE : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

Your life was supposed to be perfect right now. You just gave birth to your beautiful baby—a moment that should have been magical, joyous, and filled with happy tears.

Instead, you were losing your mind.

Because the baby in your arms… did not have black hair. Not even a single dark strand.

No.

Because the baby—the tiny, fresh-out-the-womb infant that you had just spent hours screaming into existence—was blonde.

Blonde.

BLONDE.

And he looked exactly like Jason.

Now, for most normal people, this wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it would be a cute, happy moment��"Oh wow, he looks just like his dad!"—but you? No. You were spiraling. Because Jason had black hair. Jet black. Dark as the night. Dark as his soul (romantically speaking).

And your baby?

Your baby had a tuft of blonde hair that made him look like a tiny cherub sent straight from heaven.

Which made no damn sense.

You hadn’t cheated. Hell, you barely even looked at other men since getting together with Jason because—let’s be honest—your man was already borderline psychotic when it came to his jealousy.

So, if you had cheated (which, again, you HADN’T), you would already be dead. There would be no hospital room. No baby. Just a Jason-shaped shadow standing over your shallow grave.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were staring at your son, this tiny, beautiful baby with blonde hair.

Which would be fine. If Jason had fucking blonde hair.

But he didn’t. He had black hair.

You were a hundred percent sure of that. You had run your fingers through that thick, inky hair so many times. You had tugged it when he pissed you off. You had yanked it when—

That didn’t matter right now.

Because either you had just given birth to the wrong child, or—OR—

“Oh my God,” you choked, your voice cracking as you looked at the baby in your arms with sheer, bone-deep horror. “Jason’s going to think I cheated on him.”

The room went silent.

A nurse looked at you with wide eyes, hesitating mid-step. Alfred, ever the picture of composure, cleared his throat, carefully folding a tiny onesie. And Dick—because of course Dick was here—froze mid-bite of his celebratory snack, a hospital pudding cup, before slowly turning to you.

“Uh… what?”

“I didn’t cheat on him,” you gasped, convulsing in hormonal sobs as you clutched the tiny baby closer to your chest. “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“I mean, obviously,” Tim mumbled, looking more alarmed at your emotional breakdown than at the situation itself.

But you weren’t listening. You were spiraling, your voice getting more frantic.

“Oh my God. What if they gave me the wrong baby?” you whispered, eyes darting wildly around the hospital room. “What if some poor woman out there has my real baby? And I have hers?”

“Miss, please,” Alfred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Damian, perched in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, made a disgusted sound. “That’s your child, idiot. It looks just like Todd.”

“NO, HE DOESN’T!” you wailed. “JASON HAS BLACK HAIR!”

Damian just scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.

Dick sighed dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe we have to do this right now. Jason’s gonna lose his mind.”

That set you off even worse. Jason’s gonna lose his mind?! Oh God, oh God, he was going to think you cheated. He was going to leave. He was going to storm in here, take one look at the baby, and—

You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.

Bruce actually looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.

“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.

“I didn’t cheat,” you repeated, voice breaking. “I mean—how would I even have the time?! Jason’s always around! He’d kill anyone who looked at me for too long! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Why are you trying to convince us?” Damian scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be telling Todd?”

Your stomach dropped.

Jason.

Jason wasn’t here.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

“I—I love him so much,” you sobbed, clutching your little (wrong?!) baby. “I—oh my God—what if he leaves me?! What if he thinks I—Oh God, he’s gonna think I cheated, and I didn’t, I swear—”

“Jason’s going to break the door down when he gets here,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples.

“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.

CRASH.

Jason absolutely broke the door down.

It slammed against the wall so hard that even your baby, who had been peacefully asleep through your meltdown, flinched.

"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"

He froze.

You were crying.

Sobbing.

Hysterical.

His brain ran a million miles per hour. Did something happen? Did you change your mind about the name? Did one of the nurses insult you? Did he leave the oven on? Did someone die?

His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.

Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.

Okay. Not dead.

So why the fuck were you crying like this was a damn crime scene?

"Uh," Jason started. "Baby? What’s wrong?"

You let out another broken sob, clutching the baby to your chest.

Jason panicked.

You started crying so hard you couldn’t even get words out. Just absolute, gut-wrenching sobs while Jason rushed to your bedside, grabbing your face.

“Baby, baby, what’s wrong?!” he panicked, his voice an octave higher. “Did they hurt you?! Are you in pain?! Do I have to kill someone?! Is it Bruce?! I bet it’s Bruce.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.

It's just made you cry harder.

"Oh, God—what happened?! Are you okay?! Is the baby okay—"

"Jason, I SWEAR I didn’t cheat on you!" you blurted out.

Jason blinked.

Everyone collectively flinched.

"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.

"I didn’t cheat! I would never cheat! I love you, and you were my first, and I would never, I would never, I—"

"Baby," Jason said slowly, trying to wrap his head around this absolute fever dream. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You let out another shaky breath, eyes darting around the room in pure panic. "T-the baby, Jason. Look at him."

Jason frowned, stepping closer. He looked at the baby. Looked at you. Looked at the baby again.

"…Yeah?" he said, confused.

"He has blonde hair!"

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then turned to the rest of the family like they had the answers.

Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."

Jason turned back to you, lips parting like he was about to say something, then stopping. Then opening again. Then stopping.

“I swear I didn’t!” Your sobs renewed, your shoulders shaking as you held up the tiny, peacefully sleeping baby. “But look at him! He has blonde hair! He looks exactly like you! But you have black hair! I think I got the wrong baby, or I cheated on you in my sleep, or maybe you’re going to leave me—”

Jason stared.

Then he turned, slowly, toward the rest of the room. “…Did you guys let her spiral like this on purpose?”

“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.

“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.

Jason inhaled deeply.

Then, to your absolute shock, he let out a long, tired sigh—before shoving a hand through his hair and grumbling, “I fucking forgot you didn’t know.”

You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”

Jason gave you a flat look. “Babe. My hair. I’ve been dyeing it black since I was a kid.”

Your breath caught. “Huh?”

“Because of him,” Jason added, jerking his thumb toward Dick, who just wiggled his fingers in a smug little wave.

Silence.

More silence.

The world stopped.

The Earth stopped spinning.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

Jason nodded.

"You… had blonde hair?"

Jason nodded again.

You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.

Then immediately let out a loud, gut-wrenching, ugly sob and buried your face in your hands.

Jason Todd. Your husband. Your big, scary, six-foot-four, muscle-bound, leather-wearing husband. The man who used to be the meanest street kid in Crime Alley. The man who could disassemble a gun with his eyes closed and had murdered actual people.

Had spent his entire life dyeing his hair because he wanted to look like Dick Grayson.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, it’s not—”

“You mean to tell me I’ve been married to you this whole time thinking you had black hair, but you’re actually some kind of undercover blonde?!”

“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.

Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

You gasped, gripping his jacket like you might collapse. “You mean to tell me this baby is actually yours?”

Jason exhaled. Then he stepped forward, resting a warm, solid hand against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, babe,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “He’s mine.”

"Oh my God," you wailed. "I’m so stupid."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Jason sat on the bed, grabbing you. "You’re not stupid. You just had a baby. And hormones. And clearly, no one ever showed you my baby pictures."

"This whole time," you hiccupped, voice muffled, "I thought they swapped our baby, and I stole some random kid. I thought you were gonna leave me!"

Jason sighed, rubbing your back. "Sweetheart, I would never leave you. Especially not over our perfectly fine, baby."

Damian scoffed. "Tt. As if anyone else would willingly have a child with Todd."

Jason shot him a glare. "Not the time, demon."

Dick sighed, stepping forward and ruffling Jason’s hair. "Guess we should’ve mentioned that whole blonde thing earlier, huh?"

Jason glared. "You think?"

Stephanie shook her head. "I thought everyone knew. It's, like, a family fun fact at this point."

"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.

Jason pulled you into his arms, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. "It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I promise."

You sniffled, eyes red and puffy. "So… he’s really yours?"

Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead. "He’s really mine."

You let out a weak whimper. "I wanna see your baby pictures."

Jason chuckled. "Alright, sweetheart. When we get home, I’ll show you all of them."

Tim crossed his arms. "I have them saved on my phone."

Jason turned his head. "Why the fuck do you have baby pictures of me on your phone?"

Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."

Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"

Tim smirked. "Like this one."

Jason pulled back, finally looking down at the baby in your arms.

And—oh.

The storm in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.

The big, scary Red Hood, suddenly looked—small.

Awe-struck.

Because there, curled in your arms, was a tiny, sleeping baby with blonde hair and soft little features that looked just like his.

Jason swallowed.

Then, hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his fingers over the baby’s little fist.

“…Holy shit,” he murmured.

Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”

Jason turned to you, eyes softening.

Then he kissed you—long, deep, and full of love.

“I love you,” he muttered, lips still against yours.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[dadsdog]

Kinda vague prompt but can you do some of your ur usual shit but like. In a truck. Like one with a bench seat. I like pretty much all the shit u post about. Js... truck. In a truck.

as an avid truck sex enjoyer, this is awesome ty :] this one's not very forcemasc-y but it's VERY dad/son fauxcest-y

while i'm all for dad/son incest fantasies, i can't stop thinking about a teenage boy, who opens up to an older man (maybe a family friend, a friend's father) about his relationship with his dad. how he was never there, how he never supported his son when he needed it most. the older man comforts him, wraps him up in a tight hug. "hey... you're gonna be okay bud." the boy sniffles and looks up at him, still clinging to him desperately, "thank you. im sorry for dumping all of this on you." he shakes his head. "don't say that kiddo, there's no need to be sorry. i'm happy to listen. just say the word and i'm there."

he starts spending less time at home, and more time with this older guy. he takes the boy to get food, shows him all his old interests, let's him ramble on for hours about one thing or another. and if the boy's father did anything that upset him, he would always be there to listen.

this kid finds himself thinking about him all the time. how wonderful he is, how patient and kind. he wonders what it would ve been like for him to be his dad instead. he thinks about how he smiles at him when he speaks, how handsome he is. he thinks about how whenever they re going out somewhere, he always rests his hand on the nape of the boy's neck. his hands are big and calloused, but so gentle. he wonders why he gets so excited when he touches him. wonders how his hands would feel cupping his chin or petting his hair.

"i wish you were my dad." the boy confesses to him, on a late night drive. he looks down, finds his hand gripping the truck's bench seat. the older man has gone strangely quiet. looking over at him, the boy tilts his head. "what's wrong?" the man feels his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "you shouldn't say stuff like that, kiddo." "why not? you might as well already be my dad, you're the one actually looking out for me."

the man pulls over jerkily, stopping in a forgotten, tree lined road. he exhales heavily, hands still clenched. "hey, what's wrong? did i do something?" he's never this quiet. the kid slides closer to him, and hears him inhale sharply, like the older man had just been burned. "are you ok? what did i do? i promise i wont do it again. please, just tell me whats wrong." he lays a hand onto the older man's knee.

suddenly, the man has the boy by the shoulders, gripping him tightly and pushing him away. he gasps, clearly spooked by the roughness of his touch. "i'm sorry, kiddo. you didn't do anything wrong. it's me." his hands loosen their grip ever so slightly, he starts to rub comforting circles up and down the boy's arm. "you can't say stuff like that." the boy tilts his head. "why?"

he had no idea what to say. because i've wanted to fuck you ever since you first cried into my shirt. because the idea of having you as my son gets me so hard i can't think. because i don't know how long i can have you in my car without losing control and taking advantage of you.

"because i..." he stares down into the boy's eyes.

"you just shouldn't." he starts to break away from the touch, but the kid moves to hold his hand, pouting up at him. "but i really do think of you like that. i think of you as my dad." he inhales sharply again, feeling his cock throb in his jeans. he tightens his jaw and his mind strains with the effort of not grabbing the kid and rutting his cock into him through their clothes.

the kid looks up at him, creeping even closer.

"i love you, dad."

the final shred of self control left in the man is shattered into nothing. he grabs the boy by his waist roughly, and puts his other hand in his hair. he brings their lips together in a sloppy, clumsy, hungry kiss. the boy's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open as he lets out a cry of surprise. this only allows the man to slip his tongue into his mouth.

"wait- mmh!" the boy is pulled roughly onto the man's lap, where he can feel the hard cock pressing up into him. the older man finally pulls away from the kiss and holds the boy's head on his shoulder. "fuck- 'm sorry. love you. god, you're such a good kid. fuck."

he's grinding into the boy's pussy, hissing his apologies into his ear. he can feel the boy take fistfuls of his shirt, gasping and shaking. "wait-what are you doing, please-" "shh. it's okay. you're okay. fuck, i'm sorry- just let me-" his hands grab hold of his hips, pushing the kids small body against his, listening to his shocked moans. the boy is too stunned to say anything, to ask what he's doing, why it makes him all wet down there, why it makes him feel so good. "mnh. shit. im sorry, have to have you- doing so good, champ-nnhgh." he feels the boy lift his head to look him in the eyes. tears are dripping down his cheeks, but his face is twisted in pleasure. his cock throbs so hard the kid can feel his pulse through his jeans.

"feels- nnh! it feels- weird, dad. nmh! dad!" he can't stop himself from slamming the boy's hips down onto his cock. "call me dad. fuck. do it again, son. nngh- say i'm your dad." the boy's thighs shake on his lap. "dad. nngh- you're my dad. mngh! ah! dad- please don't stop- hhnm" the kid feels warmth spreading through his body, and pooling in his stomach. the friction and the rubbing and the hands on his hips are all too much. he feels a pressure building, making his cries for dad even louder.

"ah! nmh! dad, m-my- it feels- nngh! oh god, dad. oh god oh god oh god dad." he feels the kids thrust his hips back and forth on dad's cock, chasing that fuzzy warm feeling in his tummy. "ngh- shit. such a good boy. c'mon son- fuck. gonna make me cum. gonna make your dad cum. nnnh, fuck!"

"dad, dad, dad! nnh! my- it's gonna- oh god daddy! daddy!" the boy doesn't know what's happening. his boxers are soaked through and his head is fuzzy and the pressure in his tummy is too much. he grinds his pussy into his dad's lap hard, in a long downward motion, that finally lets the pressure release.

his dad watches as he quivers, cumming on his lap, completely overwhelmed by the shock of his own orgasm. he watches his boy moaning and crying for him, and feeling his orgasm build, he grabs his hips and presses him down onto his cock, thrusting upwards and cumming in his jeans for his little boy.

the kid collapses into him, panting and shaking, occasionally twitching with aftershocks of his orgasm. the man, huffing and sweaty, embraces him, placing soft kisses on his head. they sit like that in his truck for a long few minutes, catching their breath, before his boy looks up at him.

"i love you, dad."

[oikarma]

terrible things

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: people like to say love is a static thing-it sparks at first sight and never fizzes out. but maybe it just takes on a different feeling, quite like the ever-changing colors of a flame.

a/n: new month new ending! this is the last part to the number one girl series. hope you enjoy <3

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by 703,924 others

f1gossipofficial: Max Verstappen was spotted walking Y/N L/N to dinner from electric lady studios! Two things are on our mind: new music and an old flame.

tagged: yourinstagram, maxverstappen

view all 53,681 comments

user1: i feel like this is going to get messy real quick..

user2: MY YNMAX HEART 🥺 ARE THEY FINALLY TOGETHER

user3: hello? what about lewis FREAKING hamilton?

user4: not y/n in her homewrecker era

user5: woah woah she was there WAY before kelly user6: kelly and max announced their split months ago user7: ikr how are people defending her

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

@/charmschoolgirl She is definitely releasing new music. So happy! I hope the Grammy's don't snub her this year.

@/its2ayem freak bro 😭 she just said that her and lewis have never agreed to anything beyond friends & he is one of her closest friends

@/genericuser5 who is this diva 💜

@/bananas I lowk felt bad when the interviewer asked about Max. You could like...see it on her face. How she didn't want to talk about it.

@/charlesdannate but!! she said they were on talking terms again!! and they'd reconciled and also that photo of them leaving els!!!!!!! YN LOVE SONG ABOUT MAX?

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lando, jennierubyjane and 3,910,514 others

yourinstagram: TOO MUCH TO LOSE / FEB 2

view all 702,193 comments

francolapinto: mother 🛐

user1: oh next year is going to be HELL for him user2: @/lewishamilton @/maxverstappen idek which one of you she's dating but DO SOMETHING yourinstagram: oh franco...don't you think i'm a bit too old for you? user3: @/yourinstagram y/n bae he dated a mother of like 3 kids or something age is nothing LMAOAOAO user4: franco's mommy kink allegations r never going away

user5: red is SO your color!!

user6: i love how even her looks r maturing? like on burnout it was all schoolgirl, teen, naive and this album is SERVING.

luxurylaw: pleasure to style you !!

yourinstagram: nono it was MY honor

user7: time to wager. is this a baddie (i eat men) album or a breakup (???) album

user8: well she's all cozy w max now so maybe something happened with lewis? user9: @/user8 WHYYY I LOVED THEM TOGETHER

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

r/popheads · 1 wk. ago jammies_on_all_night

Y/N L/N - TOO MUCH TO LOSE [MEGATHREAD]

This megathread is to be used for discussion regarding Y/N L/N's second album, as well as articles and reviews of the album. The album, Too Much to Lose, comes out at midnight in PST.

Please keep all reviews to the megathread - I will attempt to keep the post updated with reviews, please feel free to DM me if I've missed any.

Links to any leaks, as well as asking for any, will not be allowed in this megathread.

Album Links:

Spotify

Apple Music

TIDAL

Amazon Music

Tracklist:

we can't be friends (wait for your love)

prelude in e minor

cornerstone

tis the damn season

i love you, i'm sorry

heavenly

terrible things

don't look back in anger

This thread will be updated with important links for release day events, reviews of the album, etc.

ynsgirlfriend: I was expecting another pop-y album but this was so much more heartfelt. WCBF eats so hard. SO HARD.

↳ dannyric03: Love her growth. Also, the way the album goes from distancing herself (we can't be friends, duh) until the time is right and finding so much beauty in what time you have (terrible things). I don't even want to speculate who the album is about. It's...beautiful. ↳ User5: calling it rn. wcbf (wfyl) is going to be a smash hit on the radio

CharliesPrelude2: literally came up w my user after charlie's prelude (based off of chopin's prelude in e minor) SO Y/N ACKNOWLEDGED ME

↳ SalsaBird: LOL. Loved her on that track. Didn't expect them but they were haunting. Honestly, I'm surprised at how insane her vocals are.

Sharks1039: Trying to decode this. bear with me. [1/2] 1. we can't be friends (wait for your love) - i feel like this is pretty obviously about max. not exactly, bcs i think we've garnered it was y/n who left him first after THAT night (thanks burnout!!) but the fact that she's learning to live without him. even though she still wishes they could be friends. just my interpretation. 2. prelude in e minor - i don't know. it's beautiful. it's chopin. it's y/n. it's just there and a good transition into the rest of the album? it really cleared up my mind and helped me appreciate the other songs. 3. cornerstone - seeing that person in every place. "thought i saw you at the X, but it was only a lookalike." idk who's perspective this is supposed to be from. the message is imo such longing you look for it everywhere. 4. tis the damn season - i feel like the lyrics point toward max (hometown, etc.) but i also feel like we've never really seen anything in the last 4 years indicating a reunion like that. after we stopped seeing her and lewis (we saw them SM last year) i thought something might've gone wrong? i'm p sure they're still on friendly terms, they comment on each other's posts, etc. but less close. maybe some regret from her side?

↳ ApplestoApples: I KNEW I wasn't the only one who thought "tis the damn season" gave Lewis. They hinted at a sort of romance. Especially when Lewis visited Y/N in her hometown (they took a few pictures with fans who'd spotted them). "It always leads to you, in my hometown" is probably about her thinking a lot about that. Sad they didn't work out. Loved how well he treated her and how happy they seemed. ↳ Sharks1039: @/ApplestoApples how did i not know that. omfg it's so about lewis. ↳ Shakes1039: anyway part two of my yap. [2/2] 5. i love you i'm sorry - "you were the best but you were the worst, as sick as it sounds i loved you first" ??? i don't even know what this means but damn girl i hope you're ok now. 6. heavenly - this is such a love song. lowkey found it a TINY bit jarring when we went from ilyis to heavenly but it's more like. i love you (im sorry) to i love you (i'm not)? that's the only explanation i can think of. banger, though. 7. terrible things - MY FAVORITE SONG. ALSO SHOULD BE YOURS. "i can tell by your eyes that you're in love with me" hello. i bawled hearing this. i'm so glad she's found love because it seemed like the max thing shook her up so bad. "don't fall in love, there's just too much to lose ... i beg you to choose to walk away" oh my god. she still sounds pretty worried about how strong love is and how losing a loved one will hurt... 8. don't look back in anger - oasis cover. live. i feel like given the previous song (terrible things) it's like when you walk away to protect yourself from love, don't look back in anger. and at the end of the day, i think this is an album about max. some people talk about how she has growth through the album but honestly idrk about that. it's just her coming to terms with her actions. it's an album about being in love and all the bad things that happen when you're in love. it's an album about deciding to walk away to not hurt yourself. but at the end of the day, people are overcoming that desire to protect themselves. they want to love, even if it hurts.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lewishamilton and 1,203,864 others

yourinstagram: hello everyone! happy valentine's ♡ i just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for the support you have shown my music. everyone says this, but the songs i put out are pieces of my heart. they are lessons i have learned and stories i want to tell. some of you have already figured this out, but a little piece of advice:

don't be afraid to love. there are much more terrible things to experience.

view all 291,473 comments

yourinstagram: i mean don't be afraid to love in reasonable circumstances!! 😭 don't be afraid to love if people discourage it, if your heart truly wants it. pls be afraid to love if you're being forced against your will. love you all so much, take care and make good decisions!

user1: she's so real for freaking out over misinterpretation user2: sorry ma'am reading fics of your man as a mafia boss has stopped me from mafia reasonable decisions

lewishamilton: happy valentine's, y/n

yourinstagram: hope the grapes did something for you user3: roman empire unlocked. user4: omfg 😭 not the grapes

user5: hold up. why is no one talking about that photo. it's not in any of her music videos?? she's in that dress in the dlbia live performance but WHEN WAS IT TAKEN

user6: i bet it's max. user7: it's totally max. user8: RELATIONSHIP UPDATE PLS @/yourinstagram

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by yourinstagram and 5,019,432 others

maxverstappen: Home is where the heart is.

tagged: yourinstagram

view all 715,893 comments

user1: HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH

user2: it's real omg!!

user3: haven't seen y/n in ages THANK U FOR THE CRUMBS MAX

user4: the way he looks at her...

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by 732,891 others

f1gossipofficial: Max Verstappen spotted crying after last Dutch GP. All our hearts are equally as heavy.

view all 13,405 comments

user1: poor man. last year of zandvoort. i'll miss it too

user2: i'm sure y/n will cheer him up! missed seeing her at the last few races

user3: omg what if she's pregnant... user4: girl 😭 i like to think max would've learned from kelly and put a ring on her BEFORE the baby user5: @/user3 yea the last photo we saw of her was like months ago and she was wearing a fur around her waist so we couldn't see much

user5: rip dutch gp.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

maxverstappen: Life can do terrible things. But you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

tagged: yourinstagram

Comments on this post have been limited.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

BREAKING: Max Verstappen has retired from racing. He has reportedly moved back to the Netherlands with remaining family.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

INTERVIEW WITH HUGH L/N-VERSTAPPEN

...

INTERVIEWER: Moving on, congratulations on the Best Actor award!

HUGH gives the interviewer a shy smile. He takes a sip of the coffee in his hands: Thanks. I was so surprised. I didn't think people enjoyed my performance that much.

INTERVIEWER: Well I guess you were proven wrong. How do you feel about following in your mother's footsteps, instead of racing like your father?

HUGH pauses before speaking: I suppose...I sometimes wonder if I would be suited for it. If I could've done more. At the end of the day, acting feels like keeping my mother's legacy. Many people remember her as my dad's wife, or just a songwriter. She went into acting because she loved it. I just wish she was more recognized for it.

[ There is a moment of silence as Hugh plays with the cup in his hands. ]

INTERVIEWER: I know your acceptance speech brought quite a few people to tears. It was very moving.

HUGH nods: I didn't mean to. I just wanted to thank my mom one more time. And my dad, too.

INTERVIEWER: It was a good kind of tears, I'm sure.

HUGH laughs.

INTERVIEWER: Which of your mother's songs is your favorite?

HUGH: Well, my dad used to try singing "terrible things" to me. He's not a great singer, so emphasis on the try.

INTERVIEWER: If I'm not wrong, the song does say "now son, I'm only telling you this because life does terrible things." Is it like a message to you?

HUGH: Yeah. I know the song is about how hard love is and how painful it is. But she did it anyway. What's my excuse? Life is short and there's so much to experience.

INTERVIEWER is handed a note. THEIR eyebrows furrow, looking at HUGH: Sorry, would you be comfortable answering a question about your dad? I know you only agreed to talking about Y/N. We can cut this part out if you mind.

HUGH shakes his head: No, it's quite alright. What was the question?

INTERVIEWER: Well, your father hasn't made any public appearances save for your Academy Award win. It's been many years...would he like to pass on a message?

HUGH: Oh, my dad loves to talk. Let me think. He's old, you know that. I think he enjoys the quiet life. He wouldn't survive in an F1 car nowadays, but he still enjoys driving.

[ HUGH thinks. The INTERVIEWER doesn't prompt him. ]

HUGH smiles to himself: I don't think he'll be showing up at any of my future premieres. Don't expect that. It's been a while, yeah. But he's happy with his years. He said he's close to seeing her again.

INTERVIEWER only nods. There are tears in both their eyes.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: it's over! lowk felt bad for the ending. but i think i like it this way. sorry ynlewis stans. i just think. at the end of the day they would find their way back to each other.

[goldfades]

i love crash out series and thanks for your service queen 😭 i had an idea for like a fight and then make up between them with smut? a lil longer too if you don’t mind

hi baby! i hope you enjoy this!!

warnings: NSFW under the cut, minors pls dni! i feel like i forgot how to write smut so PLEASE give me some feedback

The door barely clicks shut before Luka exhales, sharp and frustrated. You don’t look at him.

You haven’t looked at him since dinner.

Your coat is already halfway off when he reaches for you, fingers just grazing your wrist before you pull away, stepping into the kitchen like he’s not even there. Like the whole ride home hadn’t been thick with tension, the air between you stretched thin, fraying at the edges.

Luka leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with narrowed eyes. You don’t acknowledge him.

He hates it.

Hates the way you move around the kitchen like he’s invisible. Hates the way your lips are pressed into a tight, unyielding line. Hates the silence, because god, anything is better than this. You could be yelling, cussing him out, shoving at his chest with all the fight you have in you—and he’d take it. He’d welcome it.

But this?

This cold, calculated ignoring? He feels like he’s losing his mind.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” he asks, voice clipped.

Nothing.

Luka clenches his jaw. Pushes off the counter. Takes one step closer.

“Seriously? You’re just gonna act like I’m not here?”

Silence.

You open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, twist the cap with a little more force than necessary.

He watches. Seething. His patience, already thin, finally snaps.

“Oh, my fucking god.” Luka drags a hand down his face. “Can you just say whatever you need to say? Yell at me. Call me an asshole. Something.”

You take a slow sip of water. His eye twitches.

“You’re such a brat,” he mutters under his breath.

That does it.

Your head snaps up, eyes blazing, shoulders tight with irritation. “Excuse me?”

Luka smirks. Oh, now you want to talk.

He shrugs, leaning against the counter again, arms lazily folding across his chest. “I said,” he drawls, tilting his head, “you’re a brat.”

Your nostrils flare. He bites back a grin. He knows he shouldn’t be pushing you, shouldn’t be stoking the fire—but at least now you’re giving him something.

You slam the bottle onto the counter, stepping closer. He can see the tension in your jaw, the way your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“There she is.” Luka grins, infuriating and smug, but there’s something else beneath it—something restless. Something hungry. His voice dips lower. “I was starting to miss you.”

Your pulse jumps. But you’re still pissed. Still fuming.

And Luka?

Luka loves you like this—fierce, unrelenting, all fire and defiance. But he loves breaking you down even more.

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling with each sharp breath. Luka is standing so close now that you can feel the heat of him, the way his broad frame crowds you in, making the kitchen suddenly feel smaller.

His smirk is lazy, but his eyes—his eyes are dark. Heated. He’s enjoying this.

And that pisses you off even more.

“You are such an asshole,” you hiss, pushing at his chest.

He doesn’t budge.

“Am I?” His voice is all silk and steel, infuriatingly calm, like he’s barely restraining a laugh. “For what? Wanting you to actually talk to me instead of acting like a little kid?”

Your jaw tightens.

“You think I’m acting like a kid?”

“I think you’re acting like someone who wants me to lose my patience.” He steps even closer, and you take an automatic step back—until your spine meets the edge of the counter. Luka leans in, bracing a hand beside you. “And you know what, baby?” His voice drops, low and thick. “It’s working.”

Heat pools low in your stomach.

You hate how easily he gets to you.

How his presence, his voice, his everything makes you feel like you’re standing too close to the edge of a cliff, toes curling against the drop. But you’re still mad. And you’re not about to let him just bulldoze over that.

“You embarrassed me,” you say, voice tight.

Luka’s brows knit together. “How?”

You scoff, shoving at him again—harder this time. He lets you. “At dinner. The way you were talking over me, making fun of me in front of everybody—”

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” His voice is firmer now, the teasing edge fading.

“Yes, you were.” Your fists tighten. “You always do this. You always think it’s so funny to push my buttons, and I know you don’t mean anything by it, but sometimes—sometimes it’s not funny.”

Luka exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. He watches you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face. Then, finally—

“Shit,” he mutters. “I didn’t—fuck, baby, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

Your anger is still there, but it softens, just a little, at the raw sincerity in his voice. You cross your arms, looking away. “You’re an idiot.”

Luka huffs out a laugh, his hands settling at your waist. “I know.” His thumbs stroke slow, deliberate circles against your hips. “But I’m your idiot.”

You bite your lip. “That’s not a good excuse.”

He dips his head, lips brushing your ear. “No?” His voice is low, dangerously smooth. “Then let me make it up to you.”

Your breath catches. Luka presses closer, his body warm and solid against yours. His nose drags along your jaw, his lips just barely skimming your skin.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

He notices, then smirks.

“C’mon, baby.” His voice is pure sin, rough and coaxing. His hands slip lower, gripping your thighs. “Let me fix it.”

You shouldn’t give in this easily. You should stay mad. But Luka—your Luka, with his infuriating smirk and teasing touch—knows exactly how to unravel you.

And right now?

You’re about to let him.

The tension between you crackles like static in the air, thick enough to choke on. Luka's hands are still heavy on your hips, thumbs dragging slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of your dress. He’s waiting—for you to push him away, for you to tell him off, for you to fight back.

But you don’t. Instead, you stare up at him, lips parted, breath coming just a little too fast. He notices. Of course, he does.

“Say the word, baby,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “And I’ll stop.”

You don’t say it.

His smirk is slow and satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

You should still be mad. You should still be fuming, pushing him away, making him work harder for it. But Luka knows you too well. Knows the way your pulse is racing, the way your fingers twitch at your sides like they want to grab him but your pride won’t let you. Knows exactly how to break you down.

“Luka,” you breathe, and that’s all it takes.

He moves.

His hands slide down, gripping your thighs, hoisting you up onto the counter like you weigh nothing. You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, pressing his body against yours, trapping you in.

“You gonna let me fix it?” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your throat, sucking just hard enough to make you shiver.

You hate him for this. Hate how easily he gets under your skin, how he turns every fight into something else entirely, something heated and breathless and dangerous.

And you hate even more that you love it.

“You’re such a menace,” you whisper, nails scraping against his scalp.

He grins against your skin. “You love me.”

And god help you, you do.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to make him groan. His hands squeeze your thighs in response, his control slipping, his breath warm against your lips.

“I’m still mad at you,” you tell him, but your voice is shaky, betraying you.

Luka smirks, pressing his forehead against yours. “No, you’re not.”

You glare at him, opening your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Instead, his lips crash against yours, and everything else melts away.

The fight, the tension, the anger—it all disappears the moment his mouth moves against yours, the kiss hot and needy and just a little desperate. His hands are everywhere—sliding up your thighs, gripping your waist, pulling you closer.

Your legs wrap around his hips, anchoring him to you, and Luka groans, deep and low in his throat. He breaks the kiss just long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, his breath ragged.

“I hate when you ignore me,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me fucking insane.”

You smile, tilting your head to give him better access. “I know.”

His teeth scrape against your pulse. “Brat.”

You tug at his hair, making him growl. “Cry about it.”

His laugh is dark and breathless, and before you can say another word, he’s lifting you off the counter, carrying you towards the bedroom with purpose.

“You wanna play games, baby?” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. “Let’s play.”

And just like that, the fight is forgotten. Because Luka may hate when you ignore him, but he knows just how to make you beg for his attention.

Luka's steps are measured, each one echoing through the hallway as he carries you effortlessly in his arms, the sheer power of his body on display. The air around you crackles with an electric current, every brush of his fabric against yours sending jolts of desire straight to your core.

The bedroom door swings open with a soft thud behind him. Luka sets you down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, burning with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. He leans down, his hands planted firmly on either side of your head, caging you in with the strength of his arms.

“You sure you can handle this?” His voice is a low drawl, teasing, yet laced with an edge of seriousness. He knows your games, the push and pull of your resistance, but tonight, the unspoken challenge hangs heavy between you.

Without waiting for your response, Luka’s lips find yours again, more forceful this time. His tongue slides against your lips, demanding access, which you willingly grant. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of mint and something uniquely Luka that makes your head spin.

His hands roam downward, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up slowly, tantalizingly, until it bunches around your waist. Cool air hits your skin, causing you to gasp into his mouth, a sound that seems to drive him even further. His fingers trace up your thighs, light yet firm, mapping the skin he’s claimed so many times yet still can't get enough of.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. His gaze is fixated on your exposed skin, as if memorizing the sight before him. His fingers hook around the edge of your underwear, teasingly pulling them down as he locks eyes with you, his intentions clear as his lips curve into a smirk.

The fabric slides off with ease, leaving you bare before him. Luka’s breath hitches slightly as he takes in the sight, the raw desire in his eyes enough to make your heart race. He dips his head, pressing kisses along your inner thigh, inching closer to where you want him most—but deliberately avoiding it, driving you crazy.

You squirm beneath him, trying to guide him where you need him, but he gently pins your hips down with his strong hands. “Patience, baby,” he chides lightly, his breath hot against your skin. His refusal to satisfy your needs makes every touch feel like both a punishment and a promise.

Finally, he relents. His mouth moves directly on your pussy, his tongue masterfully invoking sensations that leaves you writhing beneath him. Each lap sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, intensified by the sheer anticipation he's built. His name falls from your lips in a helpless mantra, echoing around the room, filling it with the sound of your pleasure.

Luka's hands grip your hips tighter, a silent command to stay still under his ministrations. But it's a tall order when every flick and swirl of his tongue draws whimpers from your throat. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, his fingers join the play, sinking into you with a precision that sends another jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins.

The room is thick with the heat of your bodies, every breath, every moan mingling in the charged air. Luka’s movements grow more urgent, more focused on your clit, as he senses your climax building. His name becomes a litany, a plea, a declaration as you teeter on the edge.

With a few more skilled movements, you cum all over his tongue, waves of pleasure rolling over you in a relentless tide. Luka slows his pace, riding it out with you, his own heavy breaths a testament to his satisfaction at your unraveling.

As you float back down, he crawls up your body, his weight a welcome pressure. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply, passionately, sharing the taste of you. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers against your lips, a smile in his voice, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection.

Luka's gaze holds yours, intense and fiery, as he shifts his position. You can feel the solid weight of his bulge pressing against your thigh, a promise of what's to come. He trails one hand down the center of your body, a teasing path that makes every nerve stand on alert.

When he reaches the junction of your thighs, he pauses, his fingers playing at the entrance that beckons him. His other hand braces beside your head, his thumb caressing your cheek softly, a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes.

Without waiting any longer, he aligns his cock at your sopping pussy. With a slow, firm push, he slides home, filling you completely in one smooth motion. You gasp at the sensation, a perfect stretch, a perfect fit, as Luka pauses for a moment, allowing you both to savor the moment and adjust.

Then, the restraint vanishes. Luka sets a pace that is both relentless and passionate. His hips snap forward with precision, each thrust driving him deeper, eliciting moans from deep within you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a rhythmic beat that drives the intensity of the moment.

Luka’s face is a mask of concentration and raw pleasure as he watches the effects of his movements reflected in your expressions. His name spills from your lips in a crescendo of sound, each utterance a spur to his motions. His hands roam over your body, one settling to anchor your hip, the other reaching up to pull your leg around his waist, changing the angle of his thrusts to delve even deeper.

"You feel so fucking good," he groans, his voice rough with desire. His movements become even more targeted, designed to hit all the right spots within you. The change sends sparks of pleasure zipping through your veins, your back arching off the bed as you meet him thrust for thrust.

The intensity builds, a coiling heat in your belly that signals the rushing approach of your second climax. Luka senses it too, and his motions become even more focused, desperate, as if he’s chasing his own release that's tethered to yours.

"Cum for me, baby," he urges, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck, his breath scalding against your skin. His words, spoken in that commanding tone, pierce the fog of pleasure and tip you over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he pushes you both past the brink.

Your climax shatters through you, waves of intense pleasure washing over you in relentless surges. Luka follows closely behind, his own release claimed in the tight clasp of your body, his name a prayer on his lips.

The room is warm, hazy in the golden light spilling through the curtains. Your skin hums, still tingling from him, from everything.

Luka collapses beside you with a heavy, satisfied groan, one arm flung over his face, the other instinctively reaching for you. His fingers find your waist, tracing absentminded circles against your damp skin. He’s still catching his breath, chest rising and falling, a lazy grin stretching across his lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice hoarse, wrecked. “You’re actually tryna kill me.”

You laugh, soft and breathless, turning to face him. His cheeks are flushed, hair an absolute mess, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead.

“You deserved it,” you murmur, dragging a teasing finger down his chest. “Brat.”

Luka cracks an eye open, fake-offended. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You smirk, shifting closer, your lips grazing his jaw. “You love pushing my buttons.”

He sighs dramatically, rolling onto his side to look at you properly. “I don’t mean to,” he says, quieter now. His big hand finds your cheek, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “I just love messing with you.”

You arch a brow.

“Okay—” he amends quickly, lips twitching “—sometimes I go too far.”

You hum in agreement, stretching your legs against his under the sheets. “Yeah, you do.”

Luka groans, grinning as he buries his face against your shoulder. “Shit, you’re really making me work for this apology, huh?”

You bite back a smile. “You should suffer a little.”

“I’m literally dying.”

You laugh, carding your fingers through his messy curls. “You’ll live.”

Luka leans into your touch, all soft now, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder. “I really am sorry,” he murmurs between kisses. “I never want to embarrass you, baby. Ever.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your stomach flip.

You nudge your nose against his, letting the last remnants of your irritation melt away. “I know.”

He exhales, relieved, and then—because he’s Luka—grins. “Sooo... am I officially forgiven? Or do I need to go another round to prove how sorry I am?”

You roll your eyes, smacking his arm. “Go to sleep.”

Luka laughs, grabs you, and pulls you against his chest with a satisfied sigh. “Mmm. Fine. But only ‘cause you wore me out.”

You tangle your legs with his, feeling warm, sated, and impossibly content. Luka’s arms tighten around you, and for a long moment, neither of you speak—just breathing in sync, just existing together.

Then—

“Still think you’re a brat, though,” Luka mumbles sleepily against your hair.

You pinch his side.

He yelps.

Then, he laughs.

[seffen]

It's been a long time since they've been here.In fact, I've been cold to them for a long time. But recently, at my leisure, I decided to remember them, it was nice.

It's been a long time and I've been able to rethink a lot of the stories, but the main points in the story remain, and I'd like to tell them. But I strongly doubt that I have the patience to draw it all.

Shamura is still one of my favorites. I wanted to make him the most controversial character. I drew his image when there was still no crown on his head.

I remember Shawmura saying he caught his crown in a net, this prompted me to headcanon that his crown was not meant for him. I've had this headcanon for a very long time, and in the early artwork you can see that Shawarma uses a regular spear and doesn't use the crown due to the fact that he couldn't quite curb it. But it's worth saying that later on he was able to curb it like no mortal would be able to. I can say that Sharuma had very high self-esteem when he was young.

Callamar, I think he's getting unduly neglected. And I don't like that he's portrayed solely as a coward. I like that he can be very cunning and very self-loving. And I wanted to revisit one point in his story. I wrote earlier that he was relatively at ease with the role of a mortal, but now I think that's not true. To explain, Kallamar as well as Leshy and Narinder were gods from childhood, from early childhood, because of this their adaptation was the most difficult and one could say unbearable. Imagine being on top all your life and losing everything in one moment, it's very difficult and the only happy moment is that Kallamar is alive.

And I can also see that Kallamar has various hobbies that would seem strange or creepy to many people and all of them would be about bodies and their insides. Given that Kallamar personified disease he had a lot of medical knowledge, simply because his region was the most commonly affected by it, and because Kallamar was very hard to please as a god. But we should not forget that he was primarily a god of disease, not medicine. Under him, in general, it is better not to bring up these topics at all or risk repeating the experience of Tom Cardy's poor guy from Red Flags.

I love Hekat. I share those who see her as strong, independent and very responsible. The way in the game itself she was ahead of all her brothers as if taking everything upon herself after Shamura received the head grass. Also, according to her headcanon, she received her crown like Sharuma already at a conscious age and she managed to live in the settlement and was a loyal follower. This experience, as for me, made her more down to earth, even though her character was hot-tempered.

If we talk about her life before the crown, then even before that Hecate was a respected woman. She was one of the students, and her word was very important. Because of this, she was also very popular among men, although none of her marriages were successful, and not because of bad relationships. Those years were very difficult times for the gods and this also affected the followers. You can say that there were difficulties with survival.

Now, you could say she is on a well-deserved vacation, although at first she helped her brothers adapt for some time, but still, despite how difficult it was for them, they are no longer children and she is tired of dragging them by the hand everywhere.

Well, and Leshy, the youngest. I can't say anything new. Those who have seen it before know that in my universe he has a daughter from a yellow cat. I would like to devote more time to his spouse. Something that I would also rewrite and change my mind a bunch of times. He is definitely not as simple as he seems. I had an idea with a breakup, but it is too large-scale and I repeat that I am not sure that I can implement it. I can say that the cat is not local and has not lived in the lands of the ancient faith for most of his life, he came from distant islands that are his native home. The main reason why he swam away from Tula is that he is wanted there and if he is caught, he faces capital punishment.

I guess that's all for now. I would write more, but there's already a lot of text here.

And there is no Narinder here. I just didn't want to draw him, maybe next time.

[chuellas]

Echoes of Silence | E is for Edging

⤷ Ft. Dazai Osamu

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, edging, slight mind break, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, WC: 1k

A/N: Idk why but I struggled so hard with writing this one, I hope it came out just as well as the rest did <3

Dazai had been clingy all day, performatively so. You could sense that something was off, even for Dazai the dramatics were a little much. But trying to pry it out of him was never an option, so when he asked to come over you were simply resigned to accepting. 

It has been what feels like hours since Dazai came over to your dorm and each passing second is becoming even more agonizing than the last. Dazai is toying with both of you tonight. He was quick to strip you of your clothes and have his way with you before the front door even fully shut. His desperate hands exploring your skin with urgency.

Nightly visits like these usually only last about an hour, maybe two, but tonight is definitely different. It’s been almost three hours and Dazai isn’t letting either one of you finish. You’ve been on the edge for probably two and half of those hours and it’s torture. 

This is cruel and unusual punishment and it’s all Dazai’s fault. 

Every time one of you is about to come he slows down or pulls out completely only to distract you by kisses. His lips sear every inch of your body. Dazai gives you absolutely no time to protest or to rest. It gives you each only a few moments before he’s diving into you again with the same agonizing pace he’s set, slower and harder than usual. 

You're a mess, your brain has been turned to mush and the only coherent thought you’ve managed to keep intact is the need to release. Your ability to speak is in the same condition. Pleas of your need to release spilling from your swollen lips, but they fall on deaf ears because Dazai clearly has no plans of granting any of your requests. 

The brunette is too caught up in his own need to release. He isn’t just torturing you, but himself too. He can’t rip his eyes away from the way your glistening sloppy cunt sucks him in and keeps a vice grip hold. He’s not sure where the self control is coming from but he barely manages to keep this up. The only thing keeping him from letting you finally cum is the thought of having to go back to his dorm and spend the rest of this night alone with his own thoughts.

He’d be damned if he let that happen when your company is so, so much sweeter than his own.

Even now, your incoherent words sound like music to his ears. “‘Samu…’Samu, please. I can't- ‘s too much- ahh- I need to- oh my god- I need to cum, please, please…”

It’s getting harder for Dazai to deny you and he thinks he’s on the verge of giving in. Even so, Dazai’s movement instinctively slows down and you let out a hiccuped sob. He looks down at you and he really thinks he’s gonna lose all senses. You are a beautiful mess — a devastatingly beautiful mess. Your hair is matted down on your face from a mix of tears and sweat. Your eyes rimmed red from the amount of crying you’ve done. Skin flushed the prettiest pink color and marks littered your body, courtesy of Dazai himself. 

In the split moment it takes for the agent to admire you, clearly distracted, you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s your desperate attempt to keep him close and finally give you what you’ve been begging him for. As if Dazai’s conviction hadn’t already been crumbling, this was the final blow to send it crashing all the way.

Dazai picks up his speed and crashes his lips into your own as you both finally find that release you’ve been chasing for hours. Your room is filled with muffled moans mixed together and the wet sound of Dazai’s hips crashing into yours before stilling completely and spilling inside of you. Everything is dizzy and Dazai can’t form a single thought. His mind is filled with fog and his ears stuffed with cotton. Nothing is registering but the white hot pleasure pooling in his stomach and spreading through his entire body like electricity. 

His length throbs inside of you with each release of his seed that he’s pouring into you. The build up made his plummet last longer than it usually would. His whole body twitches, already hypersensitive and he hasn’t even completely finished inside of you yet. Dazai’s vision focuses and you’re in no better shape. Your eyes are still screwed shut and your body is borderline convulsing. The tight grip you have around both his waist and his cock keeps him from pulling away from you at all. 

When you’ve both come down, the brunette can’t bring it in himself to get up to clean himself and leave. Instead he collapses into your hold, laying face down into your chest. By the sound of your breathy chuckle and the way you begin to run your fingers through his hair, despite it being wet from sweat, Dazai can tell you’ve come back to reality. 

Dazai shifts, making an effort to pull away but the action is stiff. He doesn’t want to leave but he knows if he doesn’t, he will be overstaying his welcome. Your hold on him, however, doesn't falter and you let out a soft hum.

“Stay.” Dazai’s head shoots up at that and he just stares at you for a few moments. You’re visibly nervous and start to elaborate when you really don’t need to because Dazai was already sold by the single syllable. “It’s later than usual and I really don’t mind the company. Also your body must be exhausted.”

Dazai tries to widen his eyes in shock but the detective’s eyelids become too heavy for him to keep open anymore and he wordlessly resigns. His head drops back to your chest — this time he makes sure to make himself more comfortable on top of you. He decides to stay nestled in between your thighs even though he’s softened now. 

Dazai doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t think he has to, his body language is enough to tell you he’s not going anywhere.

[dear-satan]

Falling Without a Sound

player 230/Thanos x Reader

★ word count: 871

★ CW: no squid game events, fem!reader, mention of suicide, death, drugs and debts

★ Summary: the salesman didn't show up and Thanos jumped off a bridge

★ author's note: the story contains the theme of suicide, it does not urge ANYONE to do something similar!! if you are struggling, similar thinking please contact your family or loved ones. remember - you are a wonderful person and you are NEVER alone <3

The world had a habit of taking things from you without warning. You didn’t expect him to come back. Not like this. Not this way.

Outside the window, the city pulsed with its own rhythm—neon lights flickering, footsteps echoing, voices rising and falling, none of them belonging to you. Somewhere in that noise, someone laughed the way he used to. Someone sang his song, completely unaware that its author was now lying several floors above the ground, bound to white sheets and his own shadow.

And you were here. You slipped through the crowd like a ghost no one could see—though everyone wanted to.

The elevator carried you to the second floor, every second stretching into eternity. Sterile walls, the scent of disinfectants, and a silence worse than screams.

You stopped in front of door number 230. You couldn’t breathe.

Your hand hovered over the handle, and in your mind, the memories returned: his laughter when he first heard his song on the radio. The excitement in his eyes as he counted the growing views on streaming platforms. The fire in his heart that fueled his dreams. And then…

A phone call at 2 a.m.

Passersby who saw his silhouette on the bridge railing.

Cold water swallowing him before anyone could react.

He was lucky.. Or maybe he wasn’t.

You clenched your teeth and stepped inside. A hospital bed by the window. A heart monitor beeping in a steady, rhythmic beep, beep, beep. An IV drip, its clear liquid falling slowly, like time being measured drop by drop.

And him - he was a shadow of himself.

Purple hair, still damp, staining the pillow. A pale face, dark circles under hollow eyes, skin stretched over sharp bones. The blanket was too big, or maybe he had become too small. His hands lay still at his sides, but you saw them—the needle marks, the scabs, the veins pierced too many times.

You were afraid to touch him. Afraid he might break.

“Su-bong?” you whispered, as if his name could bring him back to life.

His jaw tightened. He held his breath.

But he didn’t look at you.

You pulled a chair closer, sitting beside him. “Look at me.”

Silence.

A shiver ran down your spine as you saw his hands clench the sheets.

“Su-bong.”

Slowly, as if forcing himself into each movement, he turned his head.

And that’s when you saw it - his eyes were empty. There was no light in them, not even sadness.. Just exhaustion.

“Hey.” his voice was hoarse, quiet, breaking at the edges.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “That’s all you have to say to me? Just ‘hey’?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze wandered over the walls, as if trying to find in them the answers to questions you hadn’t yet asked.

“I want to understand.” Your fingers curled into the fabric of your pants. “I want to understand why this happened. Why…” You couldn’t finish.

But he did it for you. “Why I jumped?”

Silence

“It’s simple.” He gave a bitter smile, but it was broken. “I had nothing left to lose.”

Your heart clenched in your chest. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw something more than exhaustion.

Pain. Collapse. Loss.

“You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice shook. “To wake up in the morning and know you’re worth less than nothing. That your bank account is empty, and the only time your phone rings is when someone wants money you don’t have.”

You swallowed hard. “Su-bong…”

“My contract was terminated.” His fingers gripped the sheets. “ ‘You’ve spent too long in the dark, Mr. Thanos. It’s time for someone new.’ ” a hollow laugh. “Do you know how much my debt was? 1.19 billion.” something inside you froze “I owed them more than my life was worth.” he exhaled, a sound filled with quiet defeat. “So I figured the simplest solution was… to stop existing.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “You had no right-”

“I had no choice.” his eyes - those dull, empty eyes - finally filled with tears. “I was a burden. To the company. To my family. To the world.”

“Not to me.” he blinked, as if your words were the last thing he expected to hear.

You didn’t let him look away. Your hand reached for his cheek, warm skin meeting his cold one. “I won’t let you go.”

His fingers trembled, then tears—silent, uncontrollable—began falling, one after another, like raindrops against glass.

“I don’t know how…” His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to-”

“You don’t have to know.” you ran your fingers through his hair, gently, as if he were made of porcelain. “Just let me be here.”

For a moment, he hesitated in silence.

Then his fingers, the same ones that had clung so tightly to nothingness, tightened around your hand.

Not hard, but enough.

Enough to know that you hadn’t lost him yet. Enough to know he was still here. Enough to know he still wanted to stay.

And that was enough.

This time, even if everything else crumbled, you wouldn’t let him disappear.

You wouldn’t let him fall.

[jd-loves-fiction]

Gallagher, jing yuan and welt with a teenage brainrotted reader. I need them to stop me from using all those silly words or i'll go skibidi 😔

🌑Holy shit what chaos, what the hell did I just write 😭💀

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

This poor man

He's too good for his own good really

Doesn't understand a lick of what you're saying but is so supportive still 😭

Like yes honey, skibidi rizz or smth 😅

After getting over his confusion, he's innocently asking you what it all means bless this man

Very good listener, genuinely pays attention to what you're saying

And he's saying it back to you at the most random of times

I love him but it's so cringe oh my goood 😭

Might just make you stop talking like that, at least around him, so he'll forget about it and stop saying those things

✦ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 ✦

Menace

Somehow already knows about it but acts clueless just to tease you

Asks what it means and proceeds to use it incorrectly just to see you cringe

Please tell him to stop or else he wont until he's had his fun

Which might never happen since this could keep him endlessly entertained

Before you know it, he's getting Yanqing in on it too, though he's a bit confused about it overall

He's get you to stop talking like that from how annoying he is, making you forbide those words from being used in your presence at all or you might just lose your mind💀

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Nonchalant final boss

The guy's a bartender, I'm not sure he'd care much

Definitely has heard weirder shit from his patrons

Kinda just nods along when you start yapping , doesn't completely understand what you're saying but doesn't care that much

Only really has a problem with if you're around the bar a lot, confusing his patrons - they start thinking they got so drunk they're hallucinating and that's bad for business

So he gently asks you to tone it down on company time😅

Otherwise he could care less honestly, slay ✨

[reignpage]

hello reign *bows down* i had a bit of a horny question heheheheheh what do you think the jjk men say in bed? i saw a prompt like this a while ago and if it’s okay with u i was curious abt how it would be like for the eden jjk men. i offer u this nanami in return 🙏

I will take the Nanami yes thank you

Do you mean like dirty talk? Or pillow talk? Since it’s horny I imagine it’s dirty right?

Okay so,

Gojo: he’s a simp

He whispers and whines about how amazing reader is in every way shape and form. “You’re so beautiful oh my god thank you god thank you thank you,” he groans, skimming his lips down your body, stopping here and there to lick and suck the sweet salt of your skin.

“Oh you taste so good. Like the sweetest candy. God do you have to be perfect in every way, you’re killing me. You’re literally killing me. Wait, actually, can we fuck missionary? Yeah I know it’s basic and vanilla, but god I just really want to see your face. Please? Oh thank you! Baby, I love you so much. Gonna buy you whatever you want later. Yeah I know you can buy it yourself but I just wanna pay. Okay, let’s get to orgasm number 3 with head and then we’re fucking all night old people style.”

It’s literally worship, at every given second. Just praise upon praise upon praise. He always asks too if he’s making her feel good. He wants to be sure he’s giving reader everything she could ever want and more. The type btw to crawl into a ball and cry if he ever EVER came before you.

Geto: instructions and praise

Being a dom, he guides reader through. Talks her through it. “Right there, pretty girl. That’s it. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Does occasionally degrade her, but it’s not really her thing and it doesn’t make him feel good so they just don’t do it most of the time

He’s very keen in knowing she’s feeling comfortable and great at all times so he does ask quite a few questions and encourages her to be vocal about how she’s feeling. “You like it here, sweet girl? Yeah? Use your words or I’ll stop. Hmm, that’s more like it.”

Choso: doesn’t do much talking

He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated 24/7 with his reader. He’s being teased left right and centre and he just CANNOT get his bearings omg. He has no idea if it’s night or day, where left and right is, sometimes he even forgets his name.

“W-what? Ngh oh no! Not there p-please! I-I don’t know! Yes yes whatever you -ha- want! T-take it all! O-oh thank you yes yes yes thank you thank you!!”

Toji: oh man

This guy never shuts up once he gets going. He’s just so cocky ugh it’s disgusting. He never gets fucked out like reader and he’s always in control even when he’s not so he knows exactly what buttons to push. Mix of praise and degradation.

“Oh, come on, baby. You gotta ride me better than that. Doll, you’re gonna have to join me in the gym and build up your stamina because this is poor performance on your behalf. Coach would be so disappointed if he knew my girl could barely get three pumps in before giving up. Alright alright, no need to pout at me like that, you’re gonna make my heart stop. biiiiig stretch there we go, my turn yeah? I’ll take care of ya, put my training to good use. There we go, oh yeah. Much better isn’t it? You like it when I fuck you like this no? Damn, the silent treatment? You’re gonna be cruel to your loving boyfriend when he’s kissing your cervix? Oh, damn you’re blacking out. Christ, you’re making a puddle of drool, god you just want me to lose my mind don’t you? Alright, just gonna have to fuck you back to consciousness. Here. We. Go. Oh hey, ma. Good nap? Fucking missed you.”

Nanami: sweet man

Mostly simpy and worshippy. He’s always a gentleman. When he’s leading he’s kinda more on the quiet side, apart from the occasional grunts and moans and ‘oh fuck’. He just doesn’t like the sound of his own voice, he much prefers to listen to reader fr.

But when reader takes control, wanting to be a brat and tease him, he comes under her mercy and he just has no choice but to be vocal.

“No, s-sweetheart, I’m -ha- sensitive there. Oh goodness, t-that feels good yes, where did you learn that? No, never mind, I-I’d rather not know. Oh no, please! T-that’s -oh- that’s no good, you have to stop, I-I only want to cum inside you. May I, sweetheart? Please? It’d be such a waste otherwise.”

Sukuna: degradation only.

“You’re a goddamn whore. What would they all think if they knew their president likes to be fucked like this? Hmm? Answer me! You’re useless. Always so fucking naggy, bossing me around and snapping your fingers at me. Who the fuck do you think you are? Oh that’s right, you’re my girl aren’t you? Yeah, my girl who likes it rough. Is this good for you and your needy pussy? Harder? Ha! Any harder and I’d kill you, idiot. Think with your head not with your pussy once in a while yeah?”

Only sweet after sex.

“Not too sore? Good. No, don’t complain. It was your idea to do it here. Just needed to be fucked on the Dean’s desk, didn’t you? No, I’m not judging you, babe. I’ll fuck you wherever you want. Just musing how amazing you are at holding grudges. It was a nice touch to make me tie you up with his spare tie. Who the fuck keeps a spare tie in their drawer? What a fucking loser. Well, anyways, you took quite a beating there. My bad. Hungry? Nah, you gotta eat something. Come on, wipe the cum from your thighs and let’s get going I’m starved. No? Always gotta be such a princess don’t you? Alright, get on the desk and spread your legs.”

[sound-of-scoups]

How Did We End Up Here? | LC | Oneshot

Pairing: Lee Chan x Female!Reader  Genre|tags: Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad Chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.  Word count: 18.9k + Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Warnings: Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, there's a Gilmore Girls reference and several 5sos song lyrics referenced as well (if you know, you know), reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex (you know it’s bad), creampie. If there’s more please let me know. A/N: Happy birthday to my baby (even though he's older than me lol)! I wrote this story in a complete state of mania—the idea hit me, and in less than four days, it was finished. I thought posting it today, for his birthday, would be a good idea. I accidentally posted it earlier while scheduling, but I'm ignoring that little mishap hehe. Please read my final notes!! Enjoy reading, and let me know what you think! <3 🎧 Now listening to: end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino. Read on AO3

Summary: Lee Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he'd have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league, but it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.

He knew the exact moment you walked into the house. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence—like a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.

Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Their expressions made it clear: they were dying to find out.

There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself, though that certainly played a part. It was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something. 

And he—well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.

Tonight, when you walked through the doors of the frat house he was part of, wearing a tight black corset-style top, a short skirt that did little to cover your legs, and black thigh-high boots that made your legs appear even longer than they already were, looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin.

It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t. That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you—orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.

Of course he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.

“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan's voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.

Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.

And him? He was no better than the rest of them.

He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan, who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist, a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three. 

“What?”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”

It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it. 

Not that he was openly hitting on you when he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn't even know he had. 

It was a mess. He was a mess. 

Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway. 

Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”

Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a background vocalist for Beyoncé.”

“You do,” Vernon said, deadpanned. “Minho just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”

Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?” 

His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.

Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”

Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips if only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.

“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”

Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate. 

Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program—linguistics—meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.

You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.

Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times. 

Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”

“Hyung—” Chan groaned. 

“I mean, come on,” Seungkwan interrupted, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”

Chan glared at him. “That is not the same thing.”

“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, smirking.

By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though. 

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him. 

A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care. 

Not only was he the most lucky dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan without warning if he could peek into his mind and see all the dreams he had about you. 

And the guy irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height, and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.

Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else—someone like him—made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.

“She has a boyfriend,” Chan said out loud, feeling a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did. 

“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”

He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”

Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.

“Look, man,” Seungkwan said, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”

“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

Vernon chimed in, “Seriously, dude. You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”

“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”

Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.

Chan froze.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.

And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips, marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen, curved into a smile. 

For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred around the edges, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then, just as quickly as it happened, you turned back to your friend, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand as if nothing had transpired.

He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the red cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.

Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” Vernon said, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.

He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”

Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”

He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip on his cup tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.

Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.

“Act normal,” Chan whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so. 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled. 

Chan shot him a sharp look, but before he could tell him to shut up, you were there—standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something that made his breath catch. 

Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the red cup in his hand as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.

“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.

Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix—Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show. 

Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan. 

“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their house. “Full house, I’ve been told.”

It was the first party the three of them had organized since the older members graduated, making them the hosts tonight. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in the house, it seemed they had been wrong.

“Thanks,” The three of them said in unison again and you let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity. 

“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking? I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as the Namsan Tower.” 

He knew you weren't just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body.

It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house; and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.  

Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.

Your laugh—soft, amused, and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face. “What’s your name?”

His world seemed to stop for a second. 

Even though the two of you weren’t close—or even friends—he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was his best friend. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?

This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn't know his name?

Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.

This couldn’t be happening.

“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging looks—surprised, amused, and definitely holding back laughter.

“Oh, I know your name, Channie,” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”

Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.

“Oh,” was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”

You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.” 

Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go upstairs and sleep.

He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long. 

“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.

“He's fine,” Seungkwan said for him. “We're all fine.”

You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”

Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he started, clearly trying to fill the silence. “Are you having fun?”

“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway, as if just finding out. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”

The four of you glanced around the packed house, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable—dismantled, with couches pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in the corner, where a barman served specialty drinks, and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things. 

Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over. 

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming parties were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.

The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you came alone?”

“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”

Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed Don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”

Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.

Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We're great company.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.

“Not here.”

The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory. 

He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really?” He smirked. “No boyfriend? That’s new.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by their teasing. “He’s busy with something, I guess.” 

You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat. 

“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”

You let out a soft hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”

Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile a minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.

“You seem awfully interested in that drink,” you suddenly pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”

Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it—he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.

“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, as if that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”

Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”

Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name—so casually, so effortlessly—made his brain short-circuit again. 

Everything he wished for—right after you, of course—was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him. 

I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus, hell, he was a member of one of the most exclusive fraternities at university, was the current best dancer on the program since Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.

So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?

It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.

Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”

At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.

“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”

Chan blinked. 

“Oh, you know,” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”

It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.

You laughed softly, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”

Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words. 

“So…” you said, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”

Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”

Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. It’s fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically, as if trying to convince both of you.

You hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?

But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams—just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.

Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer. 

“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up as you turned your head to them with a grin so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Two seconds later, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”

You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.

 “I have to go,” you said, pointing with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend. “See you guys around.”

Chan's heart sank a little at the sudden shift, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.

But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan—just him. 

“I love your shirt, by the way.”

And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.

Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”

Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”

You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the few rooms upstairs with an unlocked door.

To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for a party, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them at Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming party.

So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.

That person was currently downstairs, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone under the staircase, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.

With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name. 

That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much. 

You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

It was almost two in the morning when Chan decided he’d had enough of the party. You had already disappeared minutes ago to God knows where, and even though your friends were still downstairs playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home. Your boyfriend had probably come by to pick you up at some point, like he always did, and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.

All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten. You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much... out of reach.

Now, he was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed up to his room.

After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head. 

He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right; this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every move. 

He was such a big fool. 

A fool for you, apparently. 

For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on the figure. The silhouette was unmistakable, even in the dim light—your figure, perched on the balcony railing, legs dangling, one hand resting on your knee. He wasn’t sure how long you’d been there, but the sight of you, calm and seemingly lost in thought, made him hesitate. Again. 

The cool night air swept in, ruffling the curtains and causing them to dance with the wind again, almost as if they were beckoning him. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But then the thought of you sitting out there alone made his chest tighten, as if the universe was giving him a second chance to do things right, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was standing up and crossing the room.

He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The cool breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party downstairs still faintly echoing in the distance. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close.

You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.

Chan never liked people invading his space, especially his room, and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But it was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes, as if the hoodie had been made for you to wear too.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance.

“Chan?” You said his name like you couldn’t quite believe it, like maybe you were the one dreaming and not him. He smiled.

“Hey,” he managed to say, his voice gentle, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “You okay there?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering a small smile, grateful for the concern in his eyes. “Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Chan hesitated for a moment before leaning against the railing next to you, his posture a little stiff but his presence somehow calming. “I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”

You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dancer major?”

He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends' advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, like it belonged to you just as much as it did to him. 

Still, he forced himself to get the words out.

“Yeah, well… dancing is different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense. It’s the kind of noise I can control.”

You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”

“Not so much.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling of the trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet, here you were, in his hoodie, in his bedroom’s balcony. 

Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that's happening. 

You were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action.

You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the cool breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.

You’d known the SVT boys for a while now, and they always carried this… chaotic energy, like one was constantly balancing and matching out the other’s freaks without the slightest trace of embarrassment or shame. That, in fact, was the reason why you liked being around them so much; they were different from the guys in the other fraternities at this university. Not to mention their parties were the best on campus and probably the most female-friendly and safe.

Every now and then, you found yourself in the company of one of them. Whether it was Vernon, who was already your friend and classmate, or Joshua, who once served as the english literature tutor for your study group back in freshman year, or even Seungkwan, in the one ancient studies class you share this semester.

Sometimes, it seemed like they were everywhere on campus, as if, whenever you needed one, they would magically appear—like when Abby blew out a candle in that Disney Channel movie 16 Wishes, except in this case, there were only 13. 

Lee Chan, however, was the member you hardly ever heard the voice of. You just couldn’t tell if he was always like that or if the problem was you, specifically. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you asked, your tone light, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.

Chan chuckled at your question, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He forced himself to say something, anything, before he made even more of a fool of himself. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”

Brilliant. Just brilliant. 

For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, he hoped you wouldn't notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.

Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.

He couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease despite the awkwardness that lingered. You weren’t making him feel self-conscious about his words, just... making him feel seen by you in a way that made his chest tighten, because that never happened before. 

“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he added, his voice lighter this time, trying to steer the awkwardness away. “Just... not always the best at small talk.” 

He gave a shrug, hoping you would take it as more of a self-aware joke than anything else.

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway. It’s the big stuff that matters.”

Chan tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. 

“What kind of big stuff are we talking about here?” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but inside, he was celebrating wildly; not just because he was managing to talk to you, but because you were talking to him too.

Perched on the railing, you shifted slightly to face him fully, your hands gripping the edge as you met his gaze. 

“Like... real conversations. The kind where you actually get to know someone,” you said, your voice softer now, almost a little serious. 

Suddenly, Chan felt like the air between you two shifted, and he couldn’t decide whether it was the wind or something else making him feel more aware of every movement you made and every word you said. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the rush of thoughts flooding his mind. “I guess... I guess you're right.”

You smiled, pleased with his answer, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd downstairs faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like you’re both in another world entirely. 

Up here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something that Chan didn’t even know what. 

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room.

The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.

Instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind since the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”

Chan watched as you froze, your eyes slowly widening while your brain processed his question. Your gaze followed his, and the moment you registered what you were wearing, a soft laugh escaped your lips—one that sent his pulse into overdrive. 

“Oh, shit,” you said, blinking, voice showing your very obvious surprise. 

You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. 

“Wait, no—” you started, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear.” Your hands gripped the hem of the hoodie as if it might disappear if you didn’t hold onto it. “I—I didn’t know this was your room. I promise I wasn’t—I mean, I just—”

“You just… what?” he managed to ask, still amazed that you were standing in front of him, in his hoodie—did he stress this enough?—after a night of him avoiding you because he was convinced he had lost every chance he had after your interaction earlier. 

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. Found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and, uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”

Chan stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”

It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.

He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all.

You were still seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.

Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he said, forcing a small smirk. “Guess it looks better on you anyway.”

He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.

Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”

Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his hoodie, looking at him like that…

Yeah. He was completely screwed.

“No, stay,” he said, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”

You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Unless you want to go back?”

You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”

Chan tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.

“Okay,” you said after a beat. Then, with a teasing smile, you added, “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”

Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. You can keep it.”

You grinned. “Thanks.”

“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”

“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.

And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.

There was a comfortable silence between you after that, the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges. 

You tilted your head slightly, as if studying him, and Chan felt his pulse quicken again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way he wanted you to look at him the way you looked at your boyfriend.

At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.

Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“So where's your boyfriend?”

If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose. 

The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.

And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He's...not my boyfriend anymore.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words. 

Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.

“Not your boyfriend anymore?” He repeated after you. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn't want to be.”

That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with your step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already. 

Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?

“He’s an idiot then.” Chan spoke, bringing you out of your thoughts. When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion.

Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”

You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”

The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it. 

He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”

You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was sharp when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”

Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him—a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”

“And what finally made you leave? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Channie”

“Yeah?”

Chan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even if he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative and more responsive. 

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”

His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment. Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head? 

Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him—the asshole who never let you breathe.

“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk,” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them. 

“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?” 

Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. 

“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly, the weight of your response settling in the space between you. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.

“Yeah,” you continued, voice soft but steady, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”

Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.

Something you truly deserved.

“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”

He hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled. 

“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”

Chan’s heart beats faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before. It felt real.

“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment. But your expression softened in a way that made his heart skip another beat.

“Maybe,” you said, voice low but deliberate, eyes never leaving his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”

Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility. 

Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing and sitting on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable against his skin, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air. 

Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you—not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart. 

He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the rain before it returned to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he was giving you an escape from the moment, if you needed it.

You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”

Chan turned to face you, his expression softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, the hesitation that lingered in your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience, that he wanted you there more than anything. 

“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.” 

“Never,” you said, your voice light, but there was something else in it, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Especially when you said, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”

Chan froze, his heart giving a sharp, involuntary lurch at your words. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips. 

What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went upstairs and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends? 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said simply, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs. 

Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric. 

So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care. 

He couldn't help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.

The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life. 

There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance unit with the frat’s past members, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.

Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely. 

“Lee Jung Chan?” you asked, curious as you read the name on one of the trophies from a children's dance competition. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time. 

Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It's my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”

“You went by your full name back then?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”

“It's cute,” you said, looking at him over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”

“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”

You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you'd only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation. 

“What? Jimmy Neutron?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn't help.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips. 

“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.

He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it's adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it perfectly.”

Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look perfect now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”

He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”

You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you've probably never seen anything so lovely before.

“Well, I think you were adorable,” you murmured, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”

He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”

Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”

“She is,” he said, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”

Something about the way he said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but intense. The soft glow of the streetlights made his features sharper, casting shadows along his well-defined jawline.

If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.

Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure—he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.

“You still are, you know,” you said, voice quieter now. “A star.”

His lips parted slightly, but for a moment, he didn't say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out.

And then, with a small, almost shy smile, he said, “I like it better when you call me cute.”

You laughed, the sudden tension between you easing just a little. “Noted.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”

You didn't have to say his name like that, or move your lips like that. His eyes traveled to your mouth for a moment, and for a second, something flickered in his expression, something unspoken, but not entirely hidden. 

His eyes met yours as he said, “Yeah,” he murmured. “You are.”

To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”

As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued your exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he standed between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly. 

“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture. 

“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”

“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”

Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”

You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?” 

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”

“That’s love.”

He looked at you then, his gaze steady. “Yeah, it is.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.

He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.

Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.

“I was there that day, you know?” you said, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to. 

Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.

“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo—and then at him.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.” 

He felt a warmth spread through him at your words, the kind of warmth that made his chest tighten. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you. 

“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn't see you?”

“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”

He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”

There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”

He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”

Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter. You noticed him. Not just that night, but every time after. 

He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had—every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do. 

How did you end up here?

Chan felt lightheaded.

He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.

“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you murmured, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”

Chan swallowed. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different? 

But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”

Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night—to scan every face in the crowd, to find you standing by the side stage, watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time. 

Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken. 

The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, something that made his head spin in the best way.

“Can I ask you something?” You sank your hands on the mattress and stared at the wall in front of you, like you were avoiding his gaze for some reason. 

“Mhmm.”

You wet your lips, hesitating for a moment before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”

Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.

You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. “That’s what I thought.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He hesitated, his eyes flickering over to you. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”

You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious. “I make you nervous?” you echoed, tilting your head slightly. “That’s a first.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”

“That is just an act,” he admitted. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you then, meeting your gaze fully. “You’re real. You’re right here.”

And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.

Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew the way your stomach flipped at the way he was looking at you, like you were something impossible and undeniable all at once. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words. 

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie” you said, your voice softer now, more careful.

“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan murmured, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”

Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things. 

And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.

Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you'd heard him right.

Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, his voice lighter, trying to sound nonchalant.

Something inside you fluttered at the thought. You hadn't expected this at all—not from him, not tonight. And definitely not in this way.

“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”

“But you never said anything,” you pointed out.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested,” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. 

Didn’t think you’d be interested?

It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around. 

Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.

So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. It was now or never.

“Is it just in the past?” 

Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”

“Your crush.”

“Uhh..”

“Because it would be so sad if it was,” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his. 

His voice was softer when he spoke again. “Really?”

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”

He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting again at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what he had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.

“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”

Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t—because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous in the best way.

“Would it?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Your smile again, nodding. 

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”

“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

You didn't say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real. 

He was messing with your head? Well, that’s a first. 

“Noted,” he simply murmured.

“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.

Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed. 

He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this charged, uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.

Chan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His instinct was to deflect, to joke, to brush it off like it was nothing. To play nonchalant. But the way you were looking at him—with quiet anticipation, with something that felt dangerously like hope—made it impossible to lie.

And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him. You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips.

“Good.” 

Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash. “Good?”

You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing impossibly small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”

A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe.

“Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.

You tilted your head, eyes glinting with something warm, something teasing. “What do you think?”

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”

You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”

“Noted,” he replied again, huffing a quiet laugh and shaking his head. But this time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful. 

You bit your lip for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“Chan.”

“Yes, noona?”

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.

Did he hear you right?

Did you—did you really just ask him that?

But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.

His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, because suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.

He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”

“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”

Chan let out a shaky breath. He was absolutely, utterly doomed.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”

“Why not?” You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping just enough to make his pulse go haywire. 

Chan let out another nervous laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”

You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning. 

Yeah, he was probably overthinking this—scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this—but the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him. 

He didn’t want to screw this up.

But at the same time…

God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again. 

So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.

“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His heart pounded as he closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. The moment was slow, tentative at first, like he was memorizing the feel of you, engraving it to his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped. 

Chan exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it. 

If the party outside still carried on, now it felt distant, muted. The only thing that existed in this moment was your lips and the way they mold together, the way your fingers slid up into his hair, the soft sound you made when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed. 

And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else. 

Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side—and that was it. You were lost too.

When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs. 

Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him. A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter—if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.

One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.

Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time. 

Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hops to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.

His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by the heat of the moment, consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from. 

As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him: you looked like a goddess on top of him.  

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said, voice was low, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you. 

Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling the full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him. 

Chan’s breath came in sharp, uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His voice was raw, thick with desire, and it sent a pulse of heat through you.

You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away. 

His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours. 

“You,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you.”

The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. Your fingers splayed over his abdomen, feeling the way his stomach tensed beneath your touch, the way his breathing hitched with every slow, deliberate movement of your hands.

“Then take me, baby” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.

Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.

“You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”

He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.

The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.

His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to remember this, just in case he never got the chance to do it again.

Your hips rolled instinctively, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.

You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.

Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”

His hands roamed higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.

“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”

You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you. 

“I want you to sit on my face,” he says with certainty, eyes darkened with something you’ve never seen before, but you love it. The sheer existence of it sends a whimper tumbling from your lips. 

Still, you can't help but think about his safety.

“Are you sure” you asked, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt. 

“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please” 

“Fuck. Okay.”

You get off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you step out of the bed. You pull off your skirt and panties, while Chan gets up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returns to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burn with desire as he watches you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset—on purpose.

When your breasts finally spill free, his mouth parts slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world. 

“Come here, baby.”

You slowly crawl across the bed toward where he’s lying close to the headboard, and Chan helps you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settles on either side of his head as you both adjust, ensuring the position is comfortable for both of you.

“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against your pussy, followed by a groan, and you feel his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.

You knew that you’re so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you’re sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill runned through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you’re the last and most delicious meal he's ever going to have in his life. 

“You smell delicious, noona,” The way he speaks makes you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”

Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat is right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips find your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate. 

When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him. 

The gasp that left your lips is a sound you’ve never done before, completely immersed in the pleasure he is giving you. His nose nudges against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moves over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who has been starving for far too long.

“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”

The way Chan’s mouth moves on you is pure, unrestrained hunger, and it feels so good that, only for a moment, you entertain your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cup your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that make you shiver around him. 

His tongue circles your entrance, sliding in as more of you slick spills into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wants this to end. All day, every day, Chan is sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wants is to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that is you with your pussy right in his face.

Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans was the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty fucking sure this is the soundtrack of paradise and he can’t wait to get there. 

When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sessions. 

“Oh my god, Chan,” you choke out, closing your eyes shut. 

“Hmm.” His hum sended vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would fall forward on the bed. 

Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.

He was done. Gone. 

There was no one else for him in this world. 

Only you.

You.

You.

You. 

You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.

“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low. 

That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.

When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn't resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.

Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.

He could only be dreaming.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your lips.

Normally, words like that spoken so close would make you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants—aching, neglected, and probably leaking.

Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing seconds. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.

The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and and you arched into him, desperate to feel more—to press him even more against you, to take him in.

“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm. 

Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.

“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”

“I want it,” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.” 

“Okay, noona.”

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips. 

“You're driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you. 

You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”

Chan didn't argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his tights in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you. 

You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.

After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake. 

“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said,“There's a condom on the nightstand.”

He didn't move, didn't break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive. 

“Don't you wanna take me raw, Channie?” you pouted, sliding forward again. “I'm on birth control, and I'm clean.”

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.

The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn't sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint. 

“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze. 

“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender. 

Then, with another soft moan, you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance, before lowering yourself onto him, the fit perfect, as if you were made for each other.

Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support. 

“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”

You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan's hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”

Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn't planning on it.”

You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you intensified, a primal dance of pleasure and need.  

You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan's eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him, the pressure mounting with each thrust.  

You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.

A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.

He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”

One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.

“Chan!” you cried, your voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.  

The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.

The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison. 

The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you'd run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together. 

Still inside you, Chan almost couldn't believe it at this moment. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment. 

He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.

Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it. 

He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Mmm," you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.” 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Certainly, he hadn't expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him. 

You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I've been wanting this...for longer than I care to admit.” 

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.  “I...I didn't think…”

“Didn't think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn't think you felt the same way. I thought...I thought I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”

Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on. 

Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.

His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he'd been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”

He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”

“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something...that made me want to get to know you better.”

Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren't scared off by my…awkwardness around you?”

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”

He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you'll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I'm willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”

You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.

“Honestly, Channie?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn't think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was…persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed…distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”

He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He'd been so afraid of rejection that he'd inadvertently pushed you away. “I…I was an idiot.” 

You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we're not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”

Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For giving me a second chance.”

You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”

A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…” 

You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest. 

“Don't get any ideas, Mr. Lee” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I'm a tough negotiator. You'll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'm a very hard worker. And, I'm more than happy to put in the overtime.”

“We'll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You're incredible, Lee Chan. Don't ever forget that.”

He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won't,” he promised. “Not anymore.” 

©sound-of-scoups

If you liked this feel free to let me know with a like, reblog, comment, whatever you prefer! ❤️

A/N: The next morning + Vernon and Seungkwan's reactions to finding out about them were in my plans for the story, but in the end, I thought this ending was perfect and decided not to include. If you'd like to read about it, please let me know here.

[ariaste]

*sidles up to* hello! I need you to know the absolute death grip Running Close To The Wind has on my psyche. I have listened to it at least 9 times and read it at least twice. As a disable polyamorous kinky queer with 1 nb partner and one golden retriever boyfriend I have never felt more more lovingly courted by the narrative.

I thought it had been long enough for me to be normal about my emotions but it has not!!!! Instead please have this list of things i admire.

Every Single Character clearly has a rich internal life and develops and changes!!! I can't think of a single character that speaks in more than one scene that doesn't develop. Even Lt Viyan goes from cheerfully neutral to "stressed about the cake festival"

This goes double for how much of Tev's we can see even without the Captain's Log!!!! Tev has SO MANY FEELINGS.

I love the implication that the thing that finally broke their relationship the last time is that Avra sung a song in public that talked about Tev's body, and he never cottons on to the problem! Tev's body and Tev's gender are so thoroughly uncoupled to him that it never even crosses his mind it could be a problem, but it destroys Tev's trust. You would not believe the amount of time I have spent chewing over that one.

And all of that is before the story!!!!! There is never a moment of "Tev and Avra had been fucking off and on for 13 years, since Avra first came to the island of Lost Souls for work etc etc etc" but there is so much backstory that rewards you for paying attention, plus the tension of not knowing things at first.... beautiful

Julian is one of the things I have not processed sufficiently yet. I love him and his dom voice and how his emotional Journey starts off much more oblique to the reader because Avra doesn't know him as well and then the bar scene and and and. Aaaaaah. Special mention also to the lake scene

They're all adults with careers!!!! Not just adults, but adults of diverse ages and life experiences. Except Ellat, who is baby.

Pirate Society really does feel like a it's own distinct cultural group while also maintaining the sense that all of the Pirates came from somewhere with their own traditions, names, and values. You're so good at diversity that doesn't feel like just checking boxes and also doesn't fall into stereotypes.

You have made your own posts about disability in this book and I have been at this for an hour so I will leave it at: yes, thank you

The possibility that the goddess of luck is directly interfering with Avra (possibly deliberately trying to expose the secret) not just making him lucky, for example Avra's overwhelming need to go for a walk when they get to the hotel. I like that this is ambiguous mainly bc Avra just refuses to engage in that conversation

Avra is very smart actually!!!!! He talks about keeping his head empty but he is clever, insightful, educated, and curious about the world

Tev and Avra's murkey understanding of BDSM and aftercare - they have been doing both! But they are not good at it and Avra clearly has no idea what Julian's dom voice is doing to him. Tev knows enough about aftercare to cuddle Avra through the worst of it but also is Anti Touching. Cat's line, "and every so often having the honor of being entrusted quite profoundly with caring for you for an hour or two," implies a lot of trust and some hardcore emotional fallout!

I am going to send on this now before I lose my nerve about being perceived but thank you for writing My Favorite Book

[Second message postscript] Also I forgot to mention the absolute scathing critism of captialism, imperialism, and institutional power. Those things are. Also. Important to me.

I am truly and genuinely honored by these messages. Thank you for the absolute cornucopia of lovely compliments, thank you for taking so much time to write them out, and particularly thank you for all of your excellent insights! And listening to it NINE TIMES and reading it at least twice!! that is so many!!!! It only came out eight months ago! Wow, that is incredibly flattering. <3

I will respond to a couple of your points with the number of your comment: 1 & 2. Yes, Tev has SO MANY FEELINGS, thank you for noticing! I think it is easy to overlook how many feelings Tev has because most of them are expressed as Angry, but that doesn't mean they are Angry. Tev just copes with every emotion by also being mad at whatever caused it.

3. Y'know, I was about to say "To me it was more about Tev feeling shame and humiliation because Avra had exposed part of their sex life and one of Tev's kinks (their collection of spooky dildos)" but then I thought about it for two seconds and! No yeah, you're kind of right actually! Because that IS related to Tev's contentious relationship to their body, isn't it. And so is the Tev Doesn't Like Being Touched thing as you mentioned later -- it is all bound up in the trauma and psychic damage they took from growing up in Tash. Avra's song in particular I think just hit one of those triggers that is both personal/individual and cultural, and... as stated before, Tev copes with every emotion by also being mad, and those were some very, very big emotions they had. But yes, all that was going through Avra's mind was "Breaking News: Captain Teveri az-Haffar is so fucking hot, you guys, let me tell you ALL ABOUT IT" -- because to him, that's a praise song, that's the sort of thing people say about Xing Fe Hua (that he was an incredible pirate and "he kissed me full on the mouth") so why would it not be fine to also say it about Tev? He was using very Scuttle Cove culture-logic, and in THAT contexts, he was right, it does increase Tev's word-fame. But he also stepped on a major landmine in the Tash culture-logic. So... I feel like that illustrates one of the great tragedies of human interaction -- you can set out with the best of intentions and nothing but love in your heart and still manage to hurt someone you care about. That shit keeps me up at night, let me tell you what.

7. Ahhhh THANK YOU! This is something I work very hard at, because I too really dislike the "checking boxes" approach to diverse representation. It never feels sincere, for one thing -- as if the authors care more about diversity (the abstract concept) than they do about people (the living, breathing individuals they're writing about (or the ones who are reading the book)). I think it was particularly easy to do in the case of Pirate Society specifically because I went into it thinking, "Man, every single person on this island has a Story. NOBODY is here by accident except for the people who were born here, but even that is a Story in this context. How many different reasons can I come up with for someone having to throw their life away and move to the Isles of Lost Souls as one of its eponymous lost souls?"

11. Yeah the problem that Tev and Avra run into with their sex life is that they're both profoundly bad at intimacy. All the fraught bits of their relationship stem from that underlying wound they have to work around. Fortunately Julian is very good at intimacy. It is Julian's whole jam.

Anyway THANK YOU AGAIN for the truly lovely message -- the points I didn't respond to were only because I was like "mmm [sage nod] yes that's true" or "ah what a kind comment!" or both. :)

(Side note, but if you would enjoy talking to some other people who also love this book very much, there is an official fandom Discord server here: https://discord.gg/DTyee9HRR9 Come join us!)

[kuronanerd]

…cupid’s garden . ݁₊ ⊹

જ⁀➴ valentine’s special with Haru Hayate!

fluff, very slight angst, established relationship, slightly suggestive at the end if you squint, x f! reader.

a/n: this was a silly request from my bsf, so I hope she likes it. Also, I felt as if there needed to be MORE haru fics/appreciation. (All the 3 haru fans scream in joy.) But seriously, whoever sees this, enjoy, & feel free to request other characters.

The atmosphere in the air was thick and tense, almost suffocating. It was the kind which made the hairs on your neck stand up. Haru was standing across from you, a faint frown tugging at his lips as you stood in front of him, arms crossed, and a scowl adorning your features.

You had been holding everything back for weeks—the way he seemed to slip further away from you, always busy with practice, and too wrapped up in his career, leaving you waiting for whatever scraps of time he had left. Of course, you tried to be understanding, but no one likes being put aside and forgotten.

“You’re always so busy Haru.” You said, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

“I understand it’s your career, for gods sakes—it’s your livelihood! but I’m tired of being set aside to sit still and look pretty for you. I’m not asking for everything, I just want you to try and make time for me, please?”

The words stung as you verbalized them, they were like salt in the wound for Haru. The pain in your voice was evident, the hurt was clinging onto your words, despite your best efforts of trying to hide it.

Haru’s gaze fell to the floor. The space between you two grew further, the silence, heavier. He absolutely hated seeing you upset, and even worse, he hated being the cause of it. He knew you were right, he had been neglecting you for soccer, and the reality of it all, crushed him. There was no excuse, no alibi he could give you, just the painful truth that he had been absent, and it had hurt you.

“I’m sorry.” Haru finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His expression softened with guilt, as his shoulders only slumped in defeat.

Haru was never the best with words, especially when it came down to his feelings. But even so, he knew you deserved more than what his lame excuse for an apology could give you. His little gestures of affection wouldn’t be enough this time, he knew that. So he made it his mission to make it up to you, by any means necessary.

“it’s just hard balancing everything…but I’ll try harder. I’ll make more time, just for you. I promise.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he meant what he said. Haru’s heart ached with the disappointment he had for himself.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat becoming unbearable. You knew Haru meant what he said, but it didn’t change the reality of the situation. It didn’t change how your bed, which was once fit for two, would only ever be occupied by one, how you would spend your nights eating at a dinner table alone, and how the empty space of it all, began to consume you. You wanted to believe him, you really did, but your frustration still hung in the air.

“That’s all I’m asking for Haru. I don’t want to compete with your career, since I know that’s a fight I’ll lose every time...”

The words left your lips, filled with raw and intense emotion, and it left a sour taste on your tongue. But there was nothing else that said from either of you, just the weight of your words echoing in Haru’s mind. His eyes watched as you walked out of the room, but he knew you needed space, he knew you needed to think, so he didn’t stop you. Instead, he began to think on how he could ever make it up to you. But would his efforts be enough? Could his actions ever fill the growing gap between you two?

—

In the days that followed, Haru found himself thinking of ways to make it up to you, and he managed to conjure up the perfect plan. Of course, It was all thanks to the small garden he had in the backyard of your home. It had always been his sanctuary, it was his place to unwind after his soccer practices, and now, it had turned into his master plan to win you over.

Haru’s love for gardening and all things botanical, was passed down to him from his grandfather. He would always share his life before the U-20’s and NEL with you. He’d tell you stories about the different kinds of plants he would tend to, his life on the farm, and how if he hadn’t gone down the path of soccer, he’d live his life dedicated to plants. He even once shared with you a dream, that if you both chose to have kids, he would also pass down his love for gardening to them, just like his grandfather did with him. That dream Haru shared with you always warmed your heart, since it gave you insight on the type of man he was.

So everyday, once Haru would get home, he’d greet you with a warm smile, obviously still giving you your space, but making an effort to shower you with as much affection as possible. He’d also find himself in the garden after hours, planting all sorts of surprises for you. His body would ache from practice and his intense stretching workouts, but it didn’t matter to him. The thought of making things right with you, pushed him forwards. He’d work quietly and deliberately, and with every pull of a weed, every stroke of his hand through the soil, his mind would wander back to you. He would think about the words you spoke to him that day, the way you pleaded with him to make an effort, to be present in your life. So he worked harder, not just in the garden but also in your relationship, making sure you finally had a bed fit for two.

Of course, this wasn’t easy for Haru. The demands of his career were constant, his schedule was always tight and unpredictable, not to mention, he hadn’t gotten a good nights sleep in days. But no matter how much his body protested, Haru couldn’t stop, you could say it was his way of rebelling against the things that caused him to stray so far away from you.

But whenever he did find himself at his wits end, he would think back on the times you would sit with him in the garden, your laughter filling the air, and the way you so perfectly complimented his flowers. He appreciated your warmth, your kindness, your patience. How you never asked him for anything expensive or extravagant, just his presence, a shared moment between you two.

And he wanted all of it back, no, he needed it back.

So as Valentine’s Day approached, Haru would finally and officially, apologize to you. He wasn’t the most romantic, not by a long shot, but he knew the things you loved, the things that mattered to you. The flowers he had planted for you with such care, over the past few weeks leading up to this day would finally become a symbol of his love towards you and his commitment to change.

The days continued to fly by, and Haru would continue to carefully select the flowers he knew you’d adore. He even made you a bouquet out of them, simple yet beautiful as ever—just like you. With every delicate petal he’d arrange, he also left meaning and love behind them, and he’d think you every step of the way.

—

When Valentine’s Day arrived, Haru was more than ready for you. Obviously, he was nervous. He didn’t know how you would react, or if this would be enough of an apology for you, but he knew he had to do it. So discreetly as ever, he went about his day, and you went about yours. ‘Both’ of you had gone to ‘work’, but little did you know, Haru had other plans. Instead, he made his way to the local corner store, and bought all types of decorations for your big surprise. It was simple really, all he did was buy the prettiest rose petals he could find, and heart shaped candles of course. Upon getting home, he immediately got to work, neatly placing them from the front door to the backyard.

He waited for you to get home, his anxiety gnawing at his confidence with every minute that passed. His heart was racing and he tried to calm his nerves, he wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, but for you, it was more than worth it. So when Haru heard the jingle of your keys, he quickly took in a deep breath, and without thinking, sprang off the couch. His fingers brushing delicately against the bouquet he had spent weeks crafting with his own hands.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed throughout the house, and Haru didn’t waste a single second. He carefully grabbed the bouquet and quickly moved to the backyard. The garden was bursting with color, and most of all, the symbol of love Haru had been working so hard on to show you. He paused for a moment, looking around at his creation, and everything was perfect.

You stepped through the front door, a tired sigh escaping your lips as the weight of the day had left you feeling drained. You placed your keys onto the entryway table, before you noticed the scattered petals on the floor. There was a trail of them and candles. It was something so simple yet beautiful. No way Haru did this, he was never the type to do some grand gesture like this. So your curiosity piqued, and you followed the path of the gorgeous trail.

You couldn’t help but smile softly, your gaze lifting to each one of the candles which flickered as they lined the way to your destination.

“Haru?” You whispered, your voice filled with curiosity.

“Where are you?”

You continued to follow the trail through the living room and out the backyard, and at first, you thought you were dreaming when you saw what was in front of you. The backyard had been completely transformed, the beautiful flowers and greenery left you completely speechless. But the best part of it all, was Haru. He was standing right in front of you, with a bouquet of flowers, but not just any flowers, your favorite flowers.

Haru walked towards you, slowly, deliberately, and quietly. Each step closer to you was filled with purpose, as if he was trying to savor each second of the moment. But once he reached you, everything else faded away, he lifted the bouquet out in front of you, and gave you the most sincere gaze.

“I’m sorry for always being so distant towards you.” Haru croaked, his voice was low, but filled with so much emotion for you.

“I know this will hardly make up for it, but I wanted to show you how dedicated I am to you. I never want to make you feel alone, ever again.”

You stood there completely stunned and speechless, as Haru’s words slowly sunk in. Words couldn’t describe how deeply you appreciated everything he had done for you. The sincerity in his eye, the care he had put into everything—it hit you right in the heart.

“Haru… this is more than enough.” You sweetly replied, your heart swelling with love.

Your hands softly reached out towards the beautiful bouquet, taking it out of his hands. Your fingers brushed against his, and it was an innocent, yet electric touch you both had been wanting. Haru’s hand gently cupped your cheek, and he met your eyes with so much warmth and love.

“This is for all the times I didn’t show you my love. I want to make things right, starting now.”

Your heart felt as if it were blossoming, and you stepped closer to Haru, wrapping your arms around him. The garden, the flowers, the emotion it all invoked in you, none of it mattered more than the feeling of standing there with him.

“I love you so much Haru.” You whispered against him, breathing in the sweet scent of his cologne.

Haru’s arms only tightened around you in response, pulling you in closer, as his lips found his way onto yours. It was a slow and tender kiss, but beneath it, was passion and a need for more. The love Haru had kept hidden all along came undone in your shared kiss. It was as if time stopped, and the only thing existing in that moment were his lips on yours. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck in hopes of getting more out of the kiss. Haru knew you well, and so, he followed your league, his hands slightly trailing lower from your hips, yet pulling you closer.

When you two finally broke away from each other, both of you were breathless, and a small giggle escaped your mouth as Haru leaned his forehead against yours. The moment hung in the air, the flowers Haru worked so hard on planting and taking care of, surrounded you.

And as Haru picked you up into his arms, placing his lips back onto yours—you knew this moment was the beginning of a new Haru Hayate.

I really hope everyone enjoyed! This is my first time ever writing a fanfic on here, so I was really nervous to post this. I’m very new to this (if you can’t already tell), so I can understand if my writing isn’t the best. But i’ll try hard with working on improving.

Once again, thank you all for reading! and till we meet again (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[sturniololuvz]

Could you write a reversed version of “Scarring Family Memories” so its reader and her boyfriend instead of chris and his girlfriend ??

yesss! sorry i haven’t been getting to these , probably gonna stay up late doing them , even tho i have to wake up at 5am tmr 😭)it’s 10 already 😞

“No That”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : yelling,

The Sturniolo household was always loud—whether it was the boys messing around, arguing about something dumb, or just their natural chaotic energy filling the space. Tonight was no different. Chris, Matt, and Nick were all in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, engaged in some heated debate over which fast food place had the best fries.

“I’m telling you, McDonald’s fries are elite,” Matt argued, waving his hands dramatically.

Nick scoffed. “Bro, no. Wendy’s fries with a Frosty? Unmatched.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “You guys are both idiots. Five Guys fries? Game over.”

They continued bickering, but Chris found himself zoning out. Something felt… off. The house was never truly quiet, but for the past few minutes, there had been an unusual silence coming from Y/N’s room. Their little sister, at seventeen, was usually blasting music or FaceTiming friends, yet now? Nothing.

Chris sat up, listening closer. That’s when he heard it—faint whimpering and hushed moans. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“The hell?” he muttered, furrowing his brows.

“What?” Matt asked, glancing over.

Chris held up a hand to silence them, tilting his head toward the hallway. The noises weren’t loud, but they were there—and undeniably suspicious. His protective instincts kicked in immediately.

Without another word, he got up and made his way toward Y/N’s door. His heart pounded as he reached for the handle, hesitating for only a split second before pushing it open.

And then he froze.

His brain short-circuited as he took in the sight in front of him—Y/N tangled up with some random guy, both half-dressed, their bodies way too close for comfort. His eyes widened in pure shock.

“WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK?!” Chris shouted, his voice echoing through the house.

Y/N and the guy jumped apart instantly, scrambling to grab their clothes. The boy—who Chris didn’t even recognize—looked like he had just seen a ghost.

Chris turned on his heel so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, slamming the door shut behind him. His heart was racing, his face twisted in a mix of horror and fury.

He stormed back to the living room, his hands on his head. “Dude, I did not just see that,” he muttered to himself.

Matt and Nick looked up, confused. “See what?” Nick asked.

Chris ignored him, pacing. “What the fuck was that?” he mumbled, running a hand over his face.

About two minutes later, there was a loud shuffle from the hallway, followed by the sound of footsteps sprinting. The boy—still fixing his shirt—bolted out of Y/N’s room like his life depended on it, not even bothering to look at anyone as he rushed out the front door.

Chris clenched his jaw, shaking his head in disbelief. And then, a moment later, Y/N appeared in the hallway, her face flushed with embarrassment. She looked like she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

Before she could say anything, Chris exploded.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, Y/N?!” he yelled, throwing his arms up. “A boy? IN YOUR ROOM?! WHILE WE’RE HOME?!”

Y/N winced, hugging her arms around herself. “Chris, I—”

“NO. NO ‘CHRIS, I—’ WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, turning to Matt and Nick for backup. “Guys, please tell me I’m not the only one losing my damn mind right now.”

Matt looked just as shocked, but he was trying (and failing) not to laugh. Nick, however, shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, Y/N, what the hell?” he said, his voice calmer than Chris’s but still firm. “That’s so reckless.”

Chris was still fuming. “Like, you couldn’t have waited until we weren’t home? Or, you know, never?”

Y/N’s face burned hotter. “I didn’t think you’d hear anything!” she snapped, defensive.

Chris let out a sarcastic laugh. “OH, WELL, GUESS WHAT? I DID. AND NOW I’M TRAUMATIZED.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Can we please just not talk about this?”

“OH, WE’RE TALKING ABOUT IT,” Chris shot back. “Because if you think for one second that this is ever happening again, you’re dead wrong.”

“Chris—”

“NOPE. No boys in your room. No sneaking around. And DEFINITELY no… no that when we’re home.” He made a disgusted face, shaking his head. “Holy shit, I’m gonna need therapy.”

Matt finally lost it, bursting into laughter. “Dude, your face right now is priceless.”

Chris whipped around to glare at him. “Oh, shut the hell up, Matt.”

Y/N, still mortified beyond belief, groaned again. “Can this conversation be over now?”

Chris exhaled sharply, his anger still bubbling under the surface. “Fine. But if I ever catch a guy in this house again, I swear to God, Y/N—”

She held up her hands. “I get it! I get it! No boys, no sneaking around, no ‘that’ while you’re home.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Good. Now go back to your room and think about how stupid that was.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, quickly retreating back to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Chris stood there for a moment, still trying to process everything. He turned back to his brothers, shaking his head.

“I need a drink.”

Nick smirked. “Or therapy.”

Matt grinned. “Probably both.”

Chris groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “Worst. Night. Ever.”

[expired-vibes]

Taken for Granted

(Jeon Jae-jun x Female Reader | Angst, Betrayal, Breakup)

NOTE: My first request🫣😳😳..

By @dyingofcookies

I tried my best.. Please let me know if you want any changes

Jae-Jun wasn't always like this

Back in high school, he was reckless, cocky, but he loved you in a way that was undeniable.

He waited outside your classroom just to walk you to your next one. He slung an arm around your shoulders in the hallway, flashing you that smug grin. He kissed you in secret corners of the school like he couldn’t get enough of you.

Back then, you were his world.

And for a while, you believed that would never change.But then came Yeon-jin.She had always been lurking, whispering things to Jae-jun that you weren’t meant to hear.

“Y/N is sweet, but don’t you think you can do better?”

At first, he brushed it off. Of course, he could do better—but he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was enough.But the more he listened, the more the words seeped into his mind.

And slowly, he changed.

It wasn’t overnight. It was gradual. Jae-jun started forgetting plans. Ignoring your texts. He stopped saying I love you first, stopped thanking you when you did things for him.

You thought it was just a phase.

That he was just stressed, just distracted. That things would go back to how they were.

But they didn’t.

And the worst part? He never apologized. Not once. Yet, you held on. Because you believed in the version of him that used to love you completely.

Until the day that belief shattered.

You got a call late at night from the police station.

“Miss Y/N? Your boyfriend, Jeon Jae-jun, has been involved in an altercation. We need someone to bail him out.”

Your stomach twisted. By now, you were used to his recklessness. But something felt different. When you arrived, the tension in the air was thick. And then you saw them.

Jae-jun, standing there with a split lip, his knuckles bruised. And across from him—Ha Do-yeong. His tie was loose, jaw bruised, but his eyes were burning with rage.

“What the hell happened?” you asked, stepping forward.

Neither of them spoke.

But then, Do-yeong looked at you. Really looked at you.

His expression softened just slightly, but when he turned back to Jae-jun, his voice was sharp as a blade.

“You should tell her, or I will.”

Your heart pounded. “Tell me what?”

Jae-jun clenched his jaw. “Mind your own damn business, Do-yeong.”

But Do-yeong scoffed. “You think she doesn’t deserve to know? You think she deserves to keep playing the role of the loyal, devoted girlfriend while you’re screwing around with Yeon-jin?”

The world stopped. The air left your lungs. Your ears rang.

Slowly, your gaze shifted to Jae-jun.

“Tell me he’s lying.”

Jae-jun opened his mouth. Closed it.And that silence was your answer. Something inside you broke. Without thinking, you took a shaky step back.

“Baby—” Jae-jun started, reaching for you.

But you flinched away. For the first time, he looked scared. Because, for the first time, he realized he might actually lose you.

You weren’t sure how you got to his penthouse. Everything was a blur—the fight, the betrayal, the way your heart felt like it had been ripped out of your chest.

Jae-jun stood in front of you, hands on his hips, jaw clenched. “It didn’t mean anything,” he muttered.

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, that makes it so much better.”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeon-jin—”

“Stop saying her name.” Your voice cracked. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to think about her. I want you to tell me why.”

His eyes flickered. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You let out a bitter laugh. “You threw away everything—for what? Some cheap thrill? Because Yeon-jin stroked your ego better than I did?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” you demanded.

He didn’t answer. And that was when you knew. You never mattered enough.You had always been there.

Waiting. Loving him. Forgiving him.

And he had taken that for granted.

“You never appreciated me,” you whispered, voice shaking.

Jae-jun’s brows furrowed. “That’s not—”

“You never said thank you,” you cut him off. “You never made me feel like I was enough. And I kept waiting—kept hoping you’d see me again.”

His expression faltered. “I do see you.”

“No,” you said softly. “You only noticed me when I stopped chasing you.”

Jae-jun swallowed hard, his hand reaching for yours. “I can fix this.”

You flinched away. And something in his face broke.

“You already ruined it,” you whispered.

He looked desperate now, genuinely afraid. “Baby—”

But it was too late.Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to cry. Not for him. Not anymore.

“It’s over, Jae-jun.”

His hands clenched into fists. “No—”

But you were already walking away.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

Jae-jun didn’t chase after people.

But that night, as he sat alone in his penthouse, staring at the empty space where you had stood, he realized something too late.

You had never asked for much.

Just love. Just loyalty. Just him.

And now, for the first time, he had lost something he could never replace.

[sir-fenris]

Took me a little while to get to this 'cause my head was elsewhere yesterday, but I'm always here for the commmentary :D

I'm in the middle of an allergy attack and running on 4 hours of sleep, I'm gonna do my best.

Vi had lied to him, essentially. Paris was a prisoner just as long as he was here. But, as she reminded him frequently, he could leave at any time. They’d give him his sword back at the door. They’d take it away at the next base they crashed into. 

Lorelai was in her element, though. She was one of them now, clear as day. There was a little medallion around her neck, the gold markings which he recognized as distinctly imperial.

So funny to see Paris thinking about his kinda imprisonment, and then Lorelai is just having the time of her life.

He indulged her. He had to. And it was good for him too, to see the last stop before leaving Empire. Some kind of closure. One last goodbye.

I love Paris "having to" do stuff, it's delightful. Especially about Lorelai.

And love closure 👏👏 I know not always it's realistic to have one, but I really enjoy closure in whump.

It was a tundra. The frozen kind, though some stages were now in thaw. It was painfully beautiful. 

Ohhhh you didn't............ 😵‍💫

Only in the middle of the night, when they were already tangled in between each other’s limbs, did he realize the fever was upon him.

Own, Paris has a fever? Fucking god, he can't have one chapter of peace 🤣

“It’s my ship,” she said, the same way she ended all her arguments. “I could leave anytime I wanted. Why are you always trying to get rid of me?”

He desperately did not want to be rid of her. 

Then, as if reading his mind: “You give yourself way too much credit. I wanted this too.”

Well, Paris does actually give himself "too much credit" (I would say too much guilt). but that's to be expected after everything.

He wondered if he regretted it. Really, he regretted everything.

There we go. Love love love. Whumperflies.

If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn’t show it. He suspected she wasn’t shocked at all. Delta was on the cusp of his thoughts, all the time.  Everything lead back to him. Lorelai raised one eyebrow at the new proclamation.

I need to say it.

👏HAUNTING👏THE👏FUCKING👏NARRATIVE👏

🗣AAAAAAAAAA

He didn’t mean to say that last part. Because he had killed Delta — and it had not felt kind. The ice felt colder beneath him as he went on.

Oh my fucking god, I need him metting face to face alive Delta so much, please, please, please, please.

I LOVE THE GUILT <333333

She barely reacted. He thought she might argue. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe she saw another way out, some path that he didn’t. If he could do it all over, what would he change? Or would he always end up here — and Delta, dead on the ocean floor?

I'm......... AAAAAAAAAAAAA-

“They told me I needed to. It’s his conditioning. He needed to feel powerless, all the time, or he would stop working. I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I lost control of him, if I lost the only edge I had. I was scared of him. And I needed him.”

“I hated needing. I hated feeling like I was losing control. And that’s all I was doing, the entire time. Just losing control, constantly. Over everything. Over myself.”

THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING AAAAAAAAAA-

I'M KICKING MY FLWOWOWIRJDIAOQOKW GIGGLING

No words, just feelings. Fucking christ.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. For everything.

I wish I could take it back.”

this is effectively the final chapter of Crash Out

paris and lorelai will return in Destroyer

I'M DYING WITH THIS OMG YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THIS-

-

Just a reblog and like isn't enough for the last chapter.

Here it is the super like, super kudos, super heart of "I really liked this"

Very very excited about what comes next (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Crash Out - Love

(Content: fever, drug mention, bruises, discussions of past abuse, guilt)

He was in and out of sleep for a long time. He remained supervised. They didn’t trust him with as much rope as he could hang himself with. 

Vi had lied to him, essentially. Paris was a prisoner just as long as he was here. But, as she reminded him frequently, he could leave at any time. They’d give him his sword back at the door. They’d take it away at the next base they crashed into. 

Lorelai was in her element, though. She was one of them now, clear as day. There was a little medallion around her neck, the gold markings which he recognized as distinctly imperial.

“Did you scavenge that off a corpse?” he asked.

He had meant it as a joke.

He got the distinct sense that he had killed something beautiful. Like setting a butterfly on fire. Had she been changing all this time?

And yet she didn’t leave him. She changed all the time, but that didn’t. Over the border was still the goalpost. CTRL sheltered them at most stops. She’s their own now, of course she can stay. He offered what he could — intel when he had it, labor when he didn’t, when his body allowed him to. Sometimes he merely slept, looking sheepishly at the night guard for the time they were both wasting.

The border was a stone’s throw away and she wanted to make one last stop. 

He indulged her. He had to. And it was good for him too, to see the last stop before leaving Empire. Some kind of closure. One last goodbye.

It was a tundra. The frozen kind, though some stages were now in thaw. It was painfully beautiful. 

She had an eye for it more than he did. He’d have followed her up into the mountains and along the frozen stream, walked the whole length of tundra ten time over. Anything. Lorelai pulled winter weeds out from the ground to press into the journal she still carried. Small, living things dashed across the dead-land. Foxes and rabbits. Owls and swans. Living things, not so unlike them. Hot blood flowed through all of them, proof they still existed. Alive.

It was her idea to break into the cabin, which to him did not seem very altruistic, but he had no better ideas. Luckily enough, it was empty, seemingly abandoned for a time. They’d get better use of it.

Only in the middle of the night, when they were already tangled in between each other’s limbs, did he realize the fever was upon him.

A real one, this time. Not induced, not even dopesick. An honest to god fever.

Paris stood up blearily, feeling some of the heat recede when he’d detached from her body, but not much. It was still bright outside, something to do with the equinox. The sky was an odd, soft color. It was freezing out, which felt nice against his flushed skin. Lorelai groaned slightly from the bed. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself before she shuffled over to the door. At that point, he’d already stepped out.

Paris was on his knees in the snow. He pressed some of it to his face, still appreciating the contrast between the cold and the burning. It felt nice. It was strange, the things that felt nice to him now. As the last dregs of the drugs cycled out from his body, he found pleasures unmuted in their absence.

“You okay?” she called from the doorway. She was barefoot by the entrance, where the carpet was still warm.

He nodded, though he probably wasn’t. The fever was cooking his brain. 

The blanket hung off her bare shoulder. He hadn’t seen it as well in the dark, but the bruises marked her skin just as much as the love bites. She’d been busy. She’d been through a lot.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” he blurted out. He’d been meaning to say it for a while. 

“What?” She blinked. “I wanted to come. This was my idea.”

“But you didn’t know what you were getting into. I didn’t tell you anything. It was taking advantage.”

“Did you know?”

He shook his head

“I knew it would be bad. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“It’s my ship,” she said, the same way she ended all her arguments. “I could leave anytime I wanted. Why are you always trying to get rid of me?”

He desperately did not want to be rid of her. 

“I don’t understand you.” he said. He couldn’t fathom the thought of anyone staying with him by choice. If he could’ve left himself behind, he would’ve. He’d have done it in a heartbeat.

“What part don’t you get?” she asked. It tickled him how annoyed she sounded then. Like her clarity was being taken for granted. 

Then, as if reading his mind: “You give yourself way too much credit. I wanted this too.”

“This?” he laughed.

“Not all of it. I never wanted you to get hurt, Paris. I just wanted us to get out. I didn’t know how hard it would fight to keep you.”

A pause. She said:

“I had fun, though. Is that horrible to say? I had fun. I don’t regret it.”

He wondered if he regretted it. Really, he regretted everything.

When he didn’t answer for a while, she sat down on the wooden steps. The blanket shielded her from the cold contact. She lit up a cigarette, holding it delicately between her lips.

Another pause. He said:

“…You know I couldn’t have let him go, right?”

If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn’t show it. He suspected she wasn’t shocked at all. Delta was on the cusp of his thoughts, all the time.  Everything lead back to him. Lorelai raised one eyebrow at the new proclamation.

“I couldn’t just let him go,” Paris said, because he had been thinking a lot about it. “He was too dangerous. Nobody would ever let that kind of power live in peace. He would have always be wanted, always somebody’s captive. He never could have had a happy life. It’s not his fault. He didn’t do anything to deserve it. But its true. There was never any hope for him. The kindest thing to do would have been to kill him.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. Because he had killed Delta — and it had not felt kind. The ice felt colder beneath him as he went on.

“I know I didn’t have to treat him the way I did. I’m not saying anything about that. But yeah. I never could’ve let him go.”

Clearly.

“I don’t know. That’s beside the point, now.”

She barely reacted. He thought she might argue. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe she saw another way out, some path that he didn’t. If he could do it all over, what would he change? Or would he always end up here — and Delta, dead on the ocean floor?

“Why did you treat him like that?” Lorelai asked, leaning forward slightly onto her knees. “…You didn’t have to.”

It felt like being stabbed. But it was a miracle he’d even avoided the question for this long. She’d been patient with him, endlessly. He could afford to be honest. The fever would make it so, regardless.

“I was so angry,” he admitted.

“All the time. At everything. I couldn’t stand it. I hated my life and I hated myself. I still hate myself. The only reason I had to live was to try to keep empire running — and I didn’t even want that. It felt like the whole place was fucking diseased. There was this rot at the center of the machine. He was just the worst of all of it, the worst thing it had ever created. It wasn’t his fault. I know that, it wasn’t his fault.”

“They told me I needed to. It’s his conditioning. He needed to feel powerless, all the time, or he would stop working. I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I lost control of him, if I lost the only edge I had. I was scared of him. And I needed him.”

“I hated needing. I hated feeling like I was losing control. And that’s all I was doing, the entire time. Just losing control, constantly. Over everything. Over myself.”

“It just became a habit, after a while. It started with just…punishment. Then it was just because he was there. Because I could.”

He was acutely aware of how cruel the word punishment sounded in his mouth. He was aware of how absurd it was, without any of the false authority he’d once put behind it. Who had he thought that he was? He’d never had the right.

He forced himself to look up at her, scared as he was of what he’d find. The scars of his body ached in the cold.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. For everything.

I wish I could take it back.”

~~~~~~~

this is effectively the final chapter of Crash Out

paris and lorelai will return in Destroyer

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen @sir-fenris

[supermarket-marriage]

I might have accidentally made a full Loki timeline presentation with 16 slides and multiple paragraphs each.

Character analysis essay next!

(I’m so far deep into this special interest it’s not okay please)